24. Heart to Heart in Blinding Light
Chapter 24
Heart to Heart in Blinding Light
R occo stared at my face as we made it up the hill to Castello Sul Mare . Even though we’d had a wonderful morning, rolling around in the sheets and making love until I fell back asleep again, the chilling memories of the night before haunted me, even in the face of the bright light of day. Not even that could dispel the blood-thinning creepiness of it all. It felt worse than the candelabra incident. I hadn’t seen her then. She came at me from behind. I saw her last night. Our eyes connected as they did through the mirror that night on the cliffside.
My mouth kept opening to say something to Rocco, be honest about it, but the words refused to come. He was moving toward life again. If he knew she was back…he would pull back. I felt it. How tremulous the earth felt beneath his feet, like he shouldn’t be standing on it because his heart was in the grave with hers. Not even because he couldn’t stand to live without her, but because an understanding built on truth had set barbs inside of him.
No, this was between Rosaria Caffi and me.
And I didn’t take for granted for one second that I was the most powerful fighter in this battle. I might have had physical strength, which was great if I was going against another living woman, but she had blood, sweat, and tears in this fight through memories. Memories I couldn’t change. A ghost who shared memories with a part of the living was powerful. It tugged at them harder than any physical touch could.
This man.
He wasn’t easily moved.
And she had held the power to send his heart into the grave with hers.
I’d come in at the last second and caught it before it landed and ran with it in the opposite direction. I was running. Am running. Keeping the lion’s heart dangling against my chest in my grip, refusing to open my palm, only the rays of sunshine safe enough to touch it through the spaces between my fingers. One day, I would feel confident I could open my fist, allow the different seasons to make their marks, but always, always , I would keep it safe. I’d keep it safe as if it were my own—even more diligently because it was his.
It was ours.
In that moment, I understood why this family put so much value in balancing ruthless with romance and romance with ruthless. It was a marriage. And through the romance, I discovered something about myself: I felt like such a woman next to this man. It was as if I had been created to compliment him, and him me.
I knew this way of thinking isn’t for everyone. I knew some might find this family overly traditional in a modern world. And that’s okay. Not everyone loves Italian food. I happen to love it above any other type of food. Different hearts, opposite opinions, keep the world spinning.
For me, this was my life, my world, and I understood my place in it.
To walk next to this man.
I also knew that over the years, his face would drain of color, like it had when he looked over my counter in the bathroom, or when I suggested pasta at midnight, or when he watched me standing out on the balcony, like a cold ghost had touched his heart—memories passing that I couldn’t steal from him. But I’d be there to warm him, to pull him back to this island, into the sunshine, with me.
At the crest of the hill, he took my hands in his, pressing the new ring into my finger. Wind whipped around us and pushed against our bodies as a remarkable voice, one that belonged to Luca Fausti, serenaded us from the castello.
“He is in a good mood.” He sighed.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound of Luca Fausti’s deep tenor run through me. Goosebumps puckered my skin. Music frisson. “He’s really good,” I whispered.
“Look at me, amore .”
I opened my eyes.
“Right back to me.”
“I know.”
Rocco had reminded me of this all morning. He’d requested a meeting with Luca before everyone left the island—we wanted to get married in two weeks, on the island. The church was peaceful, and any other spot would do for a reception. Luca had accepted his request and sent one back—he requested my presence for a meeting.
Rocco didn’t like it. He never said as much, but I thought the real issue was how I had barged in on their private meeting, prepared to face Luca Fausti if he hurt mine. Maybe he didn’t trust my temper.
“If I can handle you, Rocco,” I whispered, giving him a faint smile, “I can handle this.”
He kissed my hand, closing his eyes, breathing me in and lingering, before he led me to the castello . Rocco had told me he might have to wait on Luca, but Luca would make it a point to wait on me. Late but not too late was what he’d told me. For him, it was early but not too early .
Okay, this family ran like the bus system in Italy. Never exactly on time .
