My eyes were hard on his. “If not your wife, name the stake.”
“Me,” Brando said, taking a step back.
I fixed my suit, refusing to allow this scene, or the news that this man might rule instead of me, to dishevel me. “Ah, let me guess. Fatherwantsyou.”
“Always has.”
Of course. He was the oldest. This was his birthright, and somehow, he was not forced to honor it. “You will do. I am sure of it. Though, I will have to speak to him first.”
“Be my guest.”
“Settled. However, you have not set your price. If you should win, that is.”
Brando turned to his wife and met her eyes. “You buy my wife out of a contract with a man named Olivier Nemours. I’ll buy it from you for almost nothing.”
“That will take some considerable force.” The pieces all fell into place with my wife. She had been in Paris. She had attended a party hosted by Olivier Nemours. “He is connected.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”
“A Fausti, through and through.” I grinned. Despite my feelings toward him, he was a Fausti, and deep inside of my heart, one day, I knew we would both be honored to call each other blood—to call each otherfratello. “Sì. I will see what can be done.”
“One more thing,” mybrothersaid.
“You are worth quite a bit, I am sure, but not much more than the contract. However, your wife?—”
“My wife chooses the car I drive. After I win, it’s hers.”
I laughed and touched my brother outside of malice for the first time. “Sì. Done.” I waved our wives forward with us. “We can discuss the where and when later. Now, you still have two others to see. I am sure they will be as pleased as I am to meet you.”
Dario and Romeo were waiting in the dining room for us. Right as we approached the threshold, both men stood and fixed their suits. Even though I knew my brothers were tempted to stare at Brando, they stared at me, waiting for my next words.
I nodded. “Brando Fausti, Dario Fausti, Romeo Fausti.”
The three men only nodded at each other. Then they openly studied one another. We all did. It was astounding how one man could have created the four of us all in his image, yet, we all had differences. Slight as they were.
“You are the oldest,” I said to Brando in Italian.
He gave me his birthday. August. I was born November of the same year.
“You will be leading us now,” Romeo said to him, and his eyes flicked to me.
Brando pulled a seat out for his wife, but Rosaria asked her if she would like to see the kitchen of the castle. The look in Brando’s eyes was uncertain.
“The men will not even speak to your wife,” I said.
Scarlett squeezed his arm and nodded.
He stared at his wife, then nodded. He looked at my wife. “The kitchen.”
“No further.” She directed Scarlett outside of the room.
My eyes were narrowed against my wife’s back. She was speaking the truth to him. I did not miss the respect in her voice when she did.
Brando removed his jacket, placing it over a chair, and rolled his sleeves up. He had a tattoo of a ribbon wrapping around his lower arm. It reminded me of a knight who collected a ribbon, a token, of his woman’s love before he went into battle for her—a good luck charm. My brother took the seat opposite of the head of it, sitting first. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve never wanted any of this.” He waved a hand around the room, encompassing all that came with the Fausti throne.
I took the seat at the head of the table. Dario and Romeo sat beside me. There were four of us, and our positions at this table reflected our positions in the family. Brando was older, but by mere months, though technically speaking, it was enough for him to challenge me for my spot.
“Yet you are here,” Dario said, motioning to him.
