Perhaps it began even before that, with that simple-minded child of a woman, Maggie Beautiful, as she called herself. She ruined Luca Fausti as Scarlett had ruined Brando Fausti.
A shriek tore through my head as lightning would. I could not tolerate a weak person! If my mouth could be turned into a deadly weapon, I would destroy each one of them with my truth. Just as I did that daughter of a whore. The voice in my head turned snarky at her name, Chloe De Bourbon. She was a carbon copy of every woman who did not belong in the family. Their kind should be outlawed!
I did not ruin my husband. I built him up to be the king of lions—of beasts—and he had flourished, had he not? Perhaps Brando had forfeited his right to rule, but that was only because his heart had softened after years of the ballerina dancing on it. He did not want a war with his brother, as was the usual Fausti custom when two brothers desired the crown. Perhaps Scarlett had talked him out of it, afraid of losing him. Rocco was formidable. Just as formidable as Brando Fausti, which was why Luca had wanted them both for the one role of king.
Both would not do. Rocco or no man. And despite the reasons he kept the crown, he would be king. That was all that mattered. Our marriage was not in vain. It had grown into a poisonous flower no one had ever heard of or seen before. One taste was death to our enemies’ greatest loves. Another taste, if the enemy dared, was a painful death no man could even imagine. There were times I wished death could go deeper. Hurt for longer. Happen more than once.
All deaths should start with the same reaction that daughter of a whore had to hazelnut. It was the panic at not being able to breathe that was so satisfying to watch. Two men could go after each other with swords and be brave until the bloody end. But poison his drink and watch as it suffocates him? It would be a delight to watch! I had decided anaphylaxis was my death of choice for enemies.
That was what I had grown with my husband—not roses or wildflowers or sunflowers, but something more deadly than oleander or nightshade. It smothered slowly.
And this was the thanks I got for attempting to weed out the ones who did not belong. A ride with Donatoto meet with my father-in-law after he “requested” a meeting with me. I was starting to wonder why I blamed the women. It should have been the men who were supposed to be the leaders of the great and powerful Faustifamigliawho should have been to blame for allowing softness to infiltrate the family as weeds would.
We had already taken a hit when Lothario took over and was aweak ruler—all that he did to secure the position was underhanded. Which in the eyes of the family was considered weak, even if not to the rest of the world, where being underhanded would be an asset. But in the Fausti family, it was considered weak because it was not truthful.
Neither here nor there.
Ishould rule the family. If I did, I would bring it back to where it should be.
Donato said nothing to me as he exited the car and opened my door. I did not have anything to say to him either. He was a puppet, and I did not speak to toys. Perhaps earlier in my life I had, but I did not waste my precious time on them anymore.
The all-great Luca requested the meeting at hiscastelloin his walled city in Lucca. I would have attended the summons without the chauffeur and chaperone, but it was the point my father-in-law was making.You will be treated as any commoner.Luca Fausti might have been king, but my husband would be the future king. Only he could dethrone me. And he would not. We had claimed each other once upon a time, and neither of us could pull away—not fully.
Brando and Scarlett had a powerful love. Rocco and Rosaria had a powerful connection as well. It was not love, and we still survived.
I smoothed out my black dress, or power suit as I thought of it, and walked ahead of Donato, not bothering to wait for him to tell me when to move. I was ahead of him in all things—not just this life—and did not need the chaperoning. But hewouldopen my doors and come at a lift of my eyebrows, if I wished it.
At the door, Donato slipped in front of me and opened it, though he only left it open for me. He did not allow me entry before him, which was not customary or respectful. Subtle messages that were loud to us were the ways of life for us. Therefore. I “accidentally”sent the point of my heel into his fine shoe as I breezed past him in the hallway.
He did not make a face or a noise, but he did not like this. Later, when he removed his shoe, his foot would bear my mark.
I grinned.
I internally grinned when that ridiculous-looking man, Nino, saw me coming and, scrunching up his face, turned on his heel and went the other way. He had been wounded in a war and did not want a battle with me.
The first war did not finish him off. The battle with me would.
“Ah,” Vincenzo said, stepping out of the dining room, his jet-black hair slicked back into a low bun that rested against the nape of his neck. As if he reflected my own roots, his hair was mixed with silver. “I should have known it was you who arrived. Instead of heralding angels, it is a woman who summons weeping widows from the past as a reminder that make the men scatter like rain.”
I set a hand to my heart. “You flatter me, Vincenzo.”
He grinned and disappeared into the massivecastello.
Vincenzo was a finder in the family. He found enemies and destroyed them. Of course he would flatter me. I did the same thing. I sighed. But I needed to be able to make the rulings on when to charge and destroy. I was not allowed to do that. And being summoned told me I would be punished for attempting to kill the daughter of the whore with nuts.
Standing in the grand entry, I took in the space around me. The vaulted ceilings. The frescoes. The real gold fixtures. Thiscastellowas ancient and special to the family. My husband would have it when he ruled. Mentally, I imagined it the way I wanted it decorated. I had not touched a thing in the villa in Maranello. It was not truly a Fausti home but one that belonged to the Angeli family. It said nothing in terms of who we were. We did not want the Angeli family mark, but the Fausti one.
What better way than living in the home Luca Fausti had?
Feminine laughter from the dining room reached me before the two saps did. Scarlett and her mother-in-law. Margherita said nothing to me, and neither did Scarlett. Her son, Matteo, did noteven bother to acknowledge me either. However, even though Scarlett did not greet me with words, her eyes on my leg said it all. In a German castle back in December, she had caught me coming on to her son. It was a split moment’s decision, but I did not regret it. If I had to lay a foundation for a war between my husband and his nephew, so be it. My son would rule. Not Matteo Fausti.
This hurt the little ballerina’s sensitive sensibilities, and she tripped me. I went down, cracking my knee on the step. She threatened to slice my throat if I ever tried anything like that again with any of her spawn. She was feisty when the need arose. I respected her for her cutthroat response, if not for anything else. It had caused an irreparable crack between us, and it would never be the same.
Fine with me.
I always thought of losses as a good thing. It weeded out the people who did not belong in my life. I did not agree with her way, and she did not agree with mine. The only time we would have to spend together was during the planning of my husband’s coronation—for the switching of power. Luca had decided to retire before the end of his life due to his wife having a health scare. He also wanted to be a part of his son’s ascension.
The time I would spend with Scarlett and the other women for the event would be it—end of story. We would be able to exist in the same room for the sake of the family, and after, we would be enemies again. Carmen, Dario’s wife, was going tojust adore that my sister would be with me during the planning.