That was life, ah?
I smiled to myself as we entered the castello . Rocco glanced at me, his eyebrows furrowing, before his features relaxed. My smile turned into a lingering grin. I wasn’t sure if Rocco Piero Fausti knew exactly what to do with me yet—except in the bedroom. He excelled at reading my body’s desires because he had written the manuscript of it himself. But with my mind and behavior outside of the bedroom? I seemed to…enthrall him, like I was an enigma. A soft creature that had lured the beast from his territory and swore to protect his heart in a fierce whisper, all the while giving him doe eyes.
It was those types of thoughts that would perplex him. I was not cut and dry, or one shade, and he demanded to know me as much as I demanded to know him.
The deep voice grew in tenor as we entered the castello, the huge place crawling with people—members of the Fausti family, soldiers, and workers. Rocco brought me to the kitchen where Maggie Beautiful, Scarlett, Mia, Mari, Juliette, Carmen, Aunt Lola, Stella, and a woman I hadn’t met before sat at the table, drinking cups of whatever and talking.
Rocco placed his hands on my face, kissing me softly, before he turned and left. It was like he had to force his feet to move. I had to do the same. The kiss lingered—tingled all the way down to my uterus.
“Another Fausti strikes again,” Maggie Beautiful said on a laugh. “And another woman down. Our very own Ari Alluring has succumbed to the Fausti charms!”
I blinked at her, bringing her into focus.
They all laughed this time.
“You’re a part of our club now.” Juliette stood from the table, coming to squeeze my shoulder, before she breezed deeper into the kitchen and refilled her cup from the moka pot. She offered me a cappuccino.
“That’d be great,” I said. “Thank you.” I usually kept away from caffeine unless I really needed it. My need for it had amped up since last night.
“It’s called the…Dazed and Confused Wife of a Fausti After the Kiss Club.”
“Oh, Ari!” Stella’s face was bright when she turned and faced me. “You haven’t met my mama, Nola! She just got here with Niccolo, her husband, who is also Nonno’s brother.”
Nonno —Luca. Sometimes I had to connect the names that way to remind myself who was who to everyone. Sometimes one person went by more than one title.
“Ma, this is Ari, she’s Zio Rocco’s…er…”
“Judging by that shiny new rock on her finger…” Aunt Lola started to say.
Maggie Beautiful flew up from her chair, taking my hand in hers, showing the room my engagement ring.
All the women gasped, moving back, covering their eyes like the diamond was blinding them. Then they all laughed, rushing to hug me. All of them were crying.
I was too.
“Be honest,” I whispered. “Is this too soon?”
“Does your heart say it’s too soon?” Scarlett asked.
“No,” I responded right away. “It’s just that…”
“Rosaria is dead,” Stella said bluntly.
Nola nudged and widened her eyes at her.
“It’s the truth,” Stella whispered.
I almost said I wasn’t so sure Rosaria was dead, but I didn’t. Scarlett glanced at me but didn’t say anything.
“And it hasn’t been years since she’s been gone,” Mia added.
I nodded. “That’s it…the timing.”
“Who says grief has a time limit?” Maggie Beautiful finished her cup and handed it to Mia. “Would you be my Mia Gorgeous and fix Magpie another cup?”
Mia kissed her on the cheek and went to grab it.
Juliette handed me a cup and I sat down at the table, next to Aunt Lola, and drank it. Aunt Lola took my hand, admiring my ring, and then kissed me on the cheek softly.
“You smell lovely,” she whispered, then touched my cheek, right where she had kissed it. “The women at this table still have too much decorum to say what needs to be said. I am old. My filter has not aged with the rest of me and has gone before my mouth. I will be blunt, as Rosaria Caffi had been her entire life. My nephew’s marriage was arranged. It was not a good pairing from the start. Rocco has such a romantic heart. Rosaria had an aversion to it, unless she could sing and act it out on a stage for the world to see and applaud.” She pointed above, then at me. “You were sent here for a reason. To save my nephew from himself.”
