Epilogue
A Letter from the Head Lion to the Daughter of his Heart
The letter was delivered to me by my father-in-law himself, when my husband was busy making plans for the women to be moved from the property, in what I found out was Licata located in Sicily.
My husband didn’t want the women in one place for too long.
World travels fast in the Fausti family, and if any one of them got a hint of where we were, we would have to use the escape route, and Rocco didn’t want it to go down that way.
He wanted a peaceful move for us, not one that would put us in harm’s way.
I decided to take a walk and open the letter by myself.
It had Luca’s official seal on it, and the way Luca had delivered it to me was extremely formal.
Donato was with him and was equally as formal.
My father-in-law’s guard was most of the time, but sometimes he could be a bit relaxed around us, especially Scarlett.
Maybe because she had more time in than me, and they were all around the same age, their relationships were different.
Relationships.
If my husband, or hers, had heard me use that term in my head, either man would’ve gone off the deep ends. We only had relationships with them. No other men.
I found a spot under an ancient olive tree, using its branches for shade.
I tucked my dress underneath me, taking a seat on a level spot.
Their roots sometimes reminded me of long fingers reaching from below and breaking ground to feel the sun.
I stared into the distance for a bit, watching everyone on the property.
Ever since the men had arrived, it was so much more peaceful.
I didn’t have to take breaks from talking because the hysteria in my chest was making me breathless— in the worst way.
Laughter.
I heard children’s laughter, along with their mamma’s. Saverio was kissing his daughter’s chubby cheeks, making her catch the giggles. His sons each stood close to his legs, like they were ready to walk in the footsteps he left behind.
My smile grew even bigger when I noticed Giovanni, Ermanno, Thandie, and Uncle Tito all taking a walk together.
Of course, Ermanno was pushing Uncle Tito in his wheelchair.
It seemed like Ermanno needed him as much as Uncle Tito needed him.
Though…Uncle Tito was the same, but he wasn’t.
It seemed like maybe his mind was slipping ever since Aunt Lola’s death, but in some ways, compared to who he had been directly after her passing… I found it to be, maybe, a small mercy.
I twirled the letter in my hand.
My eyes found Maggie Beautiful. She was out sunning her chest, a magazine in her hands, but she was sleeping with a blanket over her legs.
Her big hat shielded her beautiful face.
Scarlett sat next to her, almost like a sentinel.
Watching out for her while the men discussed plans to move us.
Spain. Spain was being discussed, but I wouldn’t know until my husband came out of the meeting and told me.
We might even be leaving as soon as he did.
The only thing I was holding tightly to was that after Luca had stared at me the way he had, I knew Rocco wasn’t going to leave me.
He seemed to have distrust for Luca after, and I wasn’t sure why.
I didn’t ask. I watched. I knew my husband’s eyes and the meaning behind them.
Maybe his distrust of his father came from the feelings I was having.
A tingling, almost aching, in my fingers to begin writing was driving me closer to a pen and paper, or whatever I could find to release the pressure.
But if I fought it and didn’t…how could Luca make me?
With a gust of wind, I tore open the letter, cracking the seal and opening the folded piece of thick paper that smelled like my father-in-law: cologne and blood:
My Dearest Daughter of my Heart,
What I am about confide in you, I am certain you already know.
However, there comes a time in a man’s life when he feels to cement his own mortality, to leave a lingering legacy, he must go beyond conversation and pick up a pen, as if it was a mighty sword, and battle the life he knows will win in the end, sacrificing his lifeblood to the page, so he shall be immortalized in its fibers forevermore, as a man and a woman will always be immortalized in the offspring they share for generations to come.
You, the Daughter of my Heart, are well versed in this arena, since this is the power you wield— the power of the pen.
Where Scarlett Rosa Fausti, another Daughter of my Heart, feels too much compassion and empathy, leading her to instinctually find truth where it is hidden, you find the truth where words hide their true meaning behind symbolism.
A great man, who my father once considered a confidante, Pasquale Ranieri, was the same as you are. Powerful with a pen; a decoder of words and their meaning to an unmatched degree. Which is why I am confiding in you today; entrusting you with the truth behind my words.
I am uncertain of how all the last breaths I will take will play out on the stage of life.
This is life, ah?
For most of us, we can sense how it will end, depending on how we have lived, but unless we have been blessed with the power of foresight, our ends are still a mystery, as they should be.
There is no greater actor than the truly surprised.
There is no certainty in how the ripples of my actions will stir the monster of this infamous familigia I lead and the consequences that will follow.
However, I do know this; my last breaths and actions are my own.
Whatever I will do or not do, I will do out of love for the woman who has always owned my heart, and the blood of the ruthless family that runs through my veins.
I have a musical stanza in my heart because of her.
This is the romance; the tune my heart beats to.
My blood has a pulse of its own, a war cry, one that my feet will always follow into battle— this is the echo of past generations of Fausti men I represent.
The ruthless nature of the Fausti family.
I, too, was once part of a generation to come.
I, too, have grown into that unknown generation and all that it stands for.
I, too, will one day join the echoes of the past to lead the generations of today and of the future.
What it all comes down to is this:
I had a dream.
Some may call it a premonition of what is to come.
As I recount to you the visions I have seen from a place of shadows inside of me, I will do so with one ending in mind:
If she dies.
I will die.
And the spine of my story, my sons, especially my Rocco Piero Fausti, will bear the brunt of what comes next in his story. The truth that will one day be engraved in the ancient scrolls that belong to us both.
He will kill me, his own father. He, Rocco Piero Fausti, will steal the last breath from the head lion of the family, Lucious Leone Fausti, or I will kill all that he has ever loved.
You.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, barely getting the plea out.
If something was wrong with Maggie Beautiful, my father-in-law, my husband’s father, the man who shared blood with the baby in my womb, who was making bubbles as my heart sped up to a pace that wasn’t healthy, I was sure, was going to use me to get to my husband.
If Maggie Beautiful was sick and was going to leave him, as Aunt Lola left Uncle Tito, there would be no begging to be taken. Luca only ordered. And if he knew his order wouldn’t be heeded, he would force the hands who were not heeding.
My father-in-law was going to use me to get to my husband.
If Luca’s wildflower left him in spring, he was going to battle my husband in winter, and I knew it was all a dramatic way to end it all— to give Maggie Beautiful her final wish before he met her.
Luca was going to start a war with my husband—and he knew my husband was going to kill him before he could kill me.