It wasn’t a question, but I still answered as if it were one. “Yeah, but…”
“My wife will get her important things, and I will escort them back.”
The stewardess sashayed down the aisle, her bright eyes on Rocco, her lashes fanning when she stopped and asked him if he’d like anything special,to uh, to eat or drink, Signor Fausti?Fan, fan, fan, fan.
He didn’t look at her when he said, “whiskey,” but at me. He wasn’t asking me to get his special drink, but I rose from my seat anyway, keeping eye contact with her as I bypassed her body and made my husband his specialdrinkmyself.
Plus, it gave me time to think. I didn’t doubt we would get all my things out of storage, the heavier things that meant the most to Nonna that I couldn’t carry on a plane to Italy, but I knew there was more to this.
My husband had that look on his face, a cold detachment that would only lead to an explosion later. The beast rising from the surface about to shock the world. He was going to find the letter writer who had threatened me. Maybe he already had. Mac and Mari had been gone since the island, and I wondered where they had gone to. Mac seemed to be skilled at tracking and finding, hiding and lacing with whatever device or dangerous substance that would get the job done, and if anyone could track whoever was sending me the letters, between Mac and Rocco…
There was no doubt…
My stalker had become the hunted.
Chapter 2
Laissez Les Bons Temps Roule
Aria Amora
How one summer away from the only home I’d ever known could change my entire perception of it—I had no effing clue. But as I stared out the window of the car Guido was driving, the entire city looked different to me.
All the sights and sounds were the same, but somehow, my entire world had been turned upside down, and I was trying to figure out a way to straighten my life, settle it to some degree. This was my home, but looking at the man making his way around the car, fixing his suit…
He’s my true home, and that’s why I ran away from this one.
Rocco opened my door, and a surge of steaming humidity rushed into the cabin, clashing with the air conditioner turned on full blast from the front seat. I hadn’t traveled a lot in my life. My grandparents had taken me a few places not all that far from home over the years, and I’d discovered then that each place had a unique smell. Like a woman or man’s natural perfume or cologne.
Sometimes I wondered if that was why certain people were drawn to certain places more than others. It was something inthe makeup of the place, the scent, that drew people closer. Pheromones and all that.
New Orleans still smelled like home to me, but it was nothing compared to when I smelled Rocco in the air. His scent made my stomach drop and sent my heart into overdrive. And having him next to me on the streets I’d always ratted…it did things to me. It gave me a shot of nostalgia and a sense of newness all at the same time. It was like falling in love twice at the same time.
He held his hand out to me as people passed us on the street, looking at us like we might be royalty or something close. We’d arrived in different caravans, and we were taking up most of the street. I was pretty sure all Fausti cars were armored. They all had dark-tinted windows and gave the impression someone important was tucked inside, especially since the men were all in dark suits and wore dark sunglasses, their fine colognes a masculine melody in the air. Like bourbon, cigar smoke, and roasting logs in a fireplace. The accent and foreign language only added to the mystique.
In Italy, Rocco’s family was considered royalty. And Juliette had told me the family name went beyond Italy’s borders. The name was known worldwide. They didn’t have circles. They created eddies.
I blinked at Rocco’s hand, and when I met his eyes, he was staring at me from beneath his dark sunglasses. He was in no rush and held his hand out like he would hold it out forever, waiting for me to take it. I refused to make him wait a second longer, and entwining our fingers together, I squeezed his hand and thanked him as I stepped out.
My breath rushed out when he pulled me against him, his eyes intense on mine. “You are a thief, my wife,” he said in Italian. “You steal my breath. In clothes or out of them.”
I ran my hand up my husband’s chest, swaying my hips back and forth to the hypnotic beat coming from Eva and Gabriel’s open window.
Rocco had rented the house next to Brando and Scarlett’s parents’ place in the French Quarter for our stay. Directly across the street was my girl Eva, who lived there with her husband, Gabriel. He was an Irish movie star turned musician. His music floated out through the open windows, lace curtains billowing in the breeze.
If you want…dunt…dunt…dunt…something to play with…
“I want to steal your breath forever, Rocco Fausti.”
“Done,” he said in Italian. “Piccolo ladro.”
I laughed at that, him calling me alittle thief, and I could feel his eyes roam to my lips, like I’d cast a spell on him. Then, like he was returning it, he leaned down and kissed me. I didn’t even notice the whistle coming from behind me untilIcouldn’t breathe.Kissing my husband always felt like drowning, but without the feeling of immense pressure holding the lungs down. It felt like…letting go, arms out, legs suspended, body floating, being pulled to depths undiscovered, while rays of sunlight pierced the surface of the water and shot around me.
The woman waving at me from the across the street, her auburn hair sparking red in the light, her teal eyes as feline as Scarlett’s, her soft face, skin reminding me of porcelain…made me blink back to this realm, remembering that I was a creature who had to breathe to live.
Eva grinned at me and gave me another wave. “Ari! I see you found a new beginning.” She smiled at my husband. “Hi, Rocco.”
He nodded. “Eva.”
