For most of his life, Brando had considered Mitch his brother, Mick his little brother. He shared a history with them that I wasn’t sure his brothers could catch up to. Mitch had been there for him when Maggie Beautiful did her own thing. My brother, Elliott, had been there, too, but Mitch had understood because he came from a similar home.
Because their father had left, his mother had worked three jobs to put food on the table, but she resented Mitch for the burden, though she didn’t say a word to Mick. For one, it was a privilege; for the other, a right.Different circumstances, but the same in that both Brando and Mitch had parents who sometimes put their issues above their sons’ needs.
I loved Maggie Beautiful, adored her, in fact. I always had. I loved her like my own mother, and I thanked her for all that she did to save my husband. Because of her, I often felt that Brando and I were spared for each other.
There was no denying, though, the impact she’d had on Brando’s life. His views and opinions had been shaped by her behavior.
His mamma is responsible,he’d said, meaning me.That one simple statement said it all.
Luca didn’t want to sever all bonds, not completely, but he also wanted the bond between his sons to be stronger. No matter how savage he could be, I knew he loved them. In his own way. And he longed to stop what had happened between him and his brother from happening between his sons.
He wanted both Brando and Rocco to take over the family together. Work like they had been. Brando and Rocco were of like minds, and when they went into business together, it was to amazing success.
In Mitch’s terms, they played nice together.
The fact didn’t escape Luca. And two sons running the empire? They could almost match his power—almost.
Rocco had been prepped for this life all his life. He had married one of the women his father suggested to form stronger bonds with Italy. Luca paid a pretty penny to send Rocco to one of the finest law schools in Europe. Rocco spoke three different languages, could dance like a gentleman, and could kill a man with his bare hands, a gun, or a sword. Without a second’s hesitation.
Then Brando came along. Older. Knowing what was his by right but denying it. Brando was a self-made man, for the most part. His success had come at his own hands. He had proved something to the Faustis that Rocco couldn’t: he was capable without their help. That had impressed Marzio because it reflected their roots. They were not alwaystheFaustis.
Taking all this into consideration, Luca knew there was a chance that Rocco would challenge his older brother, if the situation called for it. Brando wouldn’t accept, not unless something drastic changed. He was sick of being told what to do, especially when the price came at the cost of his family. Still, the chance was there.
Luca longed to strengthen their bond. Strengthen Brando’s loyalty to the family, and subsequently, to the business. Therefore, there would be no reason to feel animosity or have one brother jealous of the other. He wanted his sons to have a bond so strong that when the world looked at them, they saw one unit instead of four men.
To do that, though, he had to eliminate all outside forces.
Brando’s father was not the only one with jealous eyes. I saw it in Rocco’s eyes too, sometimes. When Brando would invite Mitch along to ride dirt bikes instead of him. Or when Uncle Tito requested to speak to Brando alone.
More than Mitch, Uncle Tito’s favor was substantial. He was the head council to Marzio. After Grazia had passed, Uncle Tito became everything but a warm body for Marzio to lose himself in. Even over his sons.
“How can I always know what to do when each of my sons have their own wants and desires? And those wants and desires sometimes come at a price to their brother?” Marzio had once confided in me.
That was why he sought council with a man who had no agenda except to see the Faustifamigliagrow and prosper.
Things were different then, though, and Luca felt that, if anyone should have the old doctor’s council, it should be him. Certainly not Brando, especially since Rocco might take offense at this.
A small spark can sometimes cause a forest fire.
Brando reached out and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his mouth.
Without warning, tears seemed to burst from my eyes, running down my cheeks in fast streams. I started to bawl, sobbing into my hands.
“Scarlett.” He pried my fingers from my face, lowering my hands. “Something’s wrong.”
He took my sadness as a warning. He thought I was hiding something from him. It had to be hell on the nerves living with a woman whofelteverything, and not just the usual.
I blinked away the tears, his face distorted by the huge droplets. “N-no,no.” I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
“Tell me.”
“I—” I let out a breath, took another, and then released this one in a huge gush. “I miss my brother. I-I w-was th-thinking of h-him.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, pulling me against him so tightly that I could hardly breathe, but then again, his strength seemed to keep me from shattering into pieces. “I miss him all the time. The thought of him never leaves me.” He took a deep breath. “Could this be hormones too?”
“YES!” I cried. “I n-n-never f-felt them this—” deep gulp “—th-this s-s-soon. But I do. I f-f-feel off. Ha-happy and s-s-sad at the s-s-same time.”
Kissing the top of my head, hard, he released me, telling me to stay put. I thought he was going to grab me a tissue to blow my nose, but instead, he wiped my face with his hands, kissed my cheeks, and then took his sweatpants from the chair and slipped them on.
