“Coperta,” Antonio, one of our guards, said, biting his lip and letting it roll. Patience was not one of his strong points. Antonio had felt one of the police had gotten too close to Scarlett during one of her more vocalized fits. He put a hand to the man’s chest to stop him from coming any closer, and he had been arrested right after with me.
“What did he say?” Chris asked, narrowing his eyes. Chris had always known who my family was, who I belonged to, and we were okay, but I could tell the men made him uneasy. Rightfully so.
“He wants a blanket,” I said.
Chris nodded. He came closer to the cell. “Look, Fausti, what you did—” He lifted his hands, as if to say he understood. He knew the situation, but he’d never agreed with it. “In my eyes, it was fucking justified, but you can’t go around beating up law enforcement. The sheriff—even though he is the way he is with you, he’s good around here to most people—”
“Blanket or no, Chris. Not for me.” I stabbed a thumb toward Antonio, whose blood seemed to run warm and was being tortured by the dampness. “He’s entitled to that, at least.”
I wasn’t in the mood to talk shop with Chris. We both knew who the sheriff was around here, and it was the only thing keeping him alive. If so many people hadn’t have been involved in this situation and saw it happen, the sheriff wouldn’t have lived to take another breath. I would have killed him on that playground. But my family came before my temper.
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “I’ll bring him one. But what do I tell your wife to calm her down? She’s close to being arrested, Fausti. The only reason she hasn’t is because her daddy has some pull around here. It’s been a pissing contest between him and Scott Stone.”
It was only the two of us back here, Antonio and me, and she gave me no choice. Which made me roll my shoulders. My wife shouldn’t be in a place like this. She should be home with our children. But I knew she was probably causing a scene and demanding to speak to the man in charge.
“Bring her to me,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”
He looked to the left, and then to the right. “Okay.” He sighed. “All right. I would have gotten you out of here sooner, if it wasn’t for my hands being tied. Like I said, Scott Stone, and this being personal between his family and yours.”
A few minutes later, it wasn’t Chris who escorted her back, but Scott, another one of the sheriff’s nephews. He’d left New York after some trouble and taken a detective’s position in Natchitoches. Some said he was priming himself to take over the sheriff’s spot when he retired. The Stones had held that position for as long as anyone could remember. It was a drop down from New York, but it came down to family obligations for them.
Poetic justice, that we both seemed to understand that sentiment all too well.
Heels clacked against the floor, and my wife’s eyes narrowed as she looked me over from head to toe. Maybe no one else could feel it, but when our eyes connected, the tension in her lessened to a visceral degree. Her need to come to me, to touch me, was a tangible thing, but her pride in front of Scott Stone refused her the right. Her shoulders were squared, her chin up, and those feline eyes determined.
I glared at his hand on her arm, which made him step even closer to her, like he was making sure nothing passed from our hands. Which we both knew was bullshit. He had an excuse if she made a complaint about it.
She went to move her arm, but he refused to let her go. Even if his grip was too tight, she wouldn’t resist again, not wanting me to see.
I rolled my shoulders. “Let go of my wife’s arm.”
Antonio, seeing this as well, had stood up, standing behind me.
“Brando—”
“You rule nothing, Fausti. And once we’re through with you, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in jail. Just like your weak old man.”
“Say that to his face,” Antonio said from behind me in Italian.
Scott Stone’s eyes snapped to his, suspicious. He asked me what Antonio had said, and I refused to answer him. When I said something in Italian to Scarlett, he switched the look on me.
“What did he say?” he demanded of my wife.
She looked at me and then shook her head. “Brando—”
“Tell him,” I ordered in Italian.
“I—I mean,hesaid, he will not say it again. Let me go.”
Scott Stone pulled her closer at the same time I reached out a hand to grab her arm. There was no tug of war, but I got the reaction I’d wanted. Scott Stone came too close to the cell, and I was able to reach out and seize his throat, his pulse beating frantically against the strength of my hand.
He released my wife, bracing himself against the cell, attempting to pull away. Scarlett’s voice was frantic, but she was keeping quiet, not wanting to attract notice.
Someone did come, though, and that someone made me release my hold by telling me he was going to arrest my wife if I didn’t.
The sheriff. The meeting I’d been waiting for.
“I’ll deal with his behavior later,” the sheriff said, nodding toward his nephew.
