“Brother.”
Pasquale closed his eyes before he shut his front door behind him. Fabiana stood at the bottom of his stairs, her dark hair flowing around her face and down to her hips. Her eyes were haunted and fearful.
Days and weeks may have passed since so much in their life had changed, but Fabiana was still a hiding, broken child. The vixen she’d once been was nothing more than a façade carefully crafted by their father to attract the sort of man he’d believed Dominic to be.
But here—in soft yoga pants and a t-shirt she probably took from his closet and her feet bare—she was nothing more than a woman who still didn’t know who she was.
“You can’t call me that.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “But that’s what you are. We never could say it when … Primo was alive.”
Yes. Something else that man would never truly answer for. Fabiana was five years younger. Not much by shifter standards, but she’d be denied having the connection of a protective older brother. She’d been bred and taught to be the future Capo wife Primo intended, nothing more or less. If she hadn’t overheard an argument between Primo and Pasquale, she wouldn’t even know they were related.
“Come here, cucciola.”
At the familiar nickname, Fabiana brightened. He’d called her “puppy” from the time she was a small child, tripping as she ran behind him. She’d been clumsy and gangly but filled with so much expression.
Their father had ironed that out soon enough. Pasquale wished she remembered how to laugh easily like she did when she was younger. She was small in his arms, so different than Giuliana’s vibrance and strength. Fabiana’s shoulders had carried too much weight—they curved in on themselves. He pulled her close, inhaling the soft powder and snow of her scent.
The snow … it came from their mother, born in the mountains. It marked them, reminded them of their bond. Bringing Fabiana into the world had taken their mother’s life. Pasquale wished he could blame their mother’s death for the change in their father, but he’d been mean and cruel long before Luciana Orneti had taken her last breath.
Their arranged marriage had been doomed from the get-go, and it was why Primo saw nothing wrong with arranging Fabiana’s life as well and not waiting for a mate to her wolf.
“What did you do today?”
Fabiana chuckled, a sound like silver bells on the wind. “Why do you ask that all the time?”
“Because I’m interested.”
“No one’s interested.”
He lifted her chin so he could look down at her. “I am not our father. Tell me.”
“I painted for a while. But I don’t have the right tone to get it done. The one I have is more ultramarine when I want Phthalo blue.”
He had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Colors were just that. Why make up such crazy damn names? What the hell was Phthalo blue?
A blue you don’t know. Obviously.
You’re feeling uppity today, wolf.
No, I was up earlier, and you left the house.
She isn’t ready.
Ix-nay on the upid-stay.
He rolled his eyes instead of answering the animal inside him. Fabiana caught the eye roll and shrank.
“I’m-I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you. I’m fussing with Stupid right now.”
Fabiana cocked her head to the side. He remembered when she’d done that as a little girl, always studying, always watchful. He wondered for the umpteenth time if she’d have been a scientist or something if they’d left her alone.
“I think you are closer to your animal than most.” Her voice was stronger. It did this when she warmed to a topic and didn’t have to fear rejection.
Feeling better that he’d gotten a good subject change, he pinched her chin and stepped back.
