Neither of us were ever prepared to run the family. And even though I’d earned the Casanova nickname amongst my family, my world also called me Outlaw. If it came to me or mine, there was no fucking law that could stop me from avenging me or mine.
All this to say…the women of the Watt family would be charmed by Nonno, and I had no doubt he wouldn’t approve of Ty. He was a good man and could tell a hell of a good story.
I demanded to know the story my wife wasn’t telling me. Between the man she saw the night before and the fear of snakes, my gut told me the two were connected, which brought me back to the man everyone called Rattler.
It wouldn’t be long before he and his brothers found out the ranch was in the good and no one was going to steal it from the Watt family.
I parked the truck on the side of our cabin and got out. The sun was high, though the weather was crisp. The ground was soaking wet, and my boots squished in the mud. I gave a wide birth around our window, careful to check for any foot tracks while I checked out the area.
The weather could have washed any prints away, or the morning sun could have preserved them. No tracks were visible where I was walking. This area was mostly trees and fauna debris. Closer to the cabin, where the roof shaded the ground closest to the foundation, there was a dirt line. No grass grew wild there.
I bent down, my eyes going straight to the footprints in the mud, water sitting in them. They were made by boots, from the way the tracks sat, and deep. Like the motherfucker had been standing in the same spot for an extended period of time.
We were too far out for it to be an accidental finding. Whoever this motherfucker was, he was here for a fucking reason.
My wife.
My wife.
A cold breeze swept by, touching my neck, making the hair there stand up. I pulled my phone from my pocket, calling Remo. I briefed him on the situation, making him aware that something more was going on—someone had been standing outside of my window, too fucking close to my wife. I also reminded him that his life depended on hers. She lost one hair. He’d be bald.
I called my wife after I hung up with Remo.
“Marito,” she answered.
“How important is this girlie party that’s planned for Atta?”
“Girlie party?” She laughed, then it sounded like she was moving through the house, and a door shut behind her. “It is important,” she whispered, and her voice echoed like she was in the bathroom. “You only get married once—to a Fausti.”
That made me grin. “You didn’t want a girlie party.”
“I did not have time for one.”
“You want one?”
“Ah,” she breathed. “Not exactly. You are the party, Mariano Fausti. However, I am not in charge of this party. It was Willa’s idea. She said all women deserved to celebrate before the hitching, and it would be fun for Atta.”
The hitching.I almost laughed at that. But the fucking footprints on the side of our house had my muscles tight.
“This bar is reserved,” I said, confirming what Remo had been told from Willa, Atta’s friend.
“Willa told Remo this.” She exhaled. “The men will be smoking cigars and drinking?”
She sounded suspicious.
“What else would we be doing?”
She blew out a heavy breath. “Boobs and dancing. Ah, I forget the name of what the women are called who do this.”
I wasn’t falling into that fucking trap. We both knew what they were called. Strippers. If I said the word, I’d be acknowledging them. I might have been the Casanova Prince, but I had a mamma, Magpie, and a sister. I knew the fuck better.
“You have my permission to rip my balls off if that’s the truth.”
“I do not need permission for this, Mariano Fausti. I am your wife. What is yours is mine.”
Yeah, she fucking was my wife. She knew it too, as a queen would know her king was married to her. She was the ruler. Not him.
This time I laughed. Then I sobered up. “You don’t leave the bar. You don’t move without Remo shadowing you.”
