My father nodded, then looked toward Paolo. The floor was his, and we were not allowed to shout or cause a scene if what the other man was saying struck a nerve. If the man was beingrespectful of the meeting and my father’s time, the man had the right to make his case as strongly as he could.
However, the entire situation felt as if it was a waste of time, and after it was over, my father should punish them. Rarely did I consider matters of the heart a waste of time. In this situation, I felt there was more to the situation than Francesco feeling the way he did. Perhaps he wanted my wife because he was attracted to her?—
My eyes moved to the side profile of his face, and when he felt my stare, his eyes stared into mine. He did not wish to challenge me, however, and he turned his face forward again.
Rules or not. Meeting or not. I would rip his throat out at my table.
But perhaps he also wanted my wife to have a worthy queen at his side, if Francesco decided to challenge me. This could also aid him in gaining the favor of the family.
Internally I grinned at the violence this stirred inside of me.
Paolo fixed his suit. “This may be, that the entire house of my grandparents was in a position of power over the help, but the situation has played out the same. I also feel it worth mentioning that Rocco Fausti was newly widowed when he cast his eyes on Aria Bella.”
“The help,” I repeated. I rolled my shoulders.
Mac sent me a look from the side of his eye.Now is not the time.
Brando nodded, backing up Mac.
I did not have to be a mind reader to understand that both Mac and myfratellofelt the most pressing issue in that statement was notthe helpcomment, but what Paolo was implying.
The implication that had been making waves throughout thefamiglia.
I had killed Rosaria Caffi to marry my much younger lover.
This would be a point of contention. It was one matter to be a remarried king. It was an entirely different matter to kill your wife to take another. And despite Rosaria being who she was, she had become an accepted part of my life. It is hard for some to accept change when they have already accepted a picture of what should be.
Rosaria Caffi was also a reason to question my validity as king and challenge me, even if Rosaria herself meant nothing to the challenger. The implication was a way inside of our faction.
My eyes moved to Francesco’s form, almost in disbelief.
His father was going to sacrifice his son for a chance at the throne.
Not an ounce of doubt existed inside of me: I would kill him.
My father steepled his fingers. “Tell me, Paolo, are you implying Rocco Fausti killed Rosaria Caffi to marry his wife, Aria Bella.”
Paolo seemed to sit straighter. “Not Rocco himself. The record shows Vincenzo Fausti was at the scene—where the beloved Rosaria Caffi went off the cliff and took her last breath.”
At the time of Rosaria’s death, Vincenzo was chasing Rosaria. She had attempted to kill me by slicing my chest open after my father refused her the right to leave our compound. She had been attracting too many of our enemies with her traitorous nature after she did not get her way. She had been furious with my decision to allow Massimo the right to wed Chloe De Bourbon.
Rosaria did not feel Chloe was a suitable choice for my son. Perhaps she was right, but my son fell in love with Chloe, and that was all that mattered to me. Massimo was not the next in line to lead, therefore I felt the choice was ultimately his. He would not have the same responsibilities as my nephew, Matteo, to contend with.
Still, Rosaria was determined to see Massimo ascend the throne after me. Unless Massimo challenged Matteo, this would not happen. Rosaria refused to accept my decisions, Massimo’s choices, and she began to spiral into her own madness. She attempted to kill my son’s heart, and when Chloe survived the poisoning, and my father ordered her not to leave the property in Maranello, she lost what little of her mind she had left. She had double-crossed the family by reaching out to our Russian enemies. The same enemies who attempted to kill me on the island where I finally found my heart—my Amora.
“Tell me,” my father continued, “what else does this record show, Paolo.”
“This is all I know,” Paolo said.
My father nodded. “Only enough information to fit into your narrow brain,cugino, I see. Rosaria Caffi was a traitor to our family. She attempted to steal my son’s heart, though she was a coward and could not finish the job. Even then, he gave her his chest to open, not laying a hand on her. As my son bled out after she had poisoned him, she ran from thecastelloin Maranello that night, speeding toward her clandestine meeting with the Russians who are out for our blood.”
The battle was clear on Paolo’s face. He wanted to ask for proof, just to buy himself a few moments to think of his next move. The truth my father shared with him came as a surprise, and not only a surprise, but an expense.
Perhaps his faction had put too much emphasis on the line connecting the past—Avelina, Ricco, and Francesco—to the present—Aria, Rocco, and Francesco. The next line was to somehow connect the past to what happened between Rosaria Caffi and me. However, our faction had our own secrets to keep, the same as theirs, and we were entitled to them. The time when Rosaria Caffi proved to be traitorous to the family was proving to be detrimental to Paolo and whatever his line had plotted.
It was no secret that their faction had always been bloodthirsty for the crown. During a perilous time in our lives, when myfratelloand his wife were stuck in dangerous times, Paolo’s line had been in cahoots with my uncle, Lothario, who attempted to have my brother and his wife killed.
“I am sorry Rosaria chose that path in life,” Paolosaid finally. “She would have made a splendid queen.”
