My voice finally appeared. “I know you do,” I whispered. “I also protect you.”
I was wasting my breath. The men around me had grown hard and cold, the same as the grits Marciano had ordered. All eyes were on the window. The men outside of the glass were taking great care to keep their eyes on Atta and me. I glanced at her, and she was staring at Angelo, who almost hummed with a violent intensity. All our men did. It was as if the music faded into the background and that humming was in my ears, almost like bees.
“Finish your food, Annie,” Mariano said, nodding to it, and that frightening tone was back to his voice. It was hot and cold at the same time.
“I cannot,” I whispered, pushing it away.
He said something in Italian, and my eyes snapped to his face. I was not a hundred percent sure, but I thought he said…another charge added to the list of crimes against my heart.
His eyes met mine, and we stared at each other. He was speaking to me. Speaking to me in a language that was ours alone. He was making vows to me. Vows to keep me safe. A vow of vengeance.
“Yeah, Annie.” His voice was rough. “After I kill it in your honor, it goes away, because it’s mine to fucking carry.”
I shook my head, about to argue with him, but I knew it was no use. There was not an option in this situation that would stop my husband from dirtying his hands for me. I glanced at Angelo. Then my husband. Both men were staring at Rattler. I knew how the Fausti family felt about honor, and a different sort of worry sat in my stomach like a stone pit.
Whatever happened before I arrived that hellish night, I was not too sure of either.
This meant, Mariano and Angelo might fight over who got Rattler to himself.
I was not familiar with all their customs, but I had heard plenty of stories over the years. My grandfather and father discussed these things without fear of me listening. Once my earbuds were in, they assumed I was cut off from the world. Yes, this was true, but only when I was ready to disappear.
Rattler gave a patronizing little wave. First at Atta, then me. She turned her face away.
Just as I did that night, I stared into his eyes, and although it was not premeditated, I stuck him the bird. His eyes caught fire, and he was trying to burn me with them. I narrowed back.
“Dead bitch,” he mouthed at me.
The hate he felt for me had not cooled. I was waiting for smoke to appear from his body in the chilled night air. He was incensed. If he could have gotten to me…I shivered. He would have abused me and then ripped me apart, limb from limb, as venom began to spread throughout my blood.
“Sistine.”
It took me a moment to realize Mariano had said my name. The way he said it was sharp, a command. He did not wait for me to move. He slid me out of the seat and set me on my feet. I had never seen him so…enraged before. Enraged but also controlled.
It was hard to find an adjective that fit these men regarding how gorgeous they were, and it seemed to be the same when they were at this level of pissed.
Pissed.
Could you ever call a murderous cat on the huntpissed?
Or evenmad?
It was not the truth, and there was no way to connect the two and make it make sense. It was as if the hunt took them over, andall they could scent in their noses was the blood of the enemy. It was controlled. A strategy, even when all he seemed to want to do was break out of his hold and kill.
Mariano had my hand in his, almost a death grip, and we were walking toward the doors to leave. It was a regular walk, no rush, but I could almost hear his heart—racing toward it. He was able to balance the line between romantic and ruthlessness so smoothly, it was almost a phenomenon to watch.
“Should we take the back exit? Call for our cars? That’s Rat-at-Rattler.” Atta rushed her words out. “Let’s avoid them. So there’s no trouble?”
Angelo pulled her to the side, and although his eyes were dilated from anger, he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She closed her eyes, two tear drops gliding down her cheeks, full of mascara, but might have been the blood still leaking from that nightmare night. It hurt my heart to see it, and more than Rattler and his brothers, brought me deeper into that night.
Angelo kissed her tears, keeping them for his own, probably using them to mark his heart where she had been hurt. He pulled her to his chest, kept her there for a few seconds, before Mariano nodded at him to keep walking. I assumed he wanted us all in a group. Safety in numbers.
Right before we reached the front exit, Mariano helped me into my black coat. It had fake fur around the collar. A Fausti soldier, who I did not have a name for, opened the door, and Remo and about twelve more soldiers followed him. When the line had thinned, a cold wind swept in and chilled me to the bone, even with the coat.
Atta reached from behind and grabbed my hand, squeezing once, her skin ice cold. Her jacket was thicker than mine.
Atta had been honest with Angelo about Rattler and his family, how dangerous they were, how they would bully families out of their homes. She did not tell him about that night. Neitherdid I. I did not want to break her trust. However, I knew there was more to what had happened. She did not confide in me about that either.
I thought of it over the years. Not the night specifically, but why she did not want to tell me after. Allow me to carry some of her burden. I am a woman, I could understand this. I was a woman who was next to her on that straw floor filled with nightmares.
