I took another look out the window, at my wife smiling at Uncle Tito, and the cold of winter disappeared as if by magic. Her smile brought me back to the island where we first set eyes on each other, and the feel of her was branded into my palms, as if the heat of the sun beat against them—how she had melted the ice around my heart.
Ermanno pushed the wheelchair. Thandie did not keep as close as Ermanno, but she was closer than her husband and his unit. I was not sure why she was keeping her distance. Perhaps Uncle Tito requested it. Amora wanted to personally tell him about our baby and how we would not only honor Amora’s great-aunt with the name Avelina, if our daughter turned out to be a daughter, but also his wife, my great-aunt.
Neither my great-aunt or great-uncle had been blessed with a daughter or a son during their life. The children of the family became their children. Bestowing the name Avelina on ourdaughter would have pleased Aunt Lola, therefore, her husband would be pleased by this decision. Perhaps he wanted a moment alone with my wife to discuss this. Ermanno was young enough to be there but not have the same presence as an adult.
My uncle could be private in this way.
I took a drink of whiskey as our eyes held. They held until she turned back to Uncle Tito, and I turned to the meeting. Mac stood beside me on one side. My brothers stood on the other.
Mac nodded to me. Brando nodded to me.
This setting would be completely different from the one in New Orleans when I had defended my wife’s honor.
This setting would be formal, until it was not.
Every beat of my heart pumped hot blood through my veins. I could feel the warring inside of me between the romantic and the ruthless, which fed the lion inside of my chest.
Finally, he was awake and he was roaring, ready for this fight in honor of my love.
I would attend this meeting for my Amora, for my blood, Ricco, and for my wife’s blood, Avelina, both who did not have a chance to see their love story through. Francesco had stolen it from them, just as his namesake would attempt to steal mine from me.
Our usual custom—greeting one another to begin the meeting—did not happen. None of the men even nodded at one another in acknowledgment. This was as personal to me as if Francesco attempted to steal the heart from my chest. He knew I clocked his presence in the room, however. He met my eyes for a moment and then took the seat my father allowed after Francesco’s father, Paolo, greeted my father.
My father was king, and in situations such as these, he was ordered by our laws to be judge, unless it was his wife’s honor at stake. Being king came with perks. However, the family would question it, and perhaps challenge my father’s ruling, if the family felt he was being more biased than warranted.
For this meeting, my desk had been cleared out, and a table that fit fifty was brought in. Twenty-five men on our side; twenty-five on his. My father and his right-hand man, Donato, did not count.
My father cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today because Francesco Leone Fausti feels his ancestor, Francesco Piero, his grandfather—which would be my uncle, my father’s brother—did not have a fair chance at a love he claimed was his, with one AvelinaSimonetti. My son, Rocco Piero Fausti, is being accused of—” my father glanced at the papers below him “—treasonous behavior toward another member of ourfamiglia,Francesco Leone Fausti, regarding my son’s wife, Aria Amora Bella Fausti, whose great-aunt, Avelina Simonetti, had an affair with two members of our family, two of my uncles, during the Second World War.”
My entire body seized at the implication that Avelina had had an affair with both brothers. Clearly, the letters stated that she had been attracted to Francesco, at first, but it was Ricco who she loved. The main issue was my great-grandparents and their favoritism of Francesco over Ricco. This was why my great-grandfather sent Avelina into a dangerous zone. The Fausti family did not get to be where they are without intelligence—my great-grandfather knew things other people were not privy too. Perhaps my great-grandfather had first-hand knowledge of when the air-raid would happen.
No concrete proof existed that he had sent Avelina into harm’s way, but my gut told me otherwise. I knew my family, and I knew how ruthless they could be, even to women who wentagainst the family code or were causing harm. Such as Ita Novak. I fixed my suit. Her head would have been on a platter if it was not for my wife demanding to serve her justice herself.
My father locked eyes with me and then with Francesco. “Tell me, Francesco Fausti, do you believe Rocco Fausti has attempted to confuse fate when it comes to you and Aria Amora Bella Fausti.”
“I do,” he answered boldly, clearly. “I did not seeSignoraBella first. However, if fate had it in mind to set our paths along the same course on the island that my grandfather himself named Aria Island, as my grandfather and her great-aunt had been on the same path before Ricco intervened, I believe we would have had an encounter that would have changed my story, her story, and our story would have turned out differently.”
I growled low in my throat when he said,our story. Mac gave me a stern look that I ignored. He was myconsigliereand was as cool as ice in these situations. He had advised me before the meeting to save the explosion for the right moment. If I set all that was inside of me off on Francesco, there would be no saving him. Perhaps I would have the strength to kill him twice.
My father turned his stare on me before he turned it on Francesco. He stared at him for so long, he fixed his suit.
Francesco was a pompous motherfucker who only wanted to use my wife to start a war between the branches of ourfamiglia,my wife on his arm as queen. Many times in our history, our branches were at war. The more sons in line to lead, the more vicious the family could be. My father understood this, but he was giving Francesco enough rope to hang his argument.
My father finally looked at me. He nodded. I removed the letters from my coat pocket and slid them toward my father on the table. My father held the letters until Paolo pulled out a set of letters from Avelina to Francesco and a few unanswered lettersfrom Francesco to Avelina. She’d written on the outside:return to senderin Italian.
From my understanding, Avelina was living with my family until her death.
Then and only then did my father push the letters that belonged to my wife toward Paolo, who was around my father’s age, but he had Francesco and his brothers later in life. Francesco was only a few years older than my wife.
I’d read the letters previously, and their faction read ours. I demanded to read over the originals to be sure nothing had been tampered with. I did not mention this, and neither did they. To do so would be to imply they did something dishonorable. I did not imply this when I plainly stated what was being done was dishonorableto me. My wife had not even laid eyes on Francesco until he put himself in front of the stall where she had been working on the island.
Paolo, who was a lawyer (avvocato), the same as Francesco, finished reading the letters at the same time I did. Francesco was still reading over them.
Paolo cleared his throat. “The similarities are astounding here, Luca.” Paolo pointed to a single sheet with black ink running across every line. “Avelina had been under Ricco’s thumb. He employed her.”
My father looked at me.
“The family employed her—great-grandmother and great-grandfather. To say Ricco had his thumb on Avelina is to say Francesco did as well. Both men belonged to the same family. Both men could have potentially held her position over her to make her fearful of termination, especially during such a difficult time.”
