Massimo stood even straighter, his hands balling at his sides. “I did not have a mamma, the same as you.” Massimo didn’t shout like Rocco had, but every word he uttered seethed with resentment. “I would have thought you would have wanted something different for your sons.”
“Tell me, my son,” Rocco said in Italian, “what are you doing different for your son.”
Massimo stood like a solider would, and in a voice so formal, no one would ever believe this was a son speaking to his father, said, “Permission to leave,Signor.”
Rocco waved a hand, as if to say,go, get out of my face.
My hands twisted, and I jumped from my seat before Massimo could leave, calling his name. He stood with his back to me for a moment, and then his shoulders stiffened and he turned to face me.
“What did you want?” I whispered. “As a favor?”
“For the information I have provided you both with, that you will speak to Chloe on my behalf.”
I squeezed Rocco’s hand, and he squeezed back. He didn’t think this was crossing any lines. I wouldn’t usually have askedfor consent, but I didn’t want to start anything more between them.
“The favor is yours,” I said. “I’ll try talking to her.”
“You will tell her the witch is dead?”
“Ah…” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. It felt odd to have to deliver the news that Rosaria was dead to Chloe. If she kept up with the news, though, her passing had made it beyond Europe’s borders.
Massimo left, and the room seemed to echo the silence. I didn’t know what to say. I was so relieved in one aspect. I’d trusted my husband, betted on him, and he hadn’t proved me wrong. But the situation with Massimo…the situation with Michelangelo, Massimo’s son, Rocco’s grandson…was the sound of my husband’s heart breaking and healing repeatedly, all in single breaths.
He made an animalistic noise in his throat and pulled me so hard against him, I lost my breath. He buried his face in my stomach, and all I could do was hold him while he cried what seemed to be tears of blood.
Chapter 33
Endangered Species
Aria Amora
The sky was so black it almost seemed navy blue. All the snow, lights from the city, and a silvery moon that almost seemed frozen close to earth were the only sources of contrast. Maybe it was the elevation, but it seemed like I could reach out and touch the orb. It was close enough that, when I snapped a picture of it without a special lens, it wasn’t as blurry as it usually was. I wiped the condensation off my screen and set it to the side.
Thoughts of Massimo, Michelangelo, and the lying witch, Ita, ran through my head.
Despair (Massimo was missing out on so much of Michelangelo’s life, and in the Fausti family, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he became a Shorty, as I called them) and then relief (the Ita witch would be out of our lives soon, and my husband would be vindicated)—two emotions on repeat, and always in the middle of it, our little buffer, the growing life in my womb.
That was what the pool area of the chalet felt like, like I was inside of my mom’s womb again. At least then, she had kept me safe and warm. I touched my stomach, making a vow on the moon then and there to my baby, “I’ll always keep you safeand warm. I’ll love you so much—to the moon and back, even further, to heaven and back.”
My thoughts went back to Massimo, and the lump in my throat tightened. Yeah, he was a grown man who probably needed to work through whatever he was going through in his own time, but…I felt bad that he and Rocco were going through it.
It was easier for Rocco to love me, but he didn’t love his sons any less. I could feel how much Massimo loved Rocco too. But…there was a bridge between them, and the drop below was so steep, the height of it made me feel dizzy in an emotional way.
I could only compare what I was considering to what I had lived through with my own messed-up parents. I was the only one trying to have a relationship with them, and when I stopped, all communication stopped, except for the rare times I’d get a phone call. My Nonna would pick up the phone and say, “What’s wrong?” They called so rarely that, when they did, it was almost cause for concern. My Nonna was rarely callous, but sometimes I’d hear her mutter,the only reason I pick up is to see if my baby girl has insurance money on the way.She wasn’t being truthful. She loved my father, and she said to a certain degree my mom, too, because she had a hand in creating me.
The relationship between Rocco and his sons was multi-dimensional to me. There was the family, then Rocco, and then his sons. Rocco and his sons were tied up in the family hierarchy and laws, but…they were also their own unit: a father and his sons. Their own family.
There was also the fact that a man who they considered a son and brother was violently ripped from them when he backstabbed them—more than one time. Rocco had made peace with it. I wasn’t so sure about his sons.
At the table, Amadeo occasionally would glance at the seat next to him. Maybe where Tiziano would’ve sat. But I also knewthat, because Tizianohad double-crossed them, these feelings of nostalgia were only fleeting. Nothing came close to dishonor in their books, except for disrespect.
Rocco set his hand on my neck and began to massage. My head tilted forward, and I moaned a little.
“If you were not pregnant,” he whispered, “you would be if you continue to make those noises, my wife.”
I grinned. “This is the absolute truth,” I whispered back.
He massaged my neck long enough that I started to fall asleep, and then, as if I was floating on a cloud, picked me up and brought me into the arms of the warm water. The pool was behind a glass that held stunning views of the Pennine Alps.
