Mariano’s hand engulfed mine, and I felt something from him then, something I had never before felt. The thrill a hunter would feel before the hunt. It was as if he smelled the scent of my blood in the air, and he was being pulled toward it by instinct.
“You are going to help,” I said, changing the direction of the conversation.
He nodded. “I like Hannah. I like Bianca. I like Atta and Ty. I like how they respect the land and take care of it. I appreciate how they’ve taken care of mine over the years.”
“Me?”
“You, my Annie.”
I debated on trying to make a deal with him—the truth for his vow not to go after Rattler and his brothers for that night, only because of my issue with Mariano marking his soul for evil that should not win, and Atta imploring me not to. I had come to the realization that Mariano protected my body, but as his woman, it was my job to protect him even deeper. I would save him in any way I could. Protect him in any way I could.
I felt as Atta’s cousin and best friend, it was my duty to respect her wishes not to tell. However, keeping what happened a secret had worn me down. I was still not sure what had happened to her before I arrived. I had tried over the years to ask her, but she would never confide in me.
Forget it, remember?she would whisper and then change the subject as if we were only bringing up the weather.
I took a deep breath in and sighed it out. The breath was cold. “Atta did not want to tell Angelo about the money because she thought the timing stunk. She did not want him to think she fell for his money instead of him. Also, she is accustomed to being an independent woman. She was making it on her own until she got in too deep with the loans.”
There was also the other part of this. She was keeping the biggest part of that night to herself, and if something had happened with Rattler before I arrived…she was no longer a virgin. This was something the Fausti family put worth on. They valued things most of the world did not any longer. And it was not the act itself, but that a woman had saved that part of herself for her man, knowing there was a man out there who would value her.
Angelo would know. He would demand to know who and where. He would find the poor guy and kill him. Perhaps there was no room for them both in the world. Or perhaps he was different. Some of the Fausti men had affairs, and the wives knew about it. Not that Angelo was going to have an affair (I knew the relationship between Angelo and Atta was different), but…would he have the mental and emotional capacity to accept Atta for who she was and what she had done before him?
I honestly did not know. I did not know Angelo well, outside of that he was a Fausti, Romeo and Juliette’s oldest son, grandson of Luca, great-grandson of Marzio. Mariano’s cousin. When Angelo was not working the ranch, he spent all his time with Atta. He pulled his weight around the ranch and then some. His arrival had painted him in a different light, and he was still flashy, but only when the situation called for it. Time and place.
“Atta is Angelo’s wife,” Mariano said, as if that explained and covered all points. “She’s his. He’s hers. End of story.”
“Atta needs him,” I barely got out, my heart pleading silently that what had happened that night couldnotcome between them. Then evil won.
Mariano stared out of the window, eyes hard in the distance. When we hit a dip, it seemed as if his breath caught, and he looked over at me, eyes softer. “Not nearly as much as he needs her.” He squeezed my hand and did not let go, not even when we arrived and joined the party.
Chapter 18
Mariano
Firelight lit her in red and gold hues, making her seem like a creature not of this world.
Cappuccino-colored hair cascaded over her slim shoulders in waves, my bandana still wrapped around her head. The roaring bonfire made it look like a halo.
Small tendrils of her hair waved in the subtle wind, highlighted by the heat. The fire teased out the red and gold in her mane, making the strands spark. Her face was touched by the sun, such a beautiful light olive, and her hazel eyes glistened.
The gold in them was prevalent, and the fire was playing on that too, making it melt around her irises like oozing honey.
Waves of heat surrounded her, made her seem almost like a mirage, but there was nothing truer, more real, than this:
The fucking fire was inside of her.
It almost seemed as if she had manifested it, and it existed outside of her body for me to see and feel. Something deep inside of her that I could touch. If she ever tried to leave me, to say goodbye, even turn away from me, she could turn me to ash.
Together, we created a perfectly warm atmosphere that I could exist in for the rest of my life.
Theitbetween us. Thatthing.
Theconnection.
This was what it felt like to my soul. A glow I could never have imagined was real or meant for me.
Heaven.
The only heaven a sinner like me could callmine.
