My father gave me a look—anall right, I’m fucking in, but if the boat capsizes and we get pink eye, you’ll have to deal with your mammalook. I hesitated for a second, but not even my mamma’s wrath could stop me from running.
It should’ve been hard to rid myself of some of the tension by taking the gondola, but the more my arms worked, steering us in a direction we both seemed to already know I was headed in, the harder the chill clung to my skin, and the deeper the fog cloaked me.
It was a high I couldn’t even put into words.
It made me fucking breathless.
My old man was so quiet, I almost forgot he was with me. His eyes seemed to be focused on the distance, trusting me enough to steer us in the fog.
Water was second nature to Brando Fausti, and he was never hesitant with it, unless he had a feeling it could take his family away from him. Which was something I knew he thought about from time to time. How joining the Coast Guard before he wasmarried to mamma, and leaving her for a while, could have taken that from him. What he loved the most.
His wife, and his daughter and sons by association.
I allowed the fog to take that train of thought and swallow it. It was only going to lead me down a road I refused to take. And I was already on an adventure unlike any I’d known before. A hand stronger than my will power was leading me in a direction not even the fog could hide.
That thought almost jolted me out of my skin.
Even though I wasn’t literally running, it felt like I was. The same blood rush that made my heart work harder was teasing it to do the same thing. It felt like I was heading in a direction I’d always known was a part of me, but I’d never taken before. Even if my feet were not hitting the pavement, my arms still knew the route by heart.
My sense of direction was overwhelmed, and it almost felt like a life-or-death situation to end my morning exploration where my compass was pointing.
I was a desperate man who had been lost for much too long, even though I wasn’t a man old enough to be lost for as long as this felt.
To drive the point home, it seemed like muscle memory had me releasing the oar so that our gondolacut through the fog and came to a floating halt before a massive floating mansion. It stood out amongst the other grand places because of the statue of a hand rising out of the water. It seemed as if the fingers were gliding along the side of the palazzo, caressing it almost, and on one of the fingers was a replica of the blood diamond in my family’s vault.
My old man sat up straighter, but not because he was surprised by where our “run” had taken us. The hand had caught his attention, or maybe it was the ring.
“Huh.” My old man shook his head, then held out his hand for the oar.
After handing it over, I faced the palazzo. Fog cloaked it, just like it cloaked us. After I’d cut through it, it seemed to envelop us again. I could barely see through it, but a grin came to my face, nonetheless.
The song I’d written down on the paper Sistine had torched the day before played, making its way through the thick gloom and reaching my ears. It wasn’t loud, but loud enough I could hear it. Her balcony must have faced the water, and her door was cracked.
A voice seemed to shout at her from somewhere close. Sounded like her sister from another balcony. She was complaining, almost with a screech, that she hated the song, the music Sistine was listening to, and she demanded it be turned off.
Sistine didn’t turn it off. Not until another voice, a man’s voice, ordered her to. Either her grandfather or father was my assumption.
The music faded as a beam of sunlight scattered the fog and thinned it. It was enough that I could see the palazzo. Sistine was standing on one balcony. A cream silk robe covered her body, and she was gazing longingly into the distance. She sighed, and I imagined the fog had parted from the breath she took. It was heavy.
Her sister was standing on the opposite balcony in a green silk robe. Her arms were crossed, and she was staring at Sistine with a pinched look on her face. Her foot tapped, tapped, tapped, like she was expecting Sistine to face her, but Sistine stared into the distance. She seemed unbothered, even though there was no way she hadn’t felt her sister’s stare.
Capri turned suddenly and noticed us. Her eyes registered shock before she hurriedly took her hair down and fluffed itup. My eyes roamed to the opposite balcony. Sistine’s eyes were narrowed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Our eyes met through the fog, and like the thick air, she disappeared inside.
My body demanded that I run, so I did. I held my hand out for the oar and my old man handed it over. The direction my compass pointed me in was the palazzowe were occupying. I was eager to get dressed and go to the jewelry store before our meeting with the pirate informant who might give us information on my brother’s heart—the woman named Stella.
Dark eyes were on me the entire time I pushed myself harder and harder to make it back in record time. When we were close, I finally met my old man’s stare.
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. A question swam in Brando Fausti’s deep depths:Is she worth wars, son? Because we both knew he knew something about wars and women, and he sensed it would be battles over Sistine Capella with anA.
The rule our families had set was one war.
Sistine herself would be an entirely different one.
As we glided in front of our palazzo, I wiped sweat from my brow, even though the weather was cool. Mist clung to my skin, and I could smell it on myself. After I guided us to a complete stop, the words I wanted to say were on the tip of my tongue. My voice was almost hoarse when I spoke just loud enough for the two of us to hear. Talking to my old man always felt like talking to an older version of me.
“I had a dream last night. Or maybe it was this morning. It was fresh inside of my mind before we left.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve had this dream before. Most of the time after I’ve left a woman who didn’t belong to me. I’m running, like I always do. I’m a wild mustang running free. A lion in my chest is chasing it—chasing me. This time, it was different. In the dreams of thepast, I’m always running with no direction, and it feels like the breeze around me is cooling the fire.
“This time, the fire is consuming me, and I’m running to find the breeze. I have a direction this time, and fuck me, if I don’t go in it, I’m going to be consumed by the flames. My heart, the restless lion, is going to catch me, and I’m going to be consumed by its passion.”
