“The same reason you do not want me to try to ride Seraphina alone until the baby is born?”
“Yeah, horses can be unpredictable, even if mild mannered.”
“So is life,” she whispered, and then her entire face transformed. It was like she’d been stuck in ice, and my response made the sun come out. She was melting at the fact that I was being protective over my wife and our child.
“Annie.”
“Sì,” she breathed, but she wasn’t moving.
“Move to the side, Annie.”
“Ah,” she breathed, her fingers still on the ladder. “I cannot let you go. I do not want to see you fall.”
I was the one who was fucking melting. What was this fucking madness?
“Still,” I said, my voice hardening. “Get to the side. I can’t fucking think straight if I think you’re unsafe.”
This moved her. She set her back against the entrance and watched me while I figured out how to solve the problem.
Live music started up from outside of the stable. Dandolo was singing a romantic ballad and playing the guitar. He even started riding the horses and dressing like a properbuttero. Moleskin pants and matching vest, velvet jacket, flat-heeled high-top boots, and a large-brimmed felt hat.
“Will he ever leave?” Sistine whispered to me.
“He’s going back to Venice when we leave,” I said. “No fucking longer.”
“I think this is for the best,” she said. “I do not like the way Nino is looking at him.” She noticed me looking for a missing tool. I fucking forgot it.
Madness.
She grabbed it and lifted it toward me. I stepped down and took it from her. Not before I kissed her fingers.
“It’s hard to tell with Nino, but given the context, I do believe you’re right.” I narrowed my eyes against the metal. I was going to have to take the entire sign down to fix it. “Dandolo wouldn’t have fingers left to play the guitar if it were me.”
“The same as an eye,” she said.
“Wink at my wife.” I shrugged. “Find the fuck out.”
She seemed to stand straighter, almost rigid. It could have been because I had removed that motherfucker’s eye because he kept winking at mine—best to stop these things before they truly fucking start—but I got the sense it was something else.
My wife was a sharp woman, though, and whatever was bothering her, she was keeping it from me for a reason. Which made my senses prickle even harder when she said the next words.
“The island in Fiji,” she said, almost curious, but not. “It is completely private?”
“Yeah. You get there by boat, and we have our own boats that do the shuttling. Mamma and Papàbroke up the areas for us, so we each have a private beach. My sister and brothers each have their own place, same as me. Then we have places for guests.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at her.
She shrugged, answering the look, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am just curious.”
Yeah, and when the stove was on, it burned. Tell me something I didn’t fucking know. There was more to this. I was about to start the conversation but stopped.
Yelling.
Sistine tilted to the right so she could see better. Her eyes widened. “Signor Dandolo!”
My entire body turned, and the ladder rocked.
Dandolo was running toward us, waving his hands. Nino was a step behind him, the guitar in his hand. He had been hurt when he was taken by the Russians who wanted my sister. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be, but he was gaining on Dandolo. Dandolo seemed to have fear on his side. He might have gotten away, too, if it wasn’t for the guitar. The tool he was trying to use to lure Nino’s wife into his romantic spell.
Nino used the guitar to have a longer reach. He swung at him.
