Chapter 17 Not All Ghosts are Quiet
Not All Ghosts are Quiet
Aria Amora
Either my eyes were deceiving me, or the man who appeared out of the fog was Massimo Fausti, my husband’s oldest son. My “gift” wasn't as powerful as Eva’s or Scarlett’s, but if the fog would’ve been smoke, Massimo would’ve created it from the chill he seemed to carry around.
I knew all about the situation between him and the woman named Chloe. I also knew about their son, who was being raised by Brando and Scarlett’s son and his wife—Matteo and Stella.
The last I’d heard was that Massimo was still imprisoned in Louisiana, the same prison Luca had been incarcerated in, and he would be there for quite some time, since he killed the man Chloe had attempted to marry out of…
spite? The specifics on that area of the situation were vague.
But I knew that not even guards, iron bars, or barbed wire could keep a Faust locked up if they wanted out.
Only Luca could have done that.
Massimo refused to see anyone while he was in jail.
He refused to speak to his father or any of the men in the family.
What I didn’t know was whether he had the right to refuse his grandfather.
I also knew Luca had the power to free him.
It seemed the Fausti family had an understanding with the rest of the world.
Faustis dealt with Faustis.
The law probably didn’t even want to deal with Massimo because of his connection to one of Italy’s most dangerous families.
But it seemed like Massimo had made the choice to follow in Luca’s footsteps.
From what I’d heard, the situation between Luca and Maggie Beautiful hadn’t always been what it was in present time.
From what I’d gathered and pieced together, Luca had fallen for Maggie Beautiful when he was still married to someone else—an arranged marriage like Rocco’s.
Except Luca’s ex-wife couldn’t produce heirs, so Marzio had found women for this purpose.
While all of this was going on, Luca had been ordered to deliver a special pear to Scarlett’s grandmother, the famous ballerina Maja Resnik, while she was in Natchitoches visiting her daughter and son-in-law.
This was how Maggie Beautiful and Luca had first come to be.
Then when Brando was…a young man, Luca killed the sheriff’s wife, who was pregnant at the time. By all accounts, Luca had always been in control of himself, but the story went that Luca had been drunk and driving.
Call it a hunch, but I didn’t believe it. Something about the situation didn’t sit right with me. When I’d brought it up to Rocco, he stared at me for a moment, then nodded.
“You are perceptive, my wife.” He said there was more to the story, but unless his father and Maggie Beautiful decided to tell the entire story, all that was left was pieces of the truth.
I had a feeling Massimo had self-sentenced himself for the same reasons. But if I was right about the mysterious man in the fog being my husband’s oldest son, then he’d gotten a pass and was out of jail.
Why so suddenly? And why hadn’t Rocco known?
He wasn’t the leader of the family yet, but he was close to it, and since I’d known him, all matters usually went through him before they reached Luca.
I was told news, or permission for anything the separate branches needed it for, always went up.
It started at the bottom of the “tree” until it reached the top.
Meaning…all Fausti family issues, personal or not, made it to my father-in-law at some point.
My eyes went to Rocco. He was staring at the spot where his oldest son (I assumed) had been standing.
Maggie Beautiful was looking at Rocco with troubled eyes.
My eyes found his other sons next. Amadeo and Ludovico.
There had been another son, Marzio, who everyone renamed Tiziano.
The name meant the man was a traitor to the Fausti family.
A Judas. He wasn’t Rocco’s biological son.
Rosaria had gotten pregnant from one of her affairs, but she didn’t tell Rocco the son wasn’t his until she wrote him a letter to be delivered posthumously.
Rocco always knew the son wasn’t his, but he felt for him, since he had a hard time accepting the circumstances of his own birth.
How he felt he had been conceived to be a soldier, then one day king.
Tiziano had turned on Rocco, though, and had been part of a group that tried to kill Rocco on the island.
Mac blew up their ship, and Tiziano was on it.
But Amadeo and Ludovico were staring at Rocco too. So were Brando, Dario, and Romeo.
None of these men seemed to know Massimo would be here, except for the man next to me, staring at Rocco.
Maybe the guards Luca chose to confide in knew as well.
Men swarmed this property from day to night, had their own quarters, and were sworn to protect the future king of Italy.
But if the current king ordered, no one questioned, only obeyed.
