Luca got to his feet, holding a glass filled with red wine in one hand, and Maggie Beautiful in the other, as if she was attached to his hip. He didn’t need to tap his glass or clear his throat. Everyone automatically looked to him.
Rocco set me next to him, in my own seat, and I noticed a few of the men did the same if their women were sitting in their laps.
Maybe because the men were caught up in war, they seemed more sensitive to Luca—the tone of his voice, the simplest of gestures.
He was their king—in family and in battle.
They listened to him without question, even if the family was divided when it came to Maggie Beautiful’s wish and what it would mean, not only for our faction, but for the entire Faustifamiglia. It would change the core of who they were fundamentally. It would take a part of their history that they valued and set it in a museum for people to gaze at and make conversation about.
Maggie Beautiful stared at her husband in awe, and he tightened his hold on her, setting her out an inch, and then pulling her back hard enough that she audibly gasped. Rocco’s hand covered mine, and I intertwined our fingers, even though my hand was against the table. I reached for my glass of icewater and took a sip, feeling a bead of sweat drip down my breast. A breeze blew, cooling it on my skin, and my husband’s nostrils flared.
He leaned in and nuzzled against my neck, his nose gliding along my skin, to the underside of my ear, until his mouth breathed a warm breath against me. I shivered.
“I am dying,” he whispered. “I am dying if I am not buried inside of you.”
I closed my eyes, took a few steadying breaths, hoping whatever Luca had to share would be the shortened version. I needed my husband, too, needed him in the worst way.
Luca began his speech by saying that the war was ours, and soon enough, all would be set right in world. He looked at Maggie Beautiful. “Even a new right,” he whispered to her.
She beamed at him and seemed to rest her body against his. His knuckles were buried in her dress, and I knew she wasn’t going anywhere—even if the ground beneath our feet would rock, he would not let her go.
My father-in-law then went on to say that the war within the family was being handled. A meeting was scheduled to discuss specifics. A beatific look came into his eyes when he said this. I glanced at Rocco, but he was staring ahead, not giving me anything. Something had happened, though; I could feel it. Maybe later Rocco would tell me, but…when he wanted to make up for lost time, he refused to share about what had gone on when he was away.
Luca didn’t mention the Russians, which I knew was a bad sign. If our side would’ve been victorious on that front, he would’ve announced it.
He went on to say that the men appreciated how their women were holding down the family while they were out honoring us. How romantic it was to have us on their minds while they were battling foes who craved blood.
He asked us to stand, and once we did, our men began clapping for us, cheering, and after we all took bows, our husbands pulled us close.
It was a moving moment, and no one seemed as moved as Maggie Beautiful. She was fanning herself, shaking her head. Luca kissed her on the temple, and after he finished his gallant and romantic speech, he said that we should all go in peace now, and live inside our love.
We were all about to stand when heads turned in the direction of newcomers. Our Russian allies. Evelina was with them, since her man was one of the assassins who fought for our side. Maestro, too, was marrying one of their women. Scarlett had told me that not much was known about the woman, but Maestro had agreed to marry her in return for information they needed at a time when the stakes were high for Mia. Apparently, over the years, as they were wont to do, the Fausti family had collected enemies who sometimes came back to haunt.
Case in point: Ita and her family.
Even though the Russians made a stir with their arrival, everyone had mellowed down and was about to head back to their quarters for the night.
A gasp sounded and echoed from the table. I’d been watching the way Lev, who was the leader of the Russian assassins, watched Scarlett. It wasn’t outright disrespectful, but I could tell Lev craved what Brando held in his arms. Brando had noticed, but he was keeping his eyes straight, like Lev didn’t even exist, especially because Scarlett’s eyes were only on and for Brando.
The gasp startled me into attention, though, and that was when I noticed Maggie Beautiful’s body was being held up by Luca, but her head was down. Everyone seemed to move to action at once, but it was Luca who was heard over the entire frantic crowd.
“Tito!” he roared.
Alessandra Ponte reached them first, then Uncle Tito. Ermanno was running over people’s feet to get Uncle Tito to where he needed to be. Together, Dr. Ponte and Uncle Tito were able to wake her up. She must’ve passed out. She was waving a hand in front of her face, giggling as she usually did, but something was off—maybe it had been all along, but she had hid it well. The day in the church, when she innocently tripped over the kneeler…or maybe her thyroid medicine levels were just off? We’d been put under a lot of stress ever since the day our home in Piemonte was attacked.
I wasn’t sure.
What I was sure of, though, was the way Luca Fausti was staring at me. It sent a cold chill through my blood, though my skin felt overheated from his stare. It was like he was looking straight through me, trying to find answers he couldn’t find through Scarlett or Eva.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew.
A story was brewing inside of me.
A story scary enough that I tried to block it out.
Had been blocking it out.
