Chapter 32 #2
“No,” she whispered. “You can’t. But sometimes these Fausti men, or maybe men in general, think they can kill things like that—invisible things that claw at our hearts and souls—by physically removing it. We know it’s not possible, but…to them, it’s a way at controlling the situation.”
Control brought me to another point.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She sighed, patting my hand. “The doctor said it has something to do with my thyroid. I need pills.” She sighed again, this time harder.
“Getting old sucks! Ten out of ten don’t recommend.
” She laughed like only Maggie Beautiful could, then she picked up a platter and said she was going to bring it out to the dining room.
As she hauled ass to get out, she shouted over her shoulder. “You might want to take a picture of this as proof. The queen sometimes helps!”
I was learning a lot about the new family I’d married into, people that were becoming thicker to me than blood, and I could tell that was an avoidance tactic. She didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t truly my business, and I refused to push her, so I’d decided to speak to Scarlett about it.
Between Scarlett and Maggie Beautiful, I felt Scarlett was the safer choice. If I upset Maggie Beautiful, there was no doubt Luca would notice, and the look he gave me at my birthday party lingered in my memories, chilling me to the bone.
Amadeo and Ludovico entered the kitchen, both kissing each of my cheeks. Cold from being out on the slopes wafted off them. I shivered, rubbing my arms, and Amadeo laughed, the sound of it a lot like Romeo’s, and Ludovico grinned.
“The entire house smells delicious,” Ludovico said in Italian. “It is coming from the heart of the home—the kitchen.”
Before Amadeo could slap him upside his head for speaking in Italian to me, I answered back in the same language. I thanked him, then told him what was on the menu.
Amadeo’s eyes widened. “You know the language now.”
I nodded. “I had some of the language, but…it was time. I haven’t learned all the dialects, but hopefully in time.”
Amadeo grinned. “Italy is made of dialects. It will give you a reason to stay forever.” He winked at me.
“Your Italian is as excellent as this foods smells.” Ludovico complimented.
I could tell they were both starving. I pointed to the dishes and asked them each to help me. They both looked almost affronted, looking around.
“The servers did not show up.” Ludovico made a face, and it reminded me of a mixture of Brando and Dario.
“Father did not have someone’s head for this,” Amadeo said seriously.
Amadeo and Ludovico gave each other a concerned look, but in Fausti Verse, it had more to do with the serious set of their thick eyebrows.
Thick, but not overdone. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, then I told them both I was the cook and the server.
I wanted the meal to be more family-oriented, and we’d be having dinner in the same style.
Everyone would serve themselves what and how much they wanted.
“And I have plenty, plenty, plenty, so eat up!” I realized in that moment that this was our first family meal—all of us together. Even though the situation with Massimo made me anxious, that was something to be thankful for.
Maybe Rocco and his sons could find a way to grow closer while also respecting the family’s rules. I knew they needed them to exist in the world they were born into, but…time and place.
Amadeo and Ludovico each grabbed a bunch of dishes, leaving me with one wimpy pitcher of the spiced drink I’d made to go with the weather outside.
Ludovico stopped short before we could make it to the dining room.
Amedeo continued walking, but Ludovico and I were suddenly alone.
It looked like he had something heavy on his mind.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
He blinked at me. “You are what a mamma should be. My new sibling will be blessed to have you.”
My heart felt like it broke in a million pieces in my chest. For him. For his brothers. For Rocco. Even for Luca and past men who felt the same way. Even though these men were who they were, and they protected us at all costs, I thought they were all a little broken too.
The lump in my throat was hard to get down, but I forced it. “We’re a family,” I said. “How about we start making plans to do this…once a month?”
“Every week.” He grinned at me. “I have no doubt the food will taste as delicious as it smells.”
“Even better.” I returned the grin with a genuine smile.
I cooked with my Nonna at home, but I’d never been responsible for this many mouths to feed.
I knew Nonna would be proud of me. I felt all the love she’d showed me pass through my heart and into my hands.
It was becoming an addicting feeling. And even if every dish wasn’t perfect, food infused with love was always the best medicine.
Ludovico nodded at me, and then his face turned serious. “I am thankful you are here,” he said. “Perhaps my brother will not die.”
