Chapter 33
Endangered Species
Aria Amora
The sky was so black it almost seemed navy blue.
All the snow, lights from the city, and a silvery moon that almost seemed frozen close to earth were the only sources of contrast. Maybe it was the elevation, but it seemed like I could reach out and touch the orb.
It was close enough that, when I snapped a picture of it without a special lens, it wasn’t as blurry as it usually was.
I wiped the condensation off my screen and set it to the side.
Thoughts of Massimo, Michelangelo, and the lying witch, Ita, ran through my head.
Despair (Massimo was missing out on so much of Michelangelo’s life, and in the Fausti family, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he became a Shorty, as I called them) and then relief (the Ita witch would be out of our lives soon, and my husband would be vindicated)—two emotions on repeat, and always in the middle of it, our little buffer, the growing life in my womb.
That was what the pool area of the chalet felt like, like I was inside of my mom’s womb again.
At least then, she had kept me safe and warm.
I touched my stomach, making a vow on the moon then and there to my baby, “I’ll always keep you safe and warm.
I’ll love you so much—to the moon and back, even further, to heaven and back. ”
My thoughts went back to Massimo, and the lump in my throat tightened. Yeah, he was a grown man who probably needed to work through whatever he was going through in his own time, but…I felt bad that he and Rocco were going through it.
It was easier for Rocco to love me, but he didn’t love his sons any less. I could feel how much Massimo loved Rocco too. But…there was a bridge between them, and the drop below was so steep, the height of it made me feel dizzy in an emotional way.
I could only compare what I was considering to what I had lived through with my own messed-up parents.
I was the only one trying to have a relationship with them, and when I stopped, all communication stopped, except for the rare times I’d get a phone call.
My Nonna would pick up the phone and say, “What’s wrong?
” They called so rarely that, when they did, it was almost cause for concern.
My Nonna was rarely callous, but sometimes I’d hear her mutter, the only reason I pick up is to see if my baby girl has insurance money on the way.
She wasn’t being truthful. She loved my father, and she said to a certain degree my mom, too, because she had a hand in creating me.
The relationship between Rocco and his sons was multi-dimensional to me. There was the family, then Rocco, and then his sons. Rocco and his sons were tied up in the family hierarchy and laws, but…they were also their own unit: a father and his sons. Their own family.
There was also the fact that a man who they considered a son and brother was violently ripped from them when he backstabbed them—more than one time. Rocco had made peace with it. I wasn’t so sure about his sons.
At the table, Amadeo occasionally would glance at the seat next to him. Maybe where Tiziano would’ve sat. But I also knew that, because Tiziano had double-crossed them, these feelings of nostalgia were only fleeting. Nothing came close to dishonor in their books, except for disrespect.
Rocco set his hand on my neck and began to massage. My head tilted forward, and I moaned a little.
“If you were not pregnant,” he whispered, “you would be if you continue to make those noises, my wife.”
I grinned. “This is the absolute truth,” I whispered back.
He massaged my neck long enough that I started to fall asleep, and then, as if I was floating on a cloud, picked me up and brought me into the arms of the warm water. The pool was behind a glass that held stunning views of the Pennine Alps.
Winkelmatten, the quaint homestead where our chalet was, spread out beneath us, as though we were in heaven, and all the tiny lights below were stars hovering close to the grassy knoll the hamlet sat atop.
My husband always brought me to the clouds.
Always.
I kept my eyes closed as he floated me around the pool, steaming rising around us.
He cleared his throat. “In the ninth month, you will appreciate the water and how it will defy gravity for your benefit.”
My eyes blinked open, and he was staring down at me.
From the humid feel of the room, perspiration dripped down his face in crystal droplets, turning into ribbons further down his skin.
My husband had smooth skin, but not perfect.
He had enough scars on him that I could count.
Especially where that wretched woman had sliced an X on his chest that almost killed him—she was trying to carve out his heart but didn’t have the courage to.
“Each of your scars are mine, Rocco Fausti,” I whispered, gazing into his sea-green eyes as I used my fingertip to trace the uneven textures. I did that at times. Healed him this way. Replaced a violent touch with my soft one.