My eyes scanned the table, looking each woman in the eye. They all nodded at me.
“Rocco has never truly been happy,” Carmen said. “Until you.”
“We cared for Rosaria, too,” Scarlett whispered, just being honest. “It was different with her…at one time. To a certain extent. Like her or hate her, she was always honest about who she was. This all to say…we all just wanted them to be happy, separate or together.”
“My niece feels a flooding amount of empathy,” Aunt Lola said about Scarlett. “She is touched.” She touched her heart instead of her temple. “Which I am told you are, as well, but different, ah? This is neither here nor there; the truth is still the truth, empathy or not. And it cuts at times. Whether the person we are speaking of is here or not. It had never been right between them. It is not right now, even in death. She pulls at him not to love him beyond death, but to haunt him in life so she can continue to have her way.”
“She tried to seduce my husband,” Mari blurted, “before we were married. She did that a lot. Not going to lie. So…”
“The way Rocco reacted to Romeo and the flying nut incident.” Juliette shook her head, like she couldn’t believe Rocco had done something so reckless by opening his mouth. But she had turned the conversation, and Scarlett squeezed her hand for it.
Scarlett looked away for a second before she looked me in the eyes. “The brother of my heart is no longer searching. He’s found all that he’s ever wanted—when he looks at you.”
“It’s…” Mia said, setting her hand over her heart, “heart-repairing to see and feel. Truly.”
Aunt Lola took my hand and squeezed. “You see?” she whispered. “We all love Rocco. Hurt for him silently and not so silently over the years from a place only women can. He was sick from a lack of love. He is cured now.”
“Over time, he’ll get back to who he was in the beginning,” Nola whispered, like she knew a thing or two about being sick. “Even stronger and happier than before—because he’ll know what it’s like to almost lose it all and be so thankful that he didn’t.”
Stella grabbed her hand and squeezed.
All eyes were on me.
I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks, and all the women stood, wrapping me in a group hug. The mood in the room lightened exponentially, and we discussed wedding plans, what was for dinner, how most of us in the room were from Louisiana. I was asked about writing and my criminal thriller and if I’d be writing anything new. When I mentioned writing a romance novel, which I’d have to get a new idea for, since I’d decided the other one was a personal journal, they were all excited, and we started going over ideas.
Children’s laughter echoed from another room.
Aunt Lola laughed. “Sounds like my Tito is keeping the children busy.”
“We locked them in the room with him,” Mia said with a smile, “so they couldn’t gang up on him and make an escape. I’m sure he’ll be relieved when it’s time to go to the beach.” She looked at me. “My children love to swim. ”
“You want to help me in the kitchen?” Stella asked me when the conversation turned to general gossip.
“Sure.”
Stella was doing a chunk of prep work before she and Matteo joined Mia and Saverio at the beach. I was so concentrated on cutting bread into chunks that it seemed like Stella had called my name more than once when her voice finally broke through.
“My mother-in-law does have too much empathy. She understands people, their motives, even when she doesn’t want to. It’s a blessing and a curse. Was Aunt Lola right, about you being the same? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I am.” I hesitated. “But I’m not the same—I don’t think. It’s hard to explain, but…I think I’m better at feeling things and then working them out on the page. Or in dreams. It seems like Scarlett is just flooded with feelings and she knows in a second. A woman I know from New Orleans, Eva’s her name, she’s even more…intense about it.”
“The thing is,” Stella said, “Rosaria Caffi, to me, was not a good person—at all. The women are right when they say she was truthful. Her tongue could cut a person down to nothing, if that person allowed her to. Massimo, Rocco’s oldest, found love in Paris at the same time Matteo found me. Rosaria came between them because she wanted Massimo to fight Matteo for his spot in the family.
