I would remember my place in this life, whatever the future decided. I would remember it and honor it.
It is what a Fausti was born to do.
The gold around my neck absorbed the warmth in my chest, while the blood in my veins ran cold.
Epilogue I:
The End of the Beginning which leads us to the Middle
It is said that days are long, but life is short. I had always found life came in seasons and was punctuated by life-altering events. Perhaps that was why I had decided to begin my story as I had, with chapters of my life that had fundamentally changed it.
The experience at the witch’s tower in Maranello.
The first time I had ever set eyes on Rosaria Caffi and heard her aria.
Our marriage.
Finding our place together amid the struggle to become a couple who would not constantly pull against each other but could come together despite what we wanted and needed for the good of the family.
Scarlett Rose Fausti entering my life.
Brando Piero Fausti entering my life.
The chapters that I did not relive but had caused significant changes followed. Changes powerful enough to punctuate my story and separate them into the most important chapters of my life.
Olivier Nemours and the war he had caused.
Family turning on us.
My wife making the decision she did not want children with me. My brother was first in line and could carry on heirs.
Craving the kind of love my brother and his wife had so badly, I would have stolen his wife away from him without a second thought, even if it meant we killed each other.
Becoming close to my older brother in ways I did not foresee and in ways that filled gaping holes in my heart and soul.
My brother’s life serving as a reminder of the holes inside of me that were bleeding out.
Witnessing fate at work as it brought my sons into my life.
Massimo Leone Fausti.
Amadeo Leone Fausti.
Marzio Leone Fausti.
Ludovico Leone Fausti.
Standing tall before my father without bars for the first time since I was a young man.
My older brother publicly denouncing his right to rule. He did not want it. He had found a love that meant more to him than power, than our family name. That love meant more to him than life. Not wanting bad blood between us, since he never wanted to rule, he handed the family to me after a war we barely won, where enemies were disguised as family.
My brother stood over me as I was confined to a hospital bed, holding out his hand for me to take. Our father got to his feet, knowing what Brando was about to relinquish.
“It is yours,” my olderbrother had spoken to me in Italian, and I would remember the seriousness, the passion, the truth in it for the rest of my life. “I do not want it. This is me, Brando Piero Fausti, handing over what is by right mine to you, Rocco Piero Fausti, my brother.”
My eyes had met not my brother’s eyes, but my father’s.
“Do not look at him,” mybrotherhad said. “Look at me,brother. This is between me and you.” He touched his heart, then touched mine. “He cannot give or take away what is mine by right. Marzio, our grandfather, offered it to me while he still lived. I turned it down then, and he assured me that it was my right to do so. It is yours by right to take, unless our father decides to give it to someone else.”
