Massimo refused to let me go, and so did my husband.
Then, in an almost explosive moment, they both released me and came face to face. Their stances were two men about to kill each other, but they were looking each other in the eye first, to see what the other was made of.
If it would’ve been anyone else, I knew Rocco would have then killed the man. But it almost seemed like he wanted his son to see what was going on inside of his…mind…heart…that he usually hid behind his eyes.
Brando stood on the side of them.
Scarlett helped me up, and I leaned on her for a moment before I stepped in front of Brando. Before he could move me, I said the one word Maggie Beautiful had before the battle truly began.
“Stop!
Both men immediately looked at me.
“Please,” I whispered, smoke purling out of my mouth. “Please stop. What you two are doing is making me…veryunhappy. I see you, my husband—” I looked him in the eye, and then I turned my face toward Massimo “—I see you too, my husband’s son. How could I not when you’re a part of him?”
He made a strangled noise in his throat at the same time Rocco did.
I breathed easier for some reason, maybe because I knew my tender words were making them uncomfortable and, at the same time, working to get through to them. I knew then that was why Nonna used to say, “Never underestimate a kind word and what it can do—who it can change. Tone and meaning are everything, Amora.”
Massimo seemed to stand straighter, and he looked Rocco in the eyes this time. He had the stance of a solider about to speak to his commanding officer, but he didn’t ask for permission to speak, which I realized had rubbed Rocco the wrong way. The only reason he wasn’t going for his son’s throat was out of respect for me and what I’d asked of them both.
“I have information on a recent situation that has caused your wife heartache,” Massimo said. “In return for it, I will ask a favor of her.”
Rocco fixed his coat. “A favor I will approve or not.”
Massimo became stiller than the wind to an unnerving degree—his father through and through—before he nodded.
I squeezed Rocco’s hand. “Dinner,” I whispered. “We’ll eat dinner together, as a family, and then we can talk.”
Rocco set the time and date.
Massimo agreed with another nod.
Then he disappeared as a silent wind would after it’s rocked the world.
Chapter 32
Prodigal Son Returns
Aria Amora
After Massimo approached us a couple of nights ago, my nerves were at an all-time high. Even though my husband was as stone-faced as ever, every so often his jaw would tick. It was like that was the only place he’d allow his feelings to show, and I knew then it was his tell. A tell he’d only allowed me to see.
What Massimo could, possibly, tell us could be all we needed to know. It would answer all our questions and bring clarity to the situation, no doubt in my mind, making the witch into a liar. Even though she could be pregnant, I doubted it was my husband’s. I just had a gut feeling this was all an enormous lie to set him up.
I could’ve come up with an entire storyline to delve into the truth, but as of late, even the thought of writing tired me out. Which was never a good sign. I never forced myself to write when I felt that way, in fear of short-circuiting something that needed all circuits to be the best it could be.
I pulled my hand back quickly when I went to reach into the oven for the focaccia. I forgot the damn mitten! That said a lot about the emotional strain wreaking havoc on my brain. It was beginning to infect my mental ability to do everyday things.
Rocco took my hand in his, and I jumped a little. I hadn’t even realized he was in the kitchen with me. He ran cool water over the spot, then kissed it softly, his breath cool against the burning sensation.
“Thank you, my husband,” I whispered in Italian.
He made a scruffy noise in his throat before he went to grab the first-aid kit in the bathroom. I stopped him before he left by calling his name.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t need the kit. I’m okay. I pulled back quick enough.”
He brought me close to his body and kissed my forehead. “If you are concerned my son will not enjoy what you cook, I am certain he will. He enjoys eating delicious food.”