“Since this family operates by a hierarchy, the spot behind Rocco is rightfully Matteo’s. But since Brando gave his birthright to Rocco, Rosaria expected all spots after to rightfully go to her sons. Massimo didn’t want it after he’d found Chloe. Rosaria went…if I’m being honest…rabid over it. She even drugged her own son and slipped a woman in his bed so Chloe would find them together.”
“That’s…I don’t even know what to say,” was all I could say.
“Yeah. It set off a chain of terrible events after. Chloe left Massimo. She claimed Rosaria was going to kill her. Heard she tried. Chloe is allergic to hazelnuts, and during their ‘engagement party,’ Rosaria and her sister tried to kill the poor girl with them. Then Massimo followed Chloe after she left. He…ah, killed a man in her honor in the town where she’s from, after getting her pregnant. Basically, he sentenced himself to a life behind bars. It was symbolic. Have you ever seen a lion behind bars?”
“A circus,” I said.
“Yeah, a terrible fate for any animal, much less a wild one.”
“I take it she was cruel to you too?”
“Yep. I’m the wife of the next Fausti king. My husband outranked her son. She called me the daughter of a whore—her favorite saying. But no one disrespects my mama. I cut her with a piece of broken pottery for the slur. That started a chain of terrible events too. She sent their third son, Tiziano, after me. His real name had been Marzio, but after he held a snake to my face, it caused dishonor, and the name Marzio was erased from his record, replaced by a name that’s the equivalent of Judas in the family. Between us, though?” She hesitated. “I don’t think he’s Rocco’s son. It’s always been rumored that one of Rosaria’s affairs produced him.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” I said.
“Trust me,” she said. “I don’t think anyone truly does. The news of her death was a shock, but do you want to know what’s truly terrible?”
What could be more terrible than all that?
Oh God.
Rocco.
My heart shattered for him.
This entire situation was worse than I’d first assumed.
I nodded in answer to her question.
“My first thought was…did anyone see the body? Because she was so mean, I doubted the hard rock she landed on would even fuck with her. She probably crushed it .”
A lump formed in my throat, and I could barely force it down to ask this important question .
“Did anyone?” I whispered. My voice was strangled. “See her body?”
“I don’t think so,” she whispered back. “I don’t think there was anything left. Supposedly, the car exploded when it hit. I think that was another struggle for Zio Rocco. He didn’t get to see her. I think that’s made it harder for him to accept. Her family took over all the funeral preparations. That’s why it was such a production. The Caffi family is big on having an audience for all occasions.”
“Did you say Massimo got Chloe pregnant?”
She nodded.
“Where’s the baby? With Chloe?”
She paused but then sighed. “No, he’s with us. Michelangelo. Chloe asked that Luca and Magpie raise him and that we help. We keep him most of the time. But that was before Rosaria’s death.”
So, Michelangelo was Rocco’s grandson. I’d seem him around the children before, and he always had a warm look in his eyes when he watched them all, but I did notice the way he fixed the boy’s hair sometimes. There was more affection there.
“Rosaria didn’t fight to keep Michelangelo?” I asked.
She gave me a sad smile. “Rosaria only fought for what Rosaria wanted. She truly didn’t want the son of a woman she despised. But she did wonder, since couples closer to the throne were raising him, whether Michelangelo’s chances of ruling this family were more favorable. That’s where Rosaria felt moved, it seemed—in the loyalty to this family. She never really wanted to raise her own kids, Aunt Lola told me. When Luca was released from prison—another story like the one between Massimo and Chloe, but different—he was the one who had made a complaint about it. He approved of how close Scarlett was to her kids. His mamma had been a warm woman too, though, I’ve heard stories that she had to fight to get Marzio back once when he was taken.”
“That says a lot about her character and backbone,” I said.
She nodded. “You want to know all about this family? Talk to Ava Fausti. She’s originally from New York and was a journalist there. She was obsessed with this family—her words, not mine—before she ever met her now husband, Nazzareno. He’s the son of Lothario, who was a traitor to the family, and Luca cut his legs off for it.” She must have noticed the look on my face. She smiled, lifted her hands, and shrugged. “Too much information?”
