We ended the tour in the showroom. It housed all our most valuable Ferraris.
Rosaria took Scarlett by the hand and led her to a stool. I faced off with my brother—same height, same face, same body, except his eyes were dark where mine were light, and my mouth spoke Italian while his spoke English—in front of the collection of Ferraris. A few belonged to our father during his racing days.
“Saperate che condividiamo sangue?”Did you know that we share blood?I asked my brother.
Our conversation took place in Italian.
“No,” he answered.
“Father never mentioned it?”
“Never,” he said. “You?
“Never. Do you understand what goes on here?”
“I am well informed,” he said.
“Do you race, my brother?”
“That is a term earned from respect. I am nothing more to you than an enemy.”
No matter if he felt the term“brother”was earned or not, it did not take from the blood we shared that ran through our veins. However, we could agree on respect being earned. I did not know him, as he did not know me. As with our ways, I would challenge him to find out what he was made of.
“We agree.” I nodded. “A wager then. If respect is earned.”
“Give me the game.”
“What would you prefer?” This man was intense, and after all the pent-up aggression he had been storing, there was no doubthe would go for a fight. He was built for it. The ruthlessness in his veins demanded it.
“A fight.”
I smirked. “You are quite barbaric. An asset. We do not call to arms any longer, unless forced, of course. It is against the rules, unless we go through the proper channels. A race. This is honorable.”
“It’ll do. Name your wager.”
“Ah.” This was where I would test my brother’s blood and the truth in what I had witnessed between he and his wife on my step. And if he accepted my proposition… “One night with your wife.”
My brother’s stare was as unwavering as mine. But when he shrugged, so carelessly, so like our father, the likeness hit me square in the chest. I knew what came after. I was prepared for it.
“Tell me what you would do with my wife.”
I turned my head toward the woman we were wagering over, licked my lips, then turned back to my brother. I was honest. All that I had fantasized would be at my fingertips. “She will dance for me. Then I will make love to her. For hours.” I turned to thebellaballerina. “I will not hurt you,bella. Unless, of course, you desire it.”
I braced myself.
My brother hit me with the force of a Fausti, and we both growled, the inner animals in us ready to shed blood, but I had caused the first cut. My brother removed a knife from his back, pinning me against the wall, the cold steel to my throat. Even though my eyes were locked on his, light against dark, I still knew his woman was attempting to stop us. My wife was keeping her back.
Brando spoke to me in our shared language, daring me to come close to his wife again without his permission. He repeated our motto back to me. Claiming his wife was his blood and bone. He would spill my blood, or any other, that dared to come between him and his wife.
He nicked my throat with the sharp edge of the blade, causingmy blood to spill, as I had caused blood to spill from his heart when I had spoken of his wife in such a way—disrespecting him by offering him a mere wager for a love he was willing to live and die for. My rich blood, which he shared, ran down my throat, staining my white shirt.
My heart pounded in my chest as if he had cut me there, spilling my lifeblood. This man, this Brando Fausti, was not raised in our ways, baptized in this life. He did not wear the symbol of our family on his skin or speak as we did. Yet he was as powerful as if he had been raised with us our entire life. I sensed then that he was older than me.
By right, he would rule this family.
The tears that Rosaria shed earlier came back to me—I imagined blood instead of salt rushing down her cheeks. They were caused by the thought of becoming second in the family.
“Capisci,mio fratello,” Brando said, the two last words,my brother, mockingly.
