He was wearing a cowboy hat and trench coat.
My body had such a violent reaction to the sight that I rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a resoundingthud!I crab crawled as fast I could toward the bathroom. Mariano was barreling out of it, and when I reached his feet, he hauled me up in his arms.
“Sistine.” His tone was serious, his eyes frantic. His hair wild. Wilder than it had been.
“Some.” I took a deep breath. “Someone. Was. At. The. Window. I think.” I blinked at him, wondering if the man at the window had been a figment of my overactive imagination.
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
He went to set me down, but I refused to let go of him. “No. Please. Do not leave me. Please.”
He was going to stash me someplace and search the area, I knew it.
Another shock of lightning then rolls of thunder shook the windowpanes again.
This time, the only man I saw was my husband. His eyes were narrowed on the window, a stone look on his face. His body had grown harder, as if he were preparing for an enemy to crash through the door at any second.
I took a deep breath. “See anything?” I whispered.
He shook his head. He said nothing as he grabbed for his gun, handing it to me. He swiped up a T-shirt and his sweatpants, carrying us all to the second floor. A loft faced the front door. He set his T-shirt down on an old wooden chair, me on it next. He slipped his sweatpants on. Picked me up, satdown, and we maneuvered until his T-shirt was on. He took the gun from me.
He kissed the top of my head. “Sleep, Annie. I’m here.”
He kept me wrapped in his arms all night, watching the door, trigger finger ready if anyone entered our home.
Chapter 25
Mariano
The truck bounced along the path leading back to our cabin. The storm had done some damage, but not a lot. Enough to knock some branches down and leave gullies in places that were run down by time and elements. One tree had been struck by lightning, half of it hanging to the ground, a black char mark scenting the air—burning wood and watery ash.
I wiped a hand down my face, replaying the morning with my wife. She might not be afraid of spiders, or much else, but she sure the fuck was afraid of storms and snakes. Not wary. Fucking terrified.
Before we left for the main house, where Atta was waiting, my wife made me check the entire house for snakes. She eyed me while I did, almost frantic about telling me to be careful.
“Why the fuck would a snake be in our cabin?” One I hadn’t found before when I’d checked it for hideaways. I made sure all the nooks and crannies where wildlife was likely to take refuge were clear after I’d first taken my wife to our cabin.
“I do not know,” she barely got out. “Perhaps because it is old and has holes where it should not. The storm scared them inside.”
No, she was scared inside.
After all was clear, again, I took her to her cousin. Family would soon be arriving for the wedding, including my grandfather, which had a lot of people anxious. Say-his-name-more-than-once-and-he’ll-appear kind of anxious.
Nonnowasn’t to be fucked with, no doubt, but it all came down to knowing how to act around a man such as Luca Leone Fausti. A man had to know what kind of man he was. His principles. What he believed in. Then set them against his own principles and beliefs and either find a way to meet him in the middle or be prepared to fight him.
If I found my principles or beliefs didn’t align with his, or we couldn’t agree to disagree respectfully, I would be prepared to challenge him. But that was where we agreed. Where we were alike. We understood that about each other. Over the years, when I could realize it, I realized that was where my old man and grandfather could come to terms with each other too.
We were men who stood on what we believed. If those principles or beliefs were challenged, we rose with our proverbial swords in hand and were prepared to challenge whoever attempted to run over our lines.
I had never been interested in running the family, like Matteo orPadrinowere. I was content to claim the family name, share in the belief that what made us Faustis was the ability to balance ruthlessness and romance, two sides balancing on the edge of a sword.
However, where Matteo always kept himself inside of the lines, I thrived in the shadows—somewhere between right and wrong.
Most people looked at my brother and saw three men—Marzio Fausti, Luca Fausti, and Rocco Fausti, even if physically, my older brother resembled our old man too.
When they looked at me, they saw my father.
