Chapter 41 A Villa Divided #2
After Azzurra had been placed in a waiting SUV, the soldier who had been waiting forced Ermanno inside with her.
Ermanno had tried to come back for me. Except…
he had a piece of wood sticking out of his left eye.
The eye had too much nerve damage and couldn’t be saved.
He refused to speak after that. Even with Azzurra and her family being held on the property.
Ermanno ignored her at all costs. No one exactly knew why, but Uncle Tito spoke to him every day as he explored the property alone.
Uncle Tito refused to allow him alone time.
Massimo limped toward where Ermanno and Uncle Tito were.
He was quiet himself. He’d taken a bullet to the leg that caused lingering issues.
The only proof of the other entrance wounds were superficial—scars that would always remind the people around him of the love and honor he carried inside of him for those he cared about.
For me.
It felt odd to call Massimo my son, because we were closer in age than me and Rocco, but Massimo was Rocco’s son, and no matter what age I was, Rocco was my husband.
Massimo shared the same blood as the baby in my womb.
For so many reasons, I love Massimo like he’s mine, whichever familial title that comes with.
He was a good man with a great heart and even greater loyalty to his father.
When the doctor had said Massimo was going to make it, Rocco fell into a chair, holding his head in his hands, and cried.
I cried too, because for a time, it was touch and go with him.
Chloe’s mamma had even called after Rocco called Chloe.
He thought, maybe, Chloe would find it in her heart to come to Massimo and, in Rocco’s words, give him the strength to hold on.
It wasn’t Chloe beside his bed; it was Alessandra Ponte.
Chloe claimed she couldn’t lose Massimo, not in such a final way as death, but she did agree to speak to me.
It was going to be harder to find a way, since we were at war, not only within the family, but with outside forces.
Rocco said he would find a way, though, even if it meant escorting Chloe himself to wherever I was.
I turned my face away from the high, blood-orange Sicilian sun that seemed to color even the soil orange, and to the chilled shaded areas the olive trees made.
I wrapped the cardigan tighter around myself, my stomach noticeably swollen, even if it was a small bulge.
Maggie Beautiful had tried to make a joke by asking me why I was smuggling papayas underneath my shirt, since I’d been keeping month to month progress on what happens in that month.
I had reached my second trimester and, as far as that was concerned, could breathe much easier.
I hadn’t gotten sick one day, and even though Dr. Ponte said that could be normal, I had almost been begging for nausea.
I had desperately craved something to prove that I was pregnant other than a blood test. Dr. Ponte had enough equipment to start a small L&D hospital, and every so often, she’d give me an ultrasound.
Seeing her on the screen made it extremely real, and as the little papaya danced in my stomach, my heart eased—the only time it did.
My husband had left me to fight a war. The only communication we had was through letters that would come through by boat. Occasionally, the men would turn up for surprise visits. Some of them would be injured, some just needed their woman’s touch.
My eyes scanned the property—and there she was, a haven in the distance. Alessandra Ponte. Her eyes were narrowed against the sun, and she was watching Massimo Fausti like he might disappear on her. Sometimes he’d return the look, but other times, he only nodded at her and left her in the cold.
I’d asked Scarlett about how she felt when Chloe and Massimo first met.
Because…I couldn’t understand how such a smart woman, Alessandra Ponte, was hellbent on having a man that was closed off to the rest of the world, even if he was considered available.
Even though Chloe was the opposite of Rosaria, almost too meek for the world, much less the Fausti family, Chloe and Rosaria had one major thing in common: both were off limits, emotionally, to a certain degree.
I wasn’t sure if Massimo was pining after Chloe because of this, or because he was chasing a relationship that would bring his family back together.
Either way, both had roots to what his parents had struggled with: Rosaria being emotionally present.
And Rocco craving to love and be loved in return.
Scarlett had sighed and said, “What I feel isn’t always…
forever, if that makes sense. I’ve thought about the situation a lot—Massimo and Chloe’s relationship.
As a young girl, Chloe was spunky, and if she would’ve stayed on that path…
it wouldn’t have been as hard as it was for her to assimilate into the Fausti lifestyle.