He left me in the hallway, holding the pitcher—wondering if that was what it truly could come down to.
Yeah, I realized, it could, and I refused to allow it.
I stood straighter, keeping the pitcher firmly in my hands. They had been shaking some…droplets of blood-red spiced drink had splattered to the floor.
I hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.
The look on my husband’s face when he answered the door matched his son’s face. Both seemed like they had been out in the cold too long and had been turned into ice.
Rocco had his hand on my lower back. I could feel how hot he was running, and besides the glacier stare, his jaw ticked once, and that was the only sign that he was seething on the inside.
Massimo didn’t seem to have a tell, but he was too stone-faced to have been feeling anything but a cold detachment. He wasn’t indifferent, and neither was Rocco, because both men were being affected by the other, so I took that as a start, as small as it was.
The three us of said nothing, and I knew Rocco was going to take it as a sign of disrespect.
Massimo hadn’t told him he was leaving prison.
He hadn’t told him he was on the land. And he wasn’t greeting Rocco first. This family went beyond traditional.
They had rules, and by their law, father or not, Rocco outranked Massimo.
Just before Rocco moved, Massimo stepped to the side and set a frozen Ermanno in front of him. “He was lurking,” Massimo said.
Ermanno’s eyes were downcast until he looked up at Rocco. Rocco gave him a hard look.
He sighed and shrugged. “It is cold out, and the house smelled warm with Signora Fausti’s delicious food.
I also wanted to see Pisolino.” He lifted a toy it seemed he’d handmade from behind his back.
It almost looked like a smaller version of a fishing pole.
“I gave him my word, Signor Fausti. I had a gift for him.”
I stepped out the door and directed Ermanno’s shoulders into the house. “We have plenty,” I said.
“You will take the food back to your father’s place,” Rocco ordered. “Go straight to the kitchen.”
“You can take Pisolino with you,” I said in a soft voice. “He’s going to love the new toy!”
Ermanno thanked me, then Rocco. He passed me on the way to the kitchen, and when I turned back, Massimo was looking between Rocco and me.
Massimo greeted me first. He was cordial, but not all that warm.
He carefully dug in his coat pocket and pulled out what seemed like a package from the butcher.
He looked at Rocco, greeted him, a sharp “Father,” and after Rocco gave a stiff nod in return, he asked permission in Italian to give me a gift.
Rocco eyed Massimo with steel in his eyes, and after I placed more weight against his hand on my lower back, he gave another stiff nod.
I almost felt like starting a fire to thaw them out.
The next best thing was to get inside, but it seemed as if formalities had to be completed first. The Fausti family had their rules, but at a woman’s table, she ruled.
This would be the first and last time this sort of exchange would happen before our family dinners.
How was everyone going to be able to relax when it felt like someone had sprayed an enormous amount of starch in the atmosphere?
Massimo offered me the package. When his smile came, it came slow and mischievous. “For you, Aria Amora Bella Fausti, my father’s wife. The meat of the chinghiale. I butchered it myself.”
“Ah,” I breathed out, smoke purling from my mouth.
He was reminding me of what he’d done for me and what I’d done for him—not saying anything to Rocco about how he’d knocked me down.
But…he couldn’t hold the fact that he was on our property, and we’d had a situation together over my head.
I’d told Rocco about that. I just refused to tell Rocco he’d knocked me down.
If he wanted to share that with Rocco…so be it.
I wouldn’t have wanted to, though. I thanked him in Italian and held up the frozen lump.
“I’ve been wanting to cook steaks. Next time we have a family dinner, these will be on the menu. ”
He searched my eyes, almost as if he was waiting for the punchline, but when it never came, he gave me a nod, and I picked up on the wariness even in that small gesture.
When Rocco felt my body move, he moved. We were so in sync with each other, it almost felt like we could be professional dance partners.
“Come in,” I said, motioning to Massimo. “We’ll have dinner first, if you have enough time, and then we can talk?”
Massimo’s eyes jumped to his father’s. He didn’t say this, nor did I think he would’ve said this in this manner (these men were much more eloquent than this), but…to put it plain and simple, it was almost as if he was saying with the look, “Is she for real?”
Rocco nodded. “My wife requests we have dinner at her table, as a family would, and then we will speak about the issue in private.”