I nodded at her.
Even though my attention was focused elsewhere, I did not miss the look Mari sent to Mac, or the way he studied me afterward with a resigned sigh. He had been keeping closer to me as of late. He was to be whatProzioTito had been to my grandfather all those years ago, just as his son, Saverio, would do the same for my nephew, Matteo. Father and son were trusted in ourfamiglia, and the marriage of my niece, Mia Bellarosa to Saverio, tied the knot that would always connect our family to theirs.
As if this thought had summoned them, my niece and her husband came to stand next to us. Mia called mePadreand, lifting on her toes as a graceful ballerina would, placed a soft kiss on my cheek. Her husband greeted me next. Saverio’s sister, Evelina, was right behind them. Her man, who everyone called Wolf, kept close to her.
Wolf was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, an elite and secret group of Russian assassins. Brando and Scarlett’s youngest son, Maestro, would be marrying into part of that life when he was of age. His marriage had been arranged by Wolf’s boss, Lev. The future marriage was the main reason my father allowed the Russians so close.
A conversation began, and the entire time, my niece held her hand on my arm as if she was attempting to warm my frozen skin. Mia Bellarosa was touched, as her mamma was. I did not want her to worry over me. I set my hand over hers and patted it occasionally. She did not buy it and sighed as Mac had.
Before long, our group merged with my father’s group. His brothers and their wives. Niccolo, as usual, was on the hunt for a woman whose desires were not filled. He would fillthem for her. He was the youngest of my father’s brothers, and the expectation of him to marry did not exist. He did not have any sons or daughters—I patted Mia’s hand—and that was not expected of him either. He was so far down the line, he did not matter much. Especially after my father had four sons.
Massimo and Chloe joined our group. Chloe still had specks of paint in her hair. My son would not allow her to wash them clean. She was not confident in his opinion of this. She continued to touch her hair, her wary eyes darting around the party for her future mother-in-law. My son pulled her even closer and took both of her hands in his, keeping them safe within his. She sighed and visibly relaxed.
Before we sat for dinner, I squeezed his neck, allowing him to feel how proud I was. The joy in watching him be the man I had raised him to be was the honor of my life.
My eyes did not miss much, even if the entire table assumed I was focused on my dinner. My niece did not miss much either. Her eyes kept landing on my face more than anyone else. She was in tune to everyone around her. She felt my hesitance the most. The party had gone without incident, and if it did not, Rosaria would steal my heart tonight. If she did not have somewhere to channel her inner rage, she would combust. She loved herself too much to allow that to happen. And making Chloe feel insignificant, not good enough for our floors, was nothing to her.
If Chloe could not take her vitriol, how was thegirlsupposed to live our ways and be the wife my son deserved?
Rosaria refused to accept Massimo not being the future king as she would refuse this marriage—until she no longer had the breath to do so.
My father sat on the opposite side of the table, facing me. King facing future king. He stood and tapped his knife against the side of his crystal glass filled with red wine. The entire table quieted as he fixed his suit with his free hand and then bestowed a blessing upon my son and his future wife, raising his glass to the couple. The entire table did the same. He ended the salutation.And once he drank, it was as if he had ended a commanding sentence with an immovable period.
Finale.
My son seemed to have been injected with pride as he thanked his grandfather, then pulled his future wife in for a tender kiss on the cheek. Chloe’s face was brighter than the red wine, her flush seeming to warm the entire room. Her eyes were wet with tears, but I also noticed her scratching at her arms.
Massimo said something in her ear. Her eyes were tearing, the droplets running down her face. Her nose ran. Her lips doubled in size. Her neck and chest were patched with red hives—the color of her cheeks. She grabbed for the wine, drinking it down, then started to choke. She grabbed at her throat as if she could not breathe.
“Haze—” she began but could not finish. She started to wheeze as if her air was being cut off.
Massimo’s frantic eyes landed on mine as he held her closer, at a loss of what to do. I snapped an order at the doctor I had invited to the party for a reason such as this. She ran to Chloe’s side, asking her rapid questions in Italian.
“Hazelnut,” Massimo snapped at the doctor. “She is allergic.”
I knew this, and so did my wife. Our son had told us this—he did not want anything served with it as an ingredient.
“My fault.” Abree stood, acting as if she were concerned. “Rosaria asked me to handle the dessert menu. I did not know.”
“It must have slipped my mind,” Rosaria said casually, waving a dismissive hand.
The doctor gave Chloe a shot, assigning a stage to her attack, 4, but in a few minutes, Chloe started to breathe easier. Still, the doctor escorted Chloe to the hospital, Massimo carrying her out of the party. The doctor wanted to monitor her since she was still wheezing, though not fighting for breath as she had been.
The party dispersed after, my niece giving me a pained look before she left, my father a cold one that warned me we woulddiscuss this. Alone at our table fit for a king and his queen, my wife sipped her wine as if nothing had happened.
“Pity,” she said, her eyes meeting mine in defiance, “that all the guests had to leave the party early.” She picked up a leftover dessert, turning it some to study it, then flung it back on the plate as if it had dishonored her. “At least it was not a dull one.” She kept her eyes on mine as she rose from her seat and left me alone at the table.
Chapter 2
Win Some, Lose Some
How did it all go off the tracks so violently that there were no survivors left of the Fausti family who knew how to rule it? It seemed as if I were a ghost stuck on earth, staring at the wreckage, taking the tracks back to one defining moment in the history of the family.
Scarlett Poésy. She did not deserve the name Fausti to wear as if it were a queen’s robe to parade around in for fun.
With even the wind bowing at her feet, she snuck her tiny self inside the gates, spinning the family around, shaking up their minds.
I could not make sense of it otherwise.