“As healing as the sun, you are to me,” he whispered, his eyes closing some. “In the dead of any winter. I have lived countless lives for you, Amora. I would die countless deaths to keep you. There is no life without my wife.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, keeping eye contact, until my eyes closed and I placed a soft kiss on his lips.
“I knew it,” I breathed out. “I knew you wouldn’t have hurt me.
” My bones trembled from the strain of worrying about it all.
The only thing left was to prove who the father of her baby was.
“‘A capable, intelligent, and virtuous woman—who is he who can find her? She is far more precious than jewels, and her value is far above rubies or pearls.’ My entire being has always agreed about who you are to me. Aria Amora Bella Fausti. My beautiful love song. I would not jeopardize what has always been meant for me. What I stand to lose is vital to me.”
“Amen,” I whispered against his pulse. “Because I refuse to accept anything less.”
“You are priceless to me. Not even entrance into heaven is acceptable unless you are there with me.”
We stared at each other as Rocco swam us around.
“Your words break my heart, Rocco. Those are words a writer would use to paint her book with beautiful prose.”
He bowed his head to me, closing his eyes, kissing my forehead. “My wife,” he whispered. “My life.”
“Forever.”
“Per sempre.”
I cleared my throat. “What will happen now?” I’d made a threat that I wasn’t sure I could go through with. The lying bitch was pregnant. I couldn’t feed her a poisonous dish, knowing she was carrying someone’s child and would be the child’s mother.
However, I wasn’t spewing an empty threat when I’d made it. I knew she was going to be trouble if I didn’t, and not only for me and my husband, but maybe for our child. That wasn’t a threat I could live with.
Just the thought of her hurting my husband or my baby made me feel ferocious. Those feelings would forever come back to me when I thought of the moment she pointed at him and aimed her false accusations at the both of us.
Rocco shrugged. “She will be dealt with. Mac believes whoever the father is has been in on the coup d'état. I thought this as well. The father shall be found and dealt with as well. As of this moment, she is still claiming it is me.”
“Luca wouldn’t doubt Massimo, would he?”
“No,” he answered instantly. “My son is dealing with personal issues, but not once has his word come into question. This is a high offense in our world.”
“A death sentence.”
He nodded seriously.
“Do you believe to lie should be punished by death?”
“It is our way. To lie is to fear. To be a Fausti means we do not fear—who shall we fear on the earth? No man. We are men. Soldiers. Lovers. Knights.” He didn’t answer plainly, but the answer he gave was one that could have been used in a court of law to defend his feelings on the matter.
It was said clearly, precisely, but with enough conviction that, to deny him would be to challenge him.
“Basically,” I said, summing it up, “the Fausti men should be considered an endangered species.” I sighed.
I was still getting used to walking the line between the rest of the world and the Fausti family. I didn’t think everyone could walk ir. It was fine. That made me think of Chloe.
I dipped my hand in the pool and let my fingers linger on my husband’s skin, watching as the water slid down his broad shoulders, to his muscular chest, to his slim waist. It disappeared after that, and I almost wanted to drink the water—it had touched his skin.
“Do you think she’ll talk to me? Chloe, I mean?”
He shrugged again. “I do not know. She has been adamant about not speaking to my son and not being present in my grandson’s life.”
“Because she can’t bear to be around Massimo, or at the time, his family who reminded her so much of Massimo? He was in jail for a while.”
“I am always honest, Amora, however, being an honest man does not always mean that I will speak my truth.
There are times I watch. An intelligent man will watch and not speak a word.
My son will find his way, with or without my direction, but I did not feel from the beginning that Chloe was strong enough to survive this family.
“Perhaps if my son disappeared into the shadows this family makes, she could have.” He shrugged.
“However, this was not the course fate took. My position in the family is at the top of the food chain. Rosaria Caffi was ruthless enough to protect it with her teeth and claws for her own status. There are also others who will challenge it, as ferociously as she used to be.”
“You’re telling me that if Chloe couldn’t stand against Rosaria, she would’ve had a problem being married to a man who is so close to the Fausti throne.”
“Correct,” he said in Italian. “Chloe is a tender woman. An artist who enjoys being inside of her mind.”
“Massimo felt it was meant to be.”