“I know talk is cheap.” I looked down at my hands. “But…all these secrets I’ve witnessed behind the gates are safe with me. Even though I find information on criminal families and report on it, I also keep their secrets. And if you’ve ever read my articles about your family, I’ve never held back about the things I know, but I’ve also never tried to purposely darken who they are.
“This might be hard to believe, but I respect your family and your history. Even before I met you, I dreamed of them beingmyfamily. Maybe my intention in the beginning was to get more of a bird’s eye view from behind the gates, but…intentions can change, just like feelings.”
I wasn’t sure why I let all that flow. I’d never felt the need to defend or prove myself to anyone, but it felt right to do both with Nazzareno. Maybe because I truly trusted him.
He glanced at me, and all I could see was my reflection in his aviator’s. Our eyes held, even if I couldn’t see the look behind the glasses, and then he snapped his attention back to the road.
“When you look at me that way, I feel the empty spot in my chest.”
Same, I wanted to say, but only held his hand tighter.
We were so close to the hospital, and even though I would be waiting with Aristide, I still felt involved to a certain degree. Luca had ordered Nazzareno to watch me, and I was sure Luca ordering Lothario’s son to do anything, especially after what had happened, wasn’t going to go over well with Lothario.
If it were me, and my sister cut my legs off for a position in our family…I would expect my kids to avenge me or something. But Edna and I would have long, deep, rambling conversations about this family in her office at night over takeout and too many drinks. We’d offer ideas and take notes on the things we knew versus the things we felt about the dynamics of the family. One thread would lead into a labyrinth, and I loved being lost inside of it with history as my compass and my intuition as the flashlight.
I knew, with almost entire certainty, that if Nazzareno or any of his brothers tried to avenge what had happened to Lothario, it would only lead to more war among the family.
Nazzareno never confided in me how he felt about all this, but he was almost…indifferent about it, which told me a lot. He probably didn’t want his father to challenge Luca in the first place. Maybe he felt the position had always been rightfully Luca’s and his father should have bowed out gracefully, even being thankful for the short time he ruled.
“Bravery does not always mean fighting, Ava. It also means we know when to surrender to our fate with grace.”
I was never down to surrender to my fate with grace. I’d always challenged it, believing I wrote my own fate, since the choice was mine, whichever road I went down, good or bad. Those two sentences told me a lot about who Nazzareno Fausti was, and how he survived this family.
The only thing Edna and I had always agreed on…it was a tightrope to walk if what we believed was true about all the ruthless rules. Then add romance into the mix...and the world had itself an ancient family who had found a way to preserve its core in modern day.
Sort of like finding a prehistoric dragonfly in a chunk of age-old amber. All their unwritten laws were engraved in its shell in the same color. The center was gooey, and warm, and would ooze out if cracked…the romance. It was still alive inside of this ruthless shell. It was protected it at all costs.
Leandro, though, seemed to be all shell, no soft center to give him balance.
I would never tell Nazzareno this, because it just seemed like comparing siblings, and that wasn’t fair to him, but Luca’s faction, his sons, always seemed to excel at that—balancing the two.
Just like Luca.
Just like Marzio.
Just like Nazzareno.
As I got to know him, I liked to think he got a lot of that balance from Marzio. Just like the color of his eyes. I wasn’t sure if Leandro was more like Lothario or not, because I didn’t know them personally, but…if Lothario was more like his last-born son, I worried about what Nazzareno might have to do someday to keep him in check.
His vengeful face at the prison was hard to forget. He wasn’t as memorable as the man with dead eyes who went for my throat, but he’d made an impression.
Aristide seemed more like Nazzareno, though I never talked to him much. It seemed like he was purposely avoiding me. But Nazzareno seemed to trust him more since I’d properly met him.
Nazzareno swiftly pulled into a spot at the hospital. He braked without sending my head forward, even though he had been going fast. He looked me over once more in a heated way. The same way he’d been looking at me all morning.
He stepped out to open my door.
I looked myself over once more.
Even though I wasn’t going to be directly involved in the meeting, I’d dressed for my audience. The Faustifamigliapresented themselves in a certain light. I refused to look like a pauper among the royal court, even if I was only a meddling reporter in their eyes. And as I’d found in France and Italy in general, even exhausted new moms still made a statement with their styles.
I’d bought the dress I decided to wear in Paris. It was a long sleeve, off the shoulder midi dress that fell right below my knees. I paired it with black slingback pumps. The weather had grown crisper, not truly cold yet, but my black coat with faux fur trim felt nice wrapped around my body—another layer. I’d done my hair in soft curls and added tasteful jewelry. Fake, but tasteful: a knockoff watch, cubic zirconia studs, and a gold vermeil dome ring I’d brought from a New York street vendor.
Nazzareno held his hand out to me, and I smoothed my clothes down once I’d stepped out. Being with him always felt like such an event. He turned heads wherever he went. Even in Italy, he was a crowd-stopping statue among gorgeous statues. And he commanded the room. I’d never felt a man’s presence like his before. It felt strong enough to stop rush hour traffic with just a hand lift.
He was all Fausti.
He dressed like one too. Expensive everything. Suit, long jacket, shoes. The air even clung to his cologne, and it seemed to melt and drift.
