“The solider will direct him to a bath, then he’ll have one of the cooks feed him. Ermanno will cat-sit Pisolino, make sure he is finding his temporary home acceptable.”
“All right,” I whispered, my heart dropping in disappointment. Ermanno was with me so much…I felt maternal toward him, especially knowing he had lost his mamma young.
After I straightened my dress to make sure I had no wrinkles, I rubbed my hand along my husband’s back to make sure no dirt had stuck to him.
Luca was old-school when it came to respecting the table, and his rules, which I understood. But it was more than that. The look in his eyes hadn’t warmed, and I knew if one small detail was out of place, he might take it out on his sons—because whatever he was holding inside was making the pressure rise around us.
I could feel it, and I got the feeling the animals especially felt it—like a hunter had been set loose, and no one was safe.
My hand went to my chest, and I clasped my cross for strength.
Thecastelloreflected the outside…opulent. It was exactly the kind of place I’d imagine the king of Italy would live. Antique furniture that seemed hand-carved, the wood dark and polished, and expensive marble throughout, including statues of naked men and women. There were brass and gold touches, along withfamily heirlooms preserved inside glass boxes. The paintings hanging on the walls were probably worth millions.The entire place was stunning, and I understood why Rocco would consider living there, at least some of the time.
I wasn’t sure if the place had always had a warm feel to it, but it was full of warmth. For as big as it was, it felt like a home. I also thought Maggie Beautiful had a lot to do with that. She mentioned the place being perfect as is, so she’d never requested any changes, but when I’d told her how warm it felt, that wasn’t what I was referring to.
The warmth of it had to do with her. Her essence. She might not have decorated, but every inch of the place had her touch all over it. From the grand dining room with a table designed for one hundred guests, down to the smallest powder rooms, her scent lingered in each one. The masculine scent of her husband hovered, and I thought that was a great metaphor for how these men operated around their women. It was a subtle reminder that they were never alone.
If you get her, you get him.
Which both comforted me—my husband would always be near me—and made me anxious.
No matter what, my husband would defend my honor, even against his own family.
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at dinner, except for maybe a few grins between us when ahonkwould echo outside of the window, but it would quickly fade. Because we all know…this dinner might be peaceful, but the times ahead were going to be anything but.
Chapter 22
If You Get Her, You Get Him
Aria Amora
Iwas constantly reminded of my husband’s steady presence in my life, especially after we’d arrived in Lucca and were staying on his father’s vast property.
The meeting with Francesco and family had been postponed until the following year out of respect for Aunt Lola, but like the rest of the world, business would move forward.
All but Uncle Tito, who did nothing but what he had been doing, praying that God would take him home to be with his wife. For a man who saved lives his entire life, it was truly awful to see him beg not to be saved.
Marciano was still staying with him. The bond they shared was strong, and even though Scarlett told me that, after Uncle Tito passed, her son would be all right in time, I knew she and Brando were worried about the emotional toll it was going to take. Or maybe how much it would change him.
I was worried about it all, too, along with the meeting. We’d been at Luca’s walled “city” since the goose incident, and as much as I enjoyed being on the property, it was also a reminder of why we were here.
A Fausti family war was on the horizon.
It seemed to heighten all around us.
Even when we were alone in our bedroom, after we’d make love all night long, sometimes until the sun came up, and my husband’s heart should’ve settled, the way it beat in his chest reminded me of a…battle drum.
I even thought about finding the letters and burning them, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good
One:My husband’s word was as good as his blood, which meant it was true. Even if I burned the letters, his word would be believed that we’d found them. He’d be truthful, down to a comma or period, about what the letters said.
Which led me to reasontwo: The letters did prove that my great-aunt had been in love with Ricco, not Francesco, and she was going to choose her love no matter what the consequences. However, what the letters didn’t make clear was who saw her first or who she…spoke to first and began to make a relationship with first. Those lines were blurred, and it would be easy enough for Francesco’s line to make the claim that Ricco had hypnotized her with his charm.
That was no joke or overstating it. These men were not above the claim, because my husband used those exact words, and he wasn’t joking.
“You’re serious?” I’d asked.
“I am rarely anything else,” he’d said.
