The waves receded, and the smell of the beach faded. My reality became the clang of weapons and the smell of men in battle.
Yeah, life comes down to choices.
Even back then, my choices came down to her.
My wife.
Even when I didn’t know it.
That alien crab brought a grin to my face. Such a simple thing, a fiddlercrab (as my wife had informed me on our trip to Fiji years ago) on the beach turned my world around.
In my wife’s words, I was probablyempathizingwith it.
Most of the timeempathizingwas fucking lost on me, but it had set my compass in a different direction. When I turned that big-clawed bastard around, it turned me around too.
That call she had made to her brother had sent a signal to me, as well. Even back then, it sounded like a call from my mate in the wild. Even if my mind didn’t register it, some deeper part of me did.
It only reinforced what I’d come to know—even when my wife wasn’t around, she was, reminding me that our footsteps moved together, especially when space and time came between us. Our love became violent, twisting, turning, pushing whenever we were apart. It made sure we always moved toward each other, not in the opposite direction.
A few months after that trip, I lost my best friend but fell in love with mylife—the woman I calledwife.
I’d always known my path would lead me to where I stood, but it had to lead me to her first.
“Brando!” my father called. “Step up!”
I wiped the sweat from my brow and switched places with Rocco again. The weight of the sword felt good in my hand, like an anchor, and the water it belonged to was my wife, the only force in this world who could tame the beast in me—the blood running through my veins.
Yeah, I’d always known my roads would lead me here, but without her—our family—that void in my chest would have never been filled, and the only thing I would have understood about the marriage of romantic and ruthless was the ruthless.
The ruthless would forever push me to protect what filled up the space in my chest. The romantic would always keep my vows to her sacred.
Part I
City Of Masks
1
Scarlett
Astorm had moved over Venice and decided to hover.
Pouring rain for two days straight, the storm kept everyone holed up inside the palazzo day and night. Most people took to the many verandas or the windows for a bit of fresh air or natural light.
If one could consider silver skies, black clouds, and moody water refreshing.
The air seemed fresher, though, almost sweeter with the falling rain. Except when a strong wind would blow, carrying a scent that had festered somewhere in the canal for much too long.
“Pew,” Mia would say, holding her nose.
My sentiments exactly, kiddo.
Some good had come of the time spent indoors, though. The night Brando had slipped into bed after the talk with Uncle Tito carried on with us each night, usually throughout the night.
Until he finally confessed to me what I’d suspected.
“Luca sent them away,” he’d said, lifting his hands, letting them fall to his chest after.
He had come clean about Mitch, Violet, and the kids leaving. Uncle Tito and Aunt Lola, too.