But…things happen to us that change our paths.
“Chloe became more introverted and began depending on her art to feel…safe. She had a crush on Matteo when they were both in grade school. I never thought much of it. I knew even back then it was just that, a childhood crush. Chloe and Matteo became friends. In a small town like Natchitoches, everyone knows everyone, and that doesn’t stop when adulthood arrives. The sheriff had been awful to Brando—”
“The same sheriff whose wife was killed by Luca?”
She nodded and tucked a strand of auburn hair peppered with pure silver behind her ear. “And unborn child.”
“That’s so awful.”
She nodded again, but there was a far-off look in her eyes that made me set a hand on her arm to stop her.
“What?” I’d asked.
She shrugged. “We all know Luca did it to save Brando from Marzio taking him into the family.”
“Because Maggie Beautiful would’ve fought for him.”
Scarlett’s eyes searched mine. “You’re very perceptive—it feels like you’ve been a part of this family forever.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Even better than good, especially for you.” She waved a hand.
“Back to Luca. I often think of the situation, and it makes me feel like an awful person, always has. Because…if Luca wouldn’t have done what he did, Brando would’ve been taken, and even though I do believe our paths would’ve crossed again at some point, I’m almost positive my husband wouldn’t be the man he is today. ”
“You mean he’d be another version of Rocco.”
“Just from the time Luca spent with Brando before he was jailed, my husband had a hard time smiling.”
I’d noticed that. Brando didn’t smile as easily as his brothers.
He was the most serious out of them, even though he had no problem just being their…
brother. My husband was the opposite. He had no problem smiling, but he had serious issues letting go of the hierarchy and just being their…
brother. It seemed like everyone had something to bring into adulthood from childhood, even if the Fausti men never considered themselves young.
Point still stood. They all carried over something from when they were moldable enough to be formed. But I got Scarlett’s point.
If fate hadn’t intervened, her husband wouldn’t have been her husband, or the version of him she fell in love with. I thought about that with Rocco too. Except…when Rocco and I found each other, it was at a time when I’d almost lost him to the claws of a haunting ghost.
Maybe that would’ve been Brando Fausti—he would’ve been lost to a ghost, when the warmth of a living woman who he’d always craved felt like a world away.
I didn’t think Scarlett could’ve overlooked Brando Fausti having a woman he’d committed his life to before her.
Maggie Beautiful had confided in me that Scarlett wasn’t the most trusting of women when it came to men.
Scarlett herself had told me that, too, after we arrived in Sicily, just as she had confided in me about feeling torn about what Luca did to the sheriff’s wife, only because it had involved her husband and how it would’ve set them on different paths if the family had gotten a hold of Brando before she did.
It was all extremely complex, especially if a finger traced back the line and found the different sources that led there. It was so good to have Scarlett beside me, though, and she had told me she felt the same about me—a woman who could understand.
Maybe it was because we were both touched, or maybe it was because our husbands were so close in line to be the next rulers of this family, and we were the women who loved them beyond measure.
But even though the women were all banding together, we were all lost to our own pockets of sadness, anger…
confusion. Confusion, because without our husbands, without being the ones to help them navigate this war, we were lost. Frozen in a fear so deep inside of us, sometimes we did work on the property, but as our hands worked, our minds were always thinking the worst—what if…
It was a possibility I refused to accept.
The church on the property, facing the sea, was constantly filled with women on their knees, tears streaming down their faces, praying for healing of the heart before it was even broken.
It was broken enough to have them so far away and in danger’s way because men were power hungry to rule a family that was known to be as ruthless as they were romantic.
Candles constantly swayed with the gentle breath of the sea, taking me back to the church we were married in on Aria Island.
And maybe it was this part of the world, or my husband’s family, but we were all given clothes that took us back to a different time, a simpler time, but also a complicated time—as uncertain as the time we were in.
Veils were draped delicately over our heads, shielding our hair out of respect, as we all faced the cross above us, rosaries dangling in our hands in the dim light, lightening our weights by giving the heavy burdens over.