Chapter 23
Stones and Ripples
Rocco
The echo of revving dirt bike engines reverberated inside of my skull in memory as I gazed out the window of my father’s office. My sons, Amadeo and Ludovico, along with my nephews and nephew by marriage, Saverio, were riding this day.
My eyes, though, were on my wife.
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.
He looked 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 sun shone. 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.
He nodded and fixed his hair again, giving mine a look before he seemed to stand taller.
“I have learned that life reminds me of a book—a book that we each get to write. However, there are some parts we cannot go back and read until, perhaps, our book is done. The favorite parts of my life are the parts that you are writing as we speak, with your wife. If I could go back and write the book of my life with my wife again, I would do so in a heartbeat. This is where my favorite lines have been highlighted in my heart.”
The depth of my brother’s comment hit me square in the chest, as if he had struck me there.
The truth and conviction behind his words went much deeper than Romeo usually shared.
Although he was as romantic as the rest of us, he was not usually the man who said such poignant things in the room, unless these comments had to do with his hair.
All the men in the room nodded in agreement with his sentimentalities. I squeezed his shoulder, knowing the times Romeo spoke of were the loneliest times of my life.
Perhaps the men of my age had not experienced the same soul-cutting loneliness I had, and I was thankful for this, but they were experiencing a loss they could never get back—the beginning times with their wives.
I was only just experiencing the beginning with my wife.
After I cleared my throat, I fixed my suit and took my father’s seat at his desk.
He was staying up to date on the situation with the Russian drug dealers, but he did not care to be the lead on it.
He felt the Francesco issue was the most pressing.
If the drug situation became a true threat, then and only then would he intervene.
The beginning of the meeting was about the situation in New Orleans. Our rental there being bombed, and in retaliation, we took out the drug warehouse.
We discussed a few points, then Mac filled me in on our main point of contact and what this all meant.
“War,” he said simply. “These drugs are more powerful and more lucrative than any that has hit the streets before. If the Russians are willing to go to war with the Fausti family over them, we know how much Daze means to them. The warehouse in New Orleans was one of their most active fronts. Same as New York, it’s easy to smuggle thousands of pounds of dangerous powder through the boats constantly using the river for delivery. ”
“They are demanding we repay them for the drugs,” Brando said to sum up the situation.
Mac nodded. “Or our rental in New Orleans is a small price to pay for what’s coming, including the women not being in the house at the time of the explosion.”
We all grew silent until Brando cleared his throat. “You know of more of their places?”
The issue with the Russians and the drugs was personal to my brother.
His son-in-law, Saverio, had been taken, along with Mac and a few of our men, by the Russians.
Mia, my goddaughter, had gone to save them all.
It made the situation even more personal when it was discovered that old acquaintances had gotten involved in the drug business with our enemies turning them into foes.
These old foes had been leading the charge.