“Not nearly enough,” I breathed out.
“Thought so. I was new here once too.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for being so open with me.”
“It takes a woman with a strong backbone to be a part of this family, not going to sugarcoat that, but…we also don’t need to be all vicious either. Balance is key.”
“Bingo,” I whispered. “That’s what I’ve always said.”
“Yeah, it works in all aspects of life, except for love. The men in this family, it’s like they find an unending well of it inside of us and pull from it. I had no idea I had that much love inside of me.” She sighed wistfully. “Until Matteo. They’re so good at nurturing it too. Part of their unyielding amount of charm.”
I sighed, too, because she was right. It was like Rocco knew exactly where to drill for it inside of me, and when he hit, it exploded.
Before I left, because I was already fashionably late for my meeting with Luca, I asked a question that was on my mind.
“Stella?”
“Yeah?” She set the dishtowel down and looked at me, giving me her undivided attention.
“What’s going to happen to Michelangelo now? Now that Rosaria is out of the picture and Chloe and Massimo have a chance to work things out? I doubt even bars could hold him back, if he decided he wanted out.”
She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Even in death Rosaria is haunting Massimo with guilt. She was a raging lunatic in the end, because this family started to tell her no?—”
“Ah,” I breathed. “She’s been removed from the picture, but at what cost? Massimo is probably feeling like he’s to blame, because it was his decision to marry Chloe, but also feeling guilty because he feels relieved his own mamma is gone.”
“You’ll do well here.” She winked at me.
I told her I’d see her later as I left for my date with Luca, hoping he’d feel the same way.
Luca was waiting for me outside of his office, the smell of cigars and fine bourbon drifting out with smoke, circling around him as if it adored to cloak and dagger him—at his beck and call.
He nodded at me, bowing, taking my hand, kissing it. “Aria Amora Bella.”
“Luca.” I returned the nod.
His eyes narrowed against mine, and I found a challenge there. He’d get me to call him something else— father —before this meeting was over, just like I’d get him to consider me what he considered all his son’s wives—a daughter of his heart.
Or, maybe, stalemate.
Or, worse maybe, one of us would lose.
The men were all standing, and instead of them clearing out of the office, he led me away from it. I glanced behind me. Rocco gave some distance between us, but he wasn’t far. Luca grinned, as if he was enjoying the fact that his son had been caught off guard by him leading me away from the office and him following. Luca led me straight outside into the blazing light of day. My eyes instantly went into a squinting position to try and offset the blinding glare.
Rocco removed his glasses from his pocket and slipped them over my eyes. I rested my hands over his wrists. “ Grazie mille ,” I whispered.
He nodded and kissed my nose, and even though it was me who was holding on to him, it felt like he was commanding me to, so I wouldn’t turn away from him and leave with his father. Donato, who I assumed was one of the head soldiers, had brought a car out.
“Right back to you,” I whispered, squeezing his wrists before I turned to Luca.
He held the door for me and I slipped in. He went to the other side and took the driver’s seat. I wasn’t sure what kind of car it was. It looked fast, but it was thin in width and somewhat long. It kind of reminded me of a formula 1 race car, but with two seats instead of one. It seemed made to fit down these narrow streets and go fast.
After Luca handed me a scarf for my hair, and I secured it, he took off, leaving Rocco in the dust. Luca laughed a little, but he didn’t bother to speak over the wind. He sang over it—“ Nuestro Encuentro ”—as he took me on a tour of the island, famous race-car-driver style. Some of the turns were sharp, but he took them without hesitation, even stopping a time or two to brake for baaaa -ing sheep as smoothly as if he had been going ten miles per hour.
