They had given me her rings to keep safe.
To fucking keep safe.
When my older brother’s stare came back to my eyes, he gave me one slow nod.
He knew better than to touch me. He fucking knew better than to be this close to me. I was in a room by myself for a reason. I was a breath away from burning the fucking world down. I’d burn it down until she opened her eyes and looked at me. Told me how ridiculous I was being. She was fine. She was next to me. She’d always be next to me.
Matteo cleared his throat.
“I don’t know what you’re about to fucking say,” I said, my voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else. I didn’t even finish. I handed him a paper, signed in both of our blood.
Mine.
Hers.
Mixed on my hands.
I’d already had a letter done. In case something happened to me.
This one.
This one was an addition to that one. One I never assumed I’d have to write.
My brother held the stained paper in his hand. His dark eyes, so much like our father’s, scanned the words.
If she dies, I die.
End of story.
In the letter, I gave instructions on where to take us so we’d always be together. The positions to put us in, so my body would always shield hers. What to write on the gravestone.
Here rests a man who will forever be next to his woman. From my rib to hers, we were created to be one—our souls shall return as one.
Forever in love.
My wife is my eternity—to live for, to die for.
Mariano and Sistine Fausti.
My brother cleared his throat again. “No news,” he said, and it was as if he wanted to take my shoulder and squeeze, but he knew better. The only touch I could stand was my wife’s.
If it wasn’t hers, it wasn’t anyone’s.
Nothing mattered unless she was here with me.
“Great-uncleTito wants a word,” Matteo continued in Italian.
ProzioTito came in right behind Matteo, as if he didn’t care if I was about to go on a murderous spree or not, even with his hunched stance and paper-thin skin. He held his eyes up to mine as he slow-shuffled toward me.
A medical fucking somebody passed behind him, and he slowly passed, as if he was looking for someone. My heart simultaneously raced and then stopped short, just as my body did whenever Guerriero tried to buck me over the cliff.
If this was the moment I was told my wife had left me, my heart would be the thing going over that cliff, and I was going over after it.
“Sit. Down.”
My great-uncle’s voice was commanding. My eyes snapped to his.
He knew. I was about to go after that worker.
