You are who you are.
You are a Fausti.
It is in your blood—the passionate and the ruthless.
You will be considered a devil to some and an angel to others.
At the time, Luca had been more than willing to tell him all the things he felt he deserved to hear. But that was before.
Before his release. Before Italy. Before he had Brando where he wanted him. By his side.
He had been jealous in Italy, and I’d realized, he’d always been jealous—wanting and craving Brando’s love and devotion, just as much as Brando had craved his. But as the situation stood, there would be no more going to Luca when my husband wanted to feel that acceptance of who he was.
That left me.
The truth among the lies. The truth that seemed to hurt him more than the lies. He called itpsychobabble bullshitwhen I called the situation as I saw it.
He couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t felt what I had. He was much too…intent on making the sheriff pay for what he’d done to our son. What he’d done tohim,whether he wanted to believe it or not.
Matteo reflected Brando’s youth.
Out of all our sons, Matteo mirrored Brando in more than looks alone. That heart that he cradled? It belonged to his son, but it also belonged to him. Protecting Matteo was the equivalent of protecting a vulnerable him, in a way that he never could before.
I’d catch Maggie Beautiful watching Matteo from time to time, an unconscious smile on her face. When I’d ask her why, she’d blink before she answered me. “He’s Brando to the marrow. His features, his expressions, the way he moves, how he watches every small detail. Even his voice. A full-grown man inside of a smaller body, until the flesh catches up to the spirit. As handsome as the devil.” She’d sigh. “But with a heart that rivals an angel’s when he loves.”
Brando had hardwired himself to believe the worst of himself. When the sheriff or his father had given him the words he believed, he ate them up, comfortable with their versions of his truth. When I gave him the truth, he almost became a different creature. One who flinched at the tender but truthful words I offered.
He had made himself believe I’d stolen his love, instead of me loving him just because I did, for him to accept my love.
Pin him up against a monster that he felt reflected his own monster, and he’d win every time. Pin him against me, with my whispering mouth and soft hands, and he’d cower as though I were the most ferocious creature that had ever existed. He’d rely on his first instinct, rage, to scare me off.
He never could.
It was a good thing, too, that I knew the difference between a survival tactic and when he was truly enraged.
Truly enraged, he became as still as standing water, the monster underneath about to break the surface at any unpredictable moment, seizing its drinking prey without giving them a chance to run. But when he was worried, he lost control.
Only in front of me.
Brando had never lost control in front of anyone but me. I was the only person who had ever seen him vulnerable. He didn’t want to be, not then, and the anger on his face reflected the battle raging inside.
Snatching the towel from the holder, he began to dry off, scrubbing his head and making his hair stand in all different directions.
A beast, indeed.
“The kids are spending the night with your parents again,” he said.
After the ordeal with the police, I thought it was best that the children stay with my parents for a night or two. They loved it there. Matteo especially loved the sprawling land and the lake.
My parents were much more fun as grandparents.
I also knew that Brando needed time to cool off. If he saw Matteo’s ear, it might send him after the sheriff again. It mademewant to go after him again, but if I did, Brando would be the one to pay the price.
My father even had to restrain my mother. Not to mention Eunice, who had started taking a walking stick with her wherever she went.
If Luca ever got word of this…I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I’d have to be sure to call him to smooth over the situation. An eye for an eye, an ear for an ear—he’d have the sheriff’s ear strung up on his wall or made into a souvenir for Matteo to keep.
“Yes,” I said, watching my husband, who was as unstable as his father. The sound of a clock ticked, and I knew it sounded inside of my mind, coming from somewhere inside ofhim.
