The crazed woman with the gun.
Uncle Tito being kicked.
The gun fire that took Massimo and me down.
He’d been shot numerous times in my honor.
My nose wasn’t broken, but severely bruised, which had caused the nosebleed. Three of my ribs were broken, and my shoulder…it had taken the brunt of a rock when another rock, Rocco’s son, had thrown himself over me. The rock had a sharp point, and it impaled my shoulder, breaking skin and hitting bone.
The hospital experience, along with my stay.
My husband’s face.
His eyes.
Those warm sea-green eyes frozen in that time.
My husband becoming something I didn’t recognize—the man wasn’t even close to the surface of his skin. It was the bloodthirsty animal out for revenge.
My husband and dozens of other husbands leaving all the women, including my sister-in-laws, Mia, and Mari, at the olive grove to hide us away from the enemies who wanted to slaughter us and our men.
We were at war.
And as the old saying goes, all’s fair in love and war.
The Russians, in a move that repaid ours in New Orleans, set up explosives around our property in Piemonte while individual gun battles were taking place. We were also at war with Francesco’s faction of the family. This no longer only involved the King Lion himself to make decisions, but the entire family, since a faction was questioning the choices of Luca Leone Fausti.
We had our own Russian support, and they were warring with the Russians who were dealing the dangerous drugs no one wanted to mess with, except for those hooked on it.
Francesco and his faction had the Russians who wanted us dead on their side.
The family was split, as split as the villa in the distance, where all the woman rested their heads at night.
Maggie Beautiful’s wish was causing the split.
Some wanted to keep the sword fighting as part of the family tradition.
Some did not.
Maggie Beautiful’s wish was also splitting thefamiglia.
Francesco’s faction was adamant that the tradition be the decision of each faction. Even though Marzio had ceased calling to arms for a challenge, it was up to each faction how they wouldproceed with the tradition if a challenge was between their factions’ family members. However, if one faction chose not to call to arms, but another did, it was decided by the king which way was honorable enough to take.
Plainly speaking, if the king felt romantic that day, it was probably swords. If not, a fast race between cars to decide who would be victorious. Marzio’s ruling of his own faction, at the time, had saved Rocco and Brando from clashing swords, which was Grazia’s intention all along. Her grandsons wouldn’t be allowed to draw blood only because of an issue one found bothersome.
Francesco’s faction of the family felt the impending rule came at a time when Luca’s son, my husband, was about to take the throne, which was suspicious timing if none of the other men could challenge him if the law was suspended.
Our faction was shooting back with: your faction not only involved Russians who were the worst kind of dope slingers, but…Francesco was the man who had fathered Ita’s baby. All the pieces clicked when Rocco told me Francesco had admitted to speaking to Ita. She had been on our property with a gun, her parents too, ready to do damage…and since all our soldiers would have recognized her, and would have been looking for her if they had spotted her, we knew…
Francesco and his faction had smuggled her inside our lines.
Then there was the talk amongst the Novak family about the current king’s line ending, and a new king taking his place—a new line.
Francesco’s line.
The issue with me and my great-aunt was only a reason to set up the meeting. To argue something that had no bearing on what went on in present times. Avelina didn’t love Francesco, she loved Ricco, and Francesco and Ricco’s parents, my husband’sgreat-grandparents, got involved and took out the central cause of the problem: my great-aunt.
When hearts break in the Fausti family, they never break down the center. They are carved out as a prize.
