Ettore was cut and dry. I hoped for the long way around and enough water to keep his whistle wet for hours. Time would only tell.
Instead of watching the clock, I grabbed for an article that had been written about me and took a seat in the reading nook of our master suite. My sister had sent it to me knowing I would fall inside of the pages if I could. It was a glowing review of my last opera and how I, Rosaria Caffi, was a legend even without my last name sending me into that eternal direction.
Sì, I could have told them that, but at least the world still had some sane brains left in it.
Being too caught up in myself did not prepare me for my husband’s entrance. He was so quiet at times, even I could not keep up with his steps. His jacket had already been left on the bed, his sleeves rolled up, and his shoes off. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on a table. Opera, not mine, serenaded us in the background suddenly.
“A bath,” he said, holding out his hand for me.
I looked at it and followed the long line to his face. “Showering is too intimate for me,” I said. When I had been with that loser boner on the yacht in Monaco, my friend had washed him before we devoured him. He did not last long but he was able to harden frequently. At least he had that going for him.
He took his hand back, but I knew the thorn that had gotten stuck inside of him was still there, irking him.
Sighing, I set the magazine down and stood. He towered over me, and his muscles were straining against his skin. His skin was so taut, I could trace each of his swollen veins back to his heart. His breath smelled of cool mint, but I could feel the heat radiating off him like the power of the sun had collected and invaded his vessels.
“We need a plan,” I said, refusing to even give in to the urge to stretch. He was watching me with a new light in his eyes. It was the kind of the light that only made the night inside of him darker.
He cocked his head to the side. “A plan.”
I nodded. “He will not take over this family, and she is trouble. I felt it the first time I met her. She will draw trouble to us. He will defend her to the death. It will not only be a love story for the ages. It will cause us nothing but heartache.”
“We do not have those,” he said. “Hearts to cause an ache.”
Yes! “We have clever minds, which is worth so much more. This is why we should act. My mind tells me so.”
“Act.”
I paused for a second. He was goading me, leading me to the truth. I had no fear in stating this. “We need to kill them, Rocco.”
“Kill my brother and his wife.”
I sighed. “You do not care about either of them. You are fascinated by the love between them. That is all. Perhaps this fascination will last forever. Perhaps it will not. Not after he gets his greedy hands on this family after he finds out what it means to truly be a Fausti.” I ran my hands up his chest. “You deserve this, husband. You deserve it all.”
His eyes lowered, and before I could react, he had me by the wrists, pinning me against the wall, holding my own hands against me. I did not fight. Of course I did not. My heart reacted to the power, to the sheer thrill of him this way.
“You expect me to kill my own brother.”
I laughed. “You act as if this is not acceptable in your family!How many men have hit the soil because of a challenge? This is your right! This is your family! Your challenge shall be heard and won!”
His eyes studied mine, as if he was hearing the truth in my words and taking them to heart. Perhaps he was. But I should have known better. His passionate heart was bleeding at the thought of killing not his brother, not his wife, but what existed between them.
“This is why I am here, husband. This is why I was born. To remind you of how powerful you are. How ruthless. You are a Fausti. A true Fausti. You were raised in their ways, and blood stained your hands before you even had a woman!” I hissed at him. “Love fades. But the ruthless ones—those are the one who make history. We will make our history. Your brother and his spinning toy will make a different kind—a kind that belongs to them. That is fair, no?”
At first, I thought I had snagged him. Brought him deep into my mind and reasonings, but he shook his head, as if shaking out of a trance. His pressure on me became almost painful, but I only bit my lip, moaning.
“You will fuck me like a monster tonight,” I breathed. “You will fuck me so hard, and so good, there will not be enough pasta in the world to feed me to make me forget how much it hurt. How deep you have gone. How ruthless you are, my king.”
He leaned in close, setting his warm mouth close to my ear. “You ever touch my brother or his wife…” His laughter was a breath in my ear, but one that traveled down my spine like a cold wind. “The last the world will hear from your sister is her beautiful song before she perishes at my hands.” He slowly moved away from me, our eyes holding.
He did not truly mean his brother or his brother’s wife, but the love they shared. I could not save him from this, this…road he would be led down, following the alluring scent of it. He was not created for whatever they shared. He and his brothers were created to lead this family. But I knew in that moment that I would never be able to convince him of this. He would have to learn on his own.
I sighed, and it felt as if my entire future had deflated. I shouldhave killed her when I had the chance, but she had spun me into a trance as well. My entrapment was only momentary. My husband would be trapped in his hopes and beliefs all his life. This was why his father had suggested me to him. Luca Fausti knew Rocco Fausti needed me to keep balanced.
He kept his eyes on mine, his grip still firm on my wrist, as he yanked me away from the wall. I wished for him to throw me around like a threadbare doll, but the grin on his face made me shiver, and not in pleasure. He was walking us toward the bathroom.
I knew then.
He was going to punish me for what I had done. For all that I had done to him.
