“I am here,” Brando agreed. “Not because of this family. Because of Olivier Nemours.”
“You mentioned this,” I said. “What is the deal?”
“My wife,” and the two words were said with a proprietary claim, but there was also awe between the lines. This man, without our family’s influence, had found a way to balance his blood through this woman.
I had sensed that about her. She was the fire in his veins and the blood inside his heart. His lion belonged to her. My heart had recognized the power inside of her to become a man’s entire world. Even if it did not roar in my chest, it had spoken the truth to me. I should have known, then, that my fascination with their relationship would lead me down the darkest roads of my life.
My brother, first in line to claim my spot as oldest son, first to reject our blood in such an open way, had the love I had always craved.
A woman who fed both sides of her man—the romantic and the ruthless.
It was as if my brotherhad sensed my thoughts.His eyes came to mine and refused to leave. It was not disrespectful, or challenging, if our conversation kept to this same vein, but he was studying me as I was openly studying him.
“My wife is a ballerina, as you know, and he found her in Paris and took advantage of her.”
The three of us sat up taller, and his eyes flared with something—something like kinship in this protectiveness we had toward women.
“He touched her,” Dario said.
“Fratellowould have killed him, if he had,” Romeo said, the honorable word easily slipping from his lips.
Both of my brothers were in awe of him, but in different ways. Dario was wondering how he had slipped through our family’s hold and become the man he was despite it. Romeo was admiring his hair.
I was in awe of him as well—he held all I had ever craved in his heart and his hands, besides ruling this family.
Love, as simple and complex as it was.
Brando nodded and spoke our shared language. “I do not have an army, soldiers ready to battle at my word, but I will kill him. I will steal his heart one day for what he has put my wife through.” He hit his chest. “My honor.”
I sat closer to the table, steepling my fingers, resting them against my chin. “Tell me how much you know about the Nemours.”
Brando grinned. “Enough to know I despise the entire family.”
“Your instincts are correct,” Dario said.
“We have warred with them before,” Romeo added. “Not often. And not about a Romeo and Juliette. But we have.”
“Warred would not be the correct term,” I said. “Disputes. Minor ones.”
“This is not minor,”Brandosaid. “This is over my wife.”
The three of us became quiet.
“You mentioned a contract?” I shattered the silence.
Brando nodded at me. “An honorable term for what exists between him and I. My wife is required to dance in his underground clubs.”
My eyes shot to his. “The woman in Volterra.” The entire picture came into focus then. My brother’s wife. She had two sides just as he did. The prima ballerina and the alluring kitten. Her hair made the difference, throwing her in stark contrast when I compared the two.
His eyes fired back. “You’ve seen her.”
I nodded. “My wife was invited.” I remembered the look in Olivier’s eyes when I had made an offer for her. He was a man possessed. This situation was already tangled in knots. The Nemours would not battle over small fires, but Olivier was entranced. He might have even believed the lies he fed to his patrons. I was close to believing them.
At his club and outside of it.
Even in the daylight, she was alluring in a way that seemed not of this world.
“The race,” Brandosaid, bringing us back to the beginning of the conversation while simultaneously ending it. He stood and we all followed, fixing our suits. “When I win, I want the contract.”
