“Fucking A,” Marciano said. Then he started a discussion about it.
I sighed and let them fill the empty space. Remo was quiet too. He was a lot like his old man, but not as flirty.
“I have been interested in photography,” Remo said with a quiet rasp.
“What kind of photography do you prefer?” Angelo asked after a slight pause.
Remo cleared his throat. “Portraits.”
Everyone grew quiet again.
Remo was the son of Vincenzo, and Vincenzo was one of the most dangerous trackers and hunters in the family. He was a trained detective, but instead of only finding the person, he also killed them on command. If he was on the hunt, the other side begged not to be found. The only man who had ever been lost to him was Olivier Nemours. My mamma’s enemy had alluded so many for so long. He was like a rat in the sewers. He could fold his bones in to fit where most men refused to go.
Remo was following in his old man’s footsteps. He had the personality for it. But his admission showed a different side to him.
“Huh,” I said.
Marciano laughed. It was as raspy and quiet as Remo had been. My eyes met his.
He shrugged, setting his puzzle down. “You sound just like Papà when you do that.” He cleared his throat. “Huh.”
“He’s my old man,” I said.
“No fucking doubt.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the men giving us directions through the speakers. They were relaying whichever direction Sistine went in.
When our ending destination started closing in, a grin came to my face. A country music festival. A bunch of artists from America were playing. She had a ticket.
It was never easy for us to blend in in a crowd. We were tall men with wide shoulders. My brother was like a fucking tank. But it was good to have a crowd. Safer for Sistine and easierfor me to keep distance between us. And even though it was my heart vs. my feet, I kept them planted. I was so fucking curious to know how she was going to act when she didn’t think I was around.
My eyes narrowed when a woman, who seemed to be about her age, met up with her. They hugged and then found a spot to watch the concert. Sistine set her backpack by her feet, and after she unraveled her braid, her hair falling around her in a wavy halo, she unzipped her bag and set a black cowboy hat on her head.
My hand came to my heart. It seemed like my flesh and bones had disappeared, and my palm was the only thing keeping it inside.
Marciano nudged me with his elbow. “You still breathing, brother?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I couldn’t find my breath.
He grinned and, lifting thebirraRemo had bought for him, howled into the air when it was announced the first artist would be taking the stage shortly.
Remo leaned in close and spoke in my ear over the noise, loud enough for me to hear. “Bosco Cornaro. He has just arrived with another man. Bosco is moving toward Sistineand Anselma.My intel tells me his family is close with the jewelers. We believe Anselma invited the two men.”
My arms crossed and my jaw clenched. My muscles tightened. The vein in my forehead started to swell. Rio had briefed me on all aspects of Sistine’s life that were known to the public. The man Remo was talking about, Bosco, was a family friend. Sistine’s father was considering him as a husband for his talented daughter. His family supplied our jewelers with precious metals. It would be a good match on paper.
That unfamiliar heat rose in my heart and spread throughout my veins. I was a fucking volcano ready to erupt. It wasn’t his reaction to her I anticipated. It was her reaction to seeing him.
The two boys walked up. Sistine’s friend, Anselma, didn’t seem surprised but was excited. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands, and wrapped her arms around both boys. Sistine smiled, but her face was mostly neutral, except when the two walked off to grab a drink. She gave her friend an aggravated look, squeezing her arm. Seemed like Sistine was complaining to her. The two women went back and forth. Sistine wasn’t happy, while Anselma seemed to be pleading her case.
Right before the two boys came back, Sistine blew out an aggravated breath and turned toward the stage. Sistine refused to budge from her spot when the boy her father was considering for an arranged marriage—my jaw tightened even at the thought—came back. It seemed like he wanted to get between Sistine and the friend. Instead, he took the opposite side of her while his friend took the opposite side of Sistine’s friend. The two boys were making bookends out of them.
I felt my brother’s stare on my face. He knew I was in a fucking cage, and I might tear my own leg off to slip out of it.
Was this fucking punishment for all the times I grinned at the lovesick men who seemed fucking high on something they couldn’t touch or breathe in? I never had an aversion to romance. It ran through my blood. But love. Love was a different story all together.
I was in it—deep inside its pages already.
It felt like I blinked and somehow—here I stood.
