We walked toward thecastellotogether, still arm in arm, but I noticed how she made sure to dry her tears, even setting her face up to the wind to be sure no trace of them was left for my father to find. However, we were Fausti men. We could smell the salt leftover on a woman’s skin, whether from exertion, desire, or tears.
My father kissed her on the cheek after we entered thecastello, and even though neither his face nor his posture had changed, I sensed it—he knew something was off about her mood as well.
“I will not be long,” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes were closed, and she nodded.
We would discuss business in the office. The wall was made of glass behind the desk and the sea spread out as far as the eye could see from behind him. Right after sunset, there were times when the air outside seemed a dark blue that matched the deepest parts of the sea, before darkness consumed it and the stars came out plentiful. That was the mood in the room, dark blue, except the world behind my father had gone completely dark.
He sat, and after he offered me a seat, I took mine.
“Francesco is going to be a problem,” he said in Italian.
“He will, but he did not challenge me—today.”
“Today,” my father echoed. “But he will.”
“I am prepared.”
He stared at my face, but it was as if his mind was elsewhere. He nodded, as if he were answering my thought a second too late. “Vincenzo tells me Francesco made a public offer for Aria Bella.”
My chest constricted at the thought, my hands balling into fists. If it would not have put Amora under duress, I would have split his throat open and allowed him to bleed out on the street as a pig would. That was how much his blood was worth to me. The same blood I shared. Considering my blood, I would drain my own if it meant she would be safe. However, a scene came back to me from years ago, when I had tested my own brother and his love for his wife when I made a public offer for her. Brando had charged me, bringing me against the wall, bringing cold steel to my throat, spilling my blood as if it had belonged to a pig, even though we shared the same father.
What Brando had done to me was symbolic.
What I had done to Francesco was symbolic.
It was a kiss of poetic justice that I was the one being tested.
“Sì,” I answered, not expanding.
His eyes met mine. “The family did not scent a hostile situation with Rosaria Caffi before her death, only when Massimo followed in my footsteps and became imprisoned in Louisiana, but they are sniffing around us now. They smell blood—old and new. It is not uncommon for a man to take another wife after he has been widowed. However, Rosaria’s death is still new, and the island has concluded you are in love with Aria Bella. Son of mine or no, this situation will be questioned. The family will question the circumstances of Rosaria’s death and the timing of your new love.”
“They might believe I killed Rosaria to replace her.”
He nodded. “Arrangements in our family are not often broken.”
“Only annulled,” I said.
My father narrowed his eyes at me. I had not been disrespectful, but I had never spoken my true thoughts to him. His arrangedmarriage had been annulled to marry his wildflower by his own power.
“I gave you the choice.” His jaw tightened, giving his face a sharper edge. “Free will in regard to the situation with your then wife.”
Free will? He had created me for a purpose, not as he had my brother, out of love. My place in the world was to rule this family. And though it came with freedom, it was still a loveless cage, if love did not find us and slip us the key. My key had come late, after years of starving in silence, and it would come at a time when my crown was on the line. Which meant more danger for my Amora.
“You made your choice,” he continued. “You will deal with the consequences as the king you were born to be. However, this family will not question our truth. You love Aria Bella; you will marry her.”
My eyes froze on his.
“You will respect her, our family will respect her,” he concluded.
He was right, but something came over me then—something that had never come over me before. The power of choice.
“Who is above God in this room to make the decision of fate?” I asked.
His eyes instantly hardened on mine. Though I was not outright challenging the decision he had made for me, my marriage to Rosaria Caffi, I was challenging his role in it. Again, even if the love I felt for my Amora was beyond the feeling of love, he was taking the choice from me again. Though he had chosen for himself all those years ago.
Brando had inherited our father’s skilled way of respecting our family laws while skirting around them. I had never done it before, though I knew the rule book as well as any man who belonged to the family. I could watch my brother do it, as if he were acting skits from my own mind. But I had never acted onthem myself or challenged my grandfather or father when either man ordered me to move.