Rocco’s eyes finally moved to his father. A look passed between them, and I didn’t exactly understand it.
All I could feel was anger from my husband and acceptance of the situation from my father-in-law. No one seemed to have the answer but the man next to me, who was accustomed to not being surprised.
My husband and his father were still staring at each other, and their eyes held as Rocco came to stand before Luca. Luca said something to him in Italian, and I thought it was an order for a private meeting.
Rocco barely nodded in response, then he nodded at one of the top men in charge of Nel Cielo’s safety, before he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
He stood straighter as Mac came to his side, then he and Mac followed behind Luca and Donato.
Brando, Dario, and Romeo followed right after.
After them, a few more men, Guido included.
I noticed it was the higher positioned men who were welcome to the meetings with Luca. I was thinking it wasn’t a good sign if a lower man was ordered to a meeting. Seemed like if he was, Luca had a personal problem with the guy, and he probably wouldn’t be walking out.
Scarlett squeezed my arm, and our eyes communicated so much with just a glance. A lot was happening, and even if I couldn’t feel like she could, I could feel the wheels of the family turning. We were headed in a different direction than we were before.
Sighing, I squeezed back in response. I know, the touch communicated.
Carmen walked up, followed by Juliette, and I mentioned mingling with the guests to pass the time, making sure they were all comfortable and no one was feeling ignored.
All the women agreed this was a very good idea, and we split up to chat with the guests.
It did my heart good to hear the chatter, the drunken songs still being sung, the children still laughing, and see the swaying couples on the dance floor.
Men and women were both thanking me and Rocco for a beautiful night, and the compliments on the food and drink were coming as steady as the wine was flowing.
Uncle Tito was sitting at a table, his face flushed with color, a full bottle in front of him. He patted the table, a sign he was offering me a seat, and an older gentleman tipped his hat to me before he offered me the seat next to Uncle Tito.
“Can I get you anything, Prozio Tito?” I asked, dusting off his collar. Some vineyard dust had settled on him. Then I took one of the lighter blankets I’d made sure was left out for guests and covered his shoulders with it.
He laughed, patted my hands, then pushed a goblet at me and filled it with wine.
“Grazie, Prozio Tito,” I whispered as we clanked glasses and both took a sip.
I sighed, and so did he.
“You are a stunning woman, Aria Amora Bella Fausti,” he said. “Perfect for my nephew.” He took another drink of his wine. “This old man appreciates how you and your sisters of the heart always make sure to take care of me.”
“It’s a pleasure to do it,” I said. “You’re an amazing uncle.”
He made a gravelly noise low in his throat. He smiled and made a cute noise at his wife, who Brando and Scarlett’s youngest son, Maestro, had on the dance floor, basically holding her up. They were dancing to “Angolo Di Cielo.”
“She’s so beautiful,” I said, truly finding warmth in watching Lola still laugh and enjoy life at her age.
My grandmother had been the same. She didn’t count the years she had left.
She felt blessed by them and aged gracefully, even when the sickness was taking her.
She had her hard days, terrible days, but she’d always tell me she felt blessed to still be breathing.
He turned his smile on me. “It takes a beautiful woman to recognize a beautiful woman and compliment her.” He lifted his glass, and we clinked again.
“Grazie,” I said again.
He cleared his throat. “I remember your great-aunt, the beautiful Avelina. I knew your grandmother as well, Elisabetta. It never ceases to amaze me how small the world becomes when fate sets the path we travel.”
The glass slowly came down from my lips. “I understand my grandmother, since she worked for Scarlett’s parents, and you were with the Fausti family when they visited New Orleans, but…Avelina?”
He nodded. “I was a bit younger than Marzio and wedged between Ricco and Francesco in terms of age. You know of Scarlett’s grandmother, the famed Maja Resnik?”
“I do,” I barely got out. A cold wind breezed by, and goosebumps appeared on my skin, highlighted by the twinkling lights above our heads.
Uncle Tito reached over and, like a magician would do with a cape, swirled the blanket over my shoulders. The silk of the dress felt like ice suddenly against my skin. I thanked him again, and he nodded, taking another drink of his wine.
“I must admit, although I have noticed the similarities between you and Avelina, it has not been as shocking as seeing you this night. I believed my eyes were deceiving me—that I was seeing her again.”