You win some and you lose some, ah?
Chapter 3
Eternal Winter
The meeting with my father had ended. Rosaria stormed through the villa in Maranello after, though she did not break anything. She kept her fists balled and her feet in a straight line, the tempest around her causing her hair to flow behind her as if it had a mind of its own.
She had tested me. She had tested my father.
The tests were answered.
Even though Rosaria had been caged by my father’s order, it would not stop her from taking her revenge. As they say, if there is a will, there is a way.
Perhaps, if Rosaria would have her way, Chloe would find herself in the same situation again with the hazelnuts, or even worse. That was the end goal. If Chloe could not be frightened away, Rosaria would resort to murder.
If this was an acceptable practice between the men, why not the women?
Especially if it was a sacrifice for the greater good of thefamiglia. I did not enjoy being inside of Rosaria Caffi’s mind, but regardless of my preferences, I knew how her mind worked, since it mirrored the mind of any man in the Faustifamiglia.
Rosaria accepted death as part of the life—a means to an end.
If a man disobeyed, he would be punished. If he continued to mock our rules, he would be killed. If the offense was personal, his heart would be stolen.
This had become personal to Rosaria.
She was disappointed in Massimo for choosing Chloe De Bourbon as his bride over the family. Disappointed in me for allowing the marriage and not forcing Massimo to challenge Matteo. Disappointed in my father for allowing me to allow the marriage. Disappointed in Brando Fausti for showing up, casting a glow on our entire family with the tender light his wife held inside of her. It was not the red hue she would prefer. It was much too soft and not fit for our ruthlessfamiglia.
Sì, Rosaria Caffi could stand against a man in our family with her unfeeling coldness, but she could never truly call herself a Fausti. Balance. She did not have it. She was entirely ruthless, not able to find the romance in life. Perhaps before she had. She had found some situations growing close to her heart. The romance inside of her died when she allowed the ruthlessness that she craved to consume her, therefore, consuming me. However, I could still think clearly enough to make acceptable decisions. She had lost the ability to see anything past her desires, even to a small degree.
Rosaria had been consumed by Rosaria.
Sighing, I took my glass of whiskey to the balcony, looking out at the frozen world behind my villa. The cars were quiet today. Usually, the racing team the Angeli family owned could be heard. The track was not far.
The same track I had raced my older brother on years ago.
As they usually did, a barrage of memories seemed to attack me.
What I had held.
What I did not still hold.
What satisfied me.
What I still craved.
What I knew.
What I still did not.
Thedid notwere empty dreams that had never came to fruition. As Rosaria had made slashes across my skin over the years, these dead ghosts made them across my soul. The heart in my chest was nothing but a weary lion retreating into the shadows and licking his wounds—the only sustenance he had, his own blood.
The arrangement between Rosaria and I seemed to grow from my spent lion’s thoughts.
We never had a true love, but at one time, perhaps we had something more powerful than that between us.
Understanding.
I had come to understand her. She had come to understand me. Somewhere in the middle, we met and created acceptance. Acceptance that was able to grow what resembled love between us.
