“I see,” Moro said in a solemn tone. “Even if it is not, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit to then? It is always a pleasure to see you Signore Fausti, and your family.”
This guy might have been a pirate who was two hundred years too late, but he was a terrible fucking liar.
The smile Nonno gave in response to that question came slowly, and when his teeth were visible, Moro started to sweat.
“The Nemours.”
“Ahh,” Moro breathed out, reaching for his goblet. It was filled with what looked like blood but was red wine. I could smellit in the air. “For record’s sake, when Olivier Nemours was on the hunt for your daughter, I disappeared. I did not want any part of it.”
Nonno nodded. “If you had, you would have already been dead. But I did not come here to discuss what is already known.” He tapped on the table once, twice, three times with his pointer finger. “How is the leg, Moro? Let me remind you, since the sun can do more than skin damage, that the leg was only business. This is personal.”
Moro had a business deal with my great-grandfather, Marzio, back in the day, and he’d been late on the profits. Great-Grandfather set Nonno after him, and Nonno had a lion back then. He set it loose on Moro in a maze. If Moro could escape, his life was his, but if the lion got to him first…Moro wouldn’t be sitting here. Padrino told me that Uncle Tito had told him that when Nonno gave Moro a head start, Nonno was screaming, “Run, Meat! Run for your life!” Laughing the entire time while the lion went berserk in his enclosure.
“The leg still hurts.” Moro drained his glass. “I still appreciate you allowing me to leave with my life that day,SignoreFausti. Better a maimed leg than no life at all.” He seemed to ponder that for a second. “If you wouldn’t mind…ah… How do I even ask this?” He looked Nonno in the eyes. “The girl…”
“Either I will kill you for not doing what I tell you to, or the Nemours will kill you for intervening, so you are stuck between a sword and a wall.” Nonno summed up Moro’s reservations and spoke them out loud to the entire table. “And to understand the degree of this situation, you want to know who the girl is to us.”
“She is mine,” I said in Italian.
None of the men at the table even blinked at the admission. I’d claimed Stella as mine from the moment I saw her, and I wanted the entire world to know, especially the darkest parts of it. She had a man out there who would fight for her honor.
Me.The man she’d someday call husband.
“Just as the woman you spoke of before is mine,” my father said in Italian. “Mywife.”
“Ahh,” Moro breathed out again. “Lovely dancer.” He hesitated. “Is it true she danced in Sub Rosa again?”
Ahhwas fucking right. He might have tucked his tail between his legs and “disappeared” when the first war was going on between the Faustis and the Nemours over my mamma, but he hadn’t cut himself off from the world entirely. Unless he’d seen mamma dance before the two families went to war over her. There was a time she had a contract with Nemours and had honored it.
I’d had enough of the fucking bullshit, and taking him by surprise, I rose from my chair, grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the wall. He was scratching at my hand, clawing to get free. His eyes started to bulge. Right before he went out, I released him. He wheezed and gasped for air, sliding down the wall and trying to find his breath. He tried to talk, but it took him a second.
His voice was raspy, like his windpipe had sandpaper in it. “I’ve seen her, the girl. Étoile is what they call her. She is much, much bigger than the other dancer, in terms of monetary worth to the Nemours.” He took a deep breath in, slowly releasing it out. His eyes were closed, as if he was savoring the taste of air like he was savoring the taste of wine. “She is worth, to the Nemours, another war. However.” He lifted a finger. “Régine Nemours has a new husband, after her last one was killed, of course. The new husband is willing to make a deal. He wants the girl gone, after, ah, after the sudden interest in her.”
My voice was tight when I snapped, “The Russians want to sell her.”
“To the highest bidder.” He nodded. “Or one of them might even kill her. By accident, of course, or it might become a warbetween the Nemours and the Russians. But whatever you do, do it fast. The Nemours know you want the girl, and that puts her in far more danger than she’s ever known.”
Chapter 8
Stella
Being so used to the vibe of the château gave me an advantage. Being so secluded only heightened that advantage. I could feel a change in the “pressure” of the château when something out of the ordinary happened. Because I’d lived in the dungeon part of this rich estate since I’d arrived here, and being so alone made me more aware of what was going on around me. I was like a woman who had been shipwrecked and lost on an island by herself. So much time alone made me feel the changes in pressure before an oncoming storm.
And the “pressure” in the château had changed. Each minute felt more imminent than the last. Like, at any second, that storm this place was preparing for was going to take us all under.
It had only been a day or two since Régine the wicked witch and her equally as evil daughter had stolen my hair and my coat, but it felt like the mood from that time was miles away from the mood of this one.
I set my eyeshadow down and toyed with the idea of a storm tearing this place apart, level by level, room by room, the people still in it, including me. I relished that idea, even if I was one of the casualties, if I got to watch each life drain before mine. I knew it wasn’t a very nice thought to have, but I’d built up a lotof pent-up anger and resentment over the years, even if I had mastered keeping it locked up.
Then I sighed, thinking about Matteo.
Matteo on a horse, riding in through the storm to swoop me up before the water drowned me like one of Régine’s pet rats.
The look on her face would be priceless. While her rats were clawing at her hair, he’d grab me by the hand and lift me up, charging me out of this place. The last image of her I would have would be her head going under, her rats trying to swim away.
Okay, maybe it didn’t make sense. Because how could the horse swim through all that water to save me? If we were all going under… I was sure I’d think of another scenario soon, one that made more sense. But did it really matter if it didn’t? It made me happy to think about. Giddy, in fact, and I refused to deny myself that. A few moments of happiness, even if the story made no sense and was so farfetched, not even paranormal novels would touch it.
I knew a thing or two about novels. Henri had given me a few to hide in the vanity.
