I stood straighter, keeping the pitcher firmly in my hands. They had been shaking some…droplets of blood-red spiced drink had splattered to the floor.
I hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.
The look on my husband’s face when he answered the door matched his son’s face. Both seemed like they had been out in the cold too long and had been turned into ice.
Rocco had his hand on my lower back. I could feel how hot he was running, and besides the glacier stare, his jaw ticked once, and that was the only sign that he was seething on the inside.
Massimo didn’t seem to have a tell, but he was too stone-faced to have been feeling anything but a cold detachment. He wasn’t indifferent, and neither was Rocco, because both men were being affected by the other, so I took that as a start, as small as it was.
The three us of said nothing, and I knew Rocco was going to take it as a sign of disrespect. Massimo hadn’t told him he was leaving prison. He hadn’t told him he was on the land. And he wasn’t greeting Rocco first. This family went beyond traditional. They had rules, and by their law, father or not, Rocco outranked Massimo.
Just before Rocco moved, Massimo stepped to the side and set a frozen Ermanno in front of him. “He was lurking,” Massimo said.
Ermanno’s eyes were downcast until he looked up at Rocco. Rocco gave him a hard look.
He sighed and shrugged. “It is cold out, and the house smelled warm withSignoraFausti’s delicious food. I also wanted to see Pisolino.” He lifted a toy it seemed he’d handmadefrom behind his back. It almost looked like a smaller version of a fishing pole. “I gave him my word,SignorFausti. I had a gift for him.”
I stepped out the door and directed Ermanno’s shoulders into the house. “We have plenty,” I said.
“You will take the food back to your father’s place,” Rocco ordered. “Go straight to the kitchen.”
“You can take Pisolino with you,” I said in a soft voice. “He’s going to love the new toy!”
Ermanno thanked me, then Rocco. He passed me on the way to the kitchen, and when I turned back, Massimo was looking between Rocco and me. Massimo greeted me first. He was cordial, but not all that warm. He carefully dug in his coat pocket and pulled out what seemed like a package from the butcher. He looked at Rocco, greeted him, a sharp “Father,” and after Rocco gave a stiff nod in return, he asked permission in Italian to give me a gift.
Rocco eyed Massimo with steel in his eyes, and after I placed more weight against his hand on my lower back, he gave another stiff nod.
I almost felt like starting a fire to thaw them out. The next best thing was to get inside, but it seemed as if formalities had to be completed first. The Fausti family had their rules, but at a woman’s table, she ruled. This would be the first and last time this sort of exchange would happen before our family dinners. How was everyone going to be able to relax when it felt like someone had sprayed an enormous amount of starch in the atmosphere?
Massimo offered me the package. When his smile came, it came slow and mischievous. “For you, Aria Amora Bella Fausti, my father’s wife. The meat of thechinghiale. I butchered it myself.”
“Ah,” I breathed out, smoke purling from my mouth. He was reminding me of what he’d done for me and what I’d done for him—not saying anything to Rocco about how he’d knocked me down. But…he couldn’t hold the fact that he was on our property, and we’d had a situation together over my head. I’d told Rocco about that. I just refused to tell Rocco he’d knocked me down. If he wanted to share that with Rocco…so be it. I wouldn’t have wanted to, though. I thanked him in Italian and held up the frozen lump. “I’ve been wanting to cook steaks. Next time we have a family dinner, these will be on the menu.”
He searched my eyes, almost as if he was waiting for the punchline, but when it never came, he gave me a nod, and I picked up on the wariness even in that small gesture.
When Rocco felt my body move, he moved. We were so in sync with each other, it almost felt like we could be professional dance partners.
“Come in,” I said, motioning to Massimo. “We’ll have dinner first, if you have enough time, and then we can talk?”
Massimo’s eyes jumped to his father’s. He didn’t say this, nor did I think he would’ve said this in this manner (these men were much more eloquent than this), but…to put it plain and simple, it was almost as if he was saying with the look, “Is she for real?”
Rocco nodded. “My wife requests we have dinner at her table, as a family would, and then we will speak about the issue in private.”
Massimo nodded. Rocco took my hand, and we walked toward the dining room together. I heard Massimo say under his breath, “I am surprised she would want the son of another woman with her husband at her table.”
I stopped walking, and so did Rocco.
“You’re half of your father too,” I whispered. “I love him, completely, and that means I love you too, as a…family member.” We were too close in age for me to refer to myselfas his mamma through marriage, but we could still consider ourselves blood-related, thicker than blood, if we grew close enough. “I would like for us to all be close. To be a family.”
Rocco took my hand and practically drug me to the table. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Allow Massimo a moment to recover from that speech. It tore my heart out. I am sure it did the same to him.”
“I didn’t mean to tear anything,” I said. “I was trying to thaw whatever this cold thing is that exists between you both.”
He nodded. “The only warmth he will feel at this moment is from you. It is impossible to be in your presence and not feel the warmth of the sun on a perfect summer day, my Amora.” He leaned down and set his lips against mine, so softly, my heart was almost hypnotized into believing I was falling in love with him for the first time all over again. But how could I forget?
That was the magical power Rocco Fausti wielded over me.
I was so taken by the kiss I’d forgotten the frozen wild boar in my hands. Rocco took it from me and disappeared into the kitchen, then came back and took his seat next to me.
