She was below the window, picking fall leaves with Ermanno for the Thanksgiving celebration my father held every year in honor of his wife’s wishes. Margherita loved the American holiday, and each year we celebrated in Italy, although it was comparable to Sunday dinner for us Italians. My brothers were married to women from America, as was I, and all the women seemed to be looking forward to it.
A grin came to my face when my wife sprinkled fallen leaves onto Ermanno’s head, laughing as she did. He knocked them off, laughing too, and I could not help but envision a future with her where we had children of our own. She would be a wonderful mamma with plenty of love to give.
The thought made my chest ache to think of my sons, who were not raised knowing what this felt like. On the one hand, I felt as if I had chosen poorly for them. On the other, if I had not chosen Rosaria to carry them, my sons would not be my sons,and out of all the life I had lived, my sons were the only part of my life before Aria that I did not look back on with loneliness.
I reflected, for a moment, on Massimo. How, when he had entered the world, I did not feel so alone. I held my blood in my hands, a part of myself that could possibly understand me, while I knew I would understand him. However, Fausti rules separated us over the years. Not locking Rosaria up in a tower on a secluded island separated us even further.
I could not kill Rosaria. We had understood each other for much too long. She was also, no matter how she felt, the mother of my children. A part of me knew that, if I had killed her, it would have killed a part of them, knowing I could do something so cold to their blood. Even if Massimo felt that was a plausible solution, it was not the right decision.
This was why, after Rosaria fell off the cliff to her demise, he refused to see me while in prison.
He had been torn.
His hate for me and Rosaria, and the love for me and Rosaria.
I understood his feelings. I had been created out of duty, as well, and my mamma did not want me as well. I was an offering to the Fausti family that came at a price. Perhaps my sons felt their lives came at a price as well. Although I did not only see my sons as soldiers for the family—my life had more meaning because of them—I also, over the years, did not have enough meaning without the love I so desperately craved all my life.
My sons felt this truth, none more than Massimo, which was perhaps why his struggles mirrored mine. My stones and the ripples they had caused were rocking his sea.
My wife laughed even louder when Ermanno narrowed his eye at my wife and rubbed his head. She pointed above her, laughing so loudly, it echoed inside of my father’s office. I could read her lips. She was telling Ermanno that she hadn’t hit him with the acorn. The cheeky Italian squirrel had done it. Helooked up slowly and gave the tittering rodent a rude Italian hand gesture, then clasped his head when the rodent flung another one down. My wife collapsed on the ground, making sure her dress was settled underneath her, laughing even harder.
She was entirely too beautiful for this world, and her beauty hit me in the center of my chest. It always would, stealing my breath.
A pool of sunlight flowed through the trees, highlighting her spot in the grass. She wore a light rose (pinkish hue), long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder dress, her warm brown hair falling around her shoulders in long waves. She was so soft, so warm, and her scent lingered on me. When I would least expect it, the sweet smell of her would perfume the air around me. It was a reminder that, for the rest of my life, I would not be alone as I was before. I did not need the reminder, but when it came, I was thankful.
Perhaps Amora felt the weight of my stare. A grin lingered on her face as she watched Ermanno take his revenge on the squirrel by throwing the acorns back (although I wondered whom was truly getting their revenge on whom, since the rodent was either stealing the ones Ermanno was throwing back, or the nuts were hitting Ermanno in the head when gravity eventually pulled them down), and then her eyes slowly came up to the window I stood behind.
Her grin turned into a breath-stealing smile, and she raised her right hand in greeting. I raised mine, and she closed one eye, positioning her hand as if she was touching mine.
Mac came to stand next to me. “We must begin the meeting,” he said in Italian. “The meeting with your father will be directly afterward.”
She set her hand over her heart, then sent it to me. I caught it, setting it over mine. Her smile seemed to be the reason the sunshone. Then she spoke to Ermanno, and before she could get up on her own, he held out his hand and helped her up.
Romeo appeared at my other side. “He will be heart-stricken when it is time to say goodbye to her. It is clear to see they have fallen for each other.”
“He will not have to leave her,” I said. “Nor does she have to leave him. I put him in this place for a reason.”
Dario cleared his throat. “Giovanni loved Giulia—his wife. His son is a part of her.”
“You are telling me Giovanni misses his son,” I said.
My wife and Ermanno had walked closer to the pond, and then and only then would I turn and face my brothers and men.
Dario shrugged. “I cannot see how he cannot. Ermanno carries a part of her within him.”
I stared at Dario until I made my decision. “Giovanni will be a permanent part of my security detail. You will let him know.”
Dario nodded.
Romeo watched out the window for a moment, then fixed his hair. “I am jealous of you, brother.”
I looked at him. “You have finally realized I have the better hair.”
There was a moment of silence in the room, and then everyone but Romeo started to laugh.
Romeo shook his head, taking his hair much too seriously, before his face pinched. “The one time I am being serious, you are joking,fratello. I do not know if I approve of this change.”
“Speak your mind, Romeo.” I grinned.