“Driving is like life, ah? It is enjoyable to speed through it, take all the dangerous turns on high, but we must remember to slow down and absorb the best parts of it as well.” He lifted a hand to the view. “Even when we feel the stop is slowing us down and is a waste of time. God does not waste our time. We stop for a reason.”
The reason?
Water as far as the eye could see, white sparks dancing over it from the sun, a bunch of livestock invading the road until they moved out of our way.
The view was spectacular.
So was his driving.
I was getting high off the speed. If nothing else, which I knew was so wrong, the man could handle a fast car, and I understood why he was considered the GOAT of racers.
We stopped for a lemon chiller from my ex-stand after about half an hour, then we explored for another hour or so until he parked close to the church, Santa Maria delle Stelle. He stepped out first, fixing his suit, every eye in close enough radius sizing him up. I could have sworn I heard every woman in the area sigh. Or maybe it was their ovaries.
His attraction went above what the law of nature should have ever allowed.
He opened my door and extended a hand to me. I stepped out, my heels crunching against the ground. I’d decided to keep the scarf tied in my hair, since we were entering church. The island was more casual, since it seemed to be a private vacation spot for this family, but there were still times men dressed in suits and women in formal dresses.
This was one of those times.
I removed the sunglasses and Luca took them, sliding them inside his pocket for me.
Ever the gentleman.
Spots danced in front of my eyes when we entered church. It had been so bright outside, and the church was almost dark. Except for the stained-glass mosaic windows, which bled a kaleidoscope of colors onto the walls, pews, and floor. Flames in glasses swayed with an invisible breath as they lit up a shrine to Mary with glowing light. The air smelled of incense and the sea.
Luca watched me as I dipped my finger in cold holy water, making the sign of the cross, blessing myself with it, then genuflected before I walked down the aisle and chose a pew—the one where the colors reflected the most over it. He did the same, then followed me into the pew. He gave me time to come to my peace, then cleared his throat.
“The ceremony will take place here.”
This was a statement, but I nodded anyway. “ Sì .”
He gave me a genuine smile at my use of the Italian response. “You are gifted,” he whispered.
I looked him in the eyes. “So I’ve been told.”
His eyebrow rose at this. “You do not feel it then.”
“I do.” I sighed. “But it’s different from the way Scarlett is. What I’m meaning to say… The ‘gift’ is similar in that it shares the same roots, but somehow our branches are different. Scarlett seems to be overwhelmed by her feelings, and once she makes sense of them, she just knows. I get overwhelmed inside of my head—dreams and words. It’s easier for me to work them out on paper.”
“This is why you write.”
“This is why I write.”
“God blessed you with this talent. I read your book. The criminal thriller.”
I stared at him, probably a clueless look on my face.
He touched my chin. “Do not look so surprised or afraid, Amora Bella .”
I’d heard him call Scarlett “Rosa,” and that was exactly how he’d said my name, like it was a nickname for me meaning, “Beautiful Love.”
“You have a curious soul,” he whispered. “You remind me of my wife in this way. My oldest son’s wife is this same way as well. However, attempt to tame the urge to throw peppers, ah?”
I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.
He returned it, but where my smile was probably gentle, his was almost…shocking. Hypnotizing in its beauty. Until the sharpness of his teeth pierced holes in the neck, right over one of the most important veins.
“Do not think—” he touched his temple “—I do not know that you see me, Amora Bella . You see me for all that I am. You do not see me as entirely good. You do not see me as entirely bad either.”
“You are correct,” I said in Italian, and at the same time, the light from outside seemed to shift, the colors of the mosaic falling upon his face. “I see you as a man, the head of this family, who makes decisions based on what is best for those he cares for.”
He made a gruff noise and turned away from me for a second, the candlelight dancing in his dark eyes, before he turned them back on me. “You see my son,” he said .
“Down to his soul,” I whispered, touching my heart. “You might have created him, but you did so for me.”
“You are romantic, Amora Bella .”
“Romantic, yes,” I said. “But for him—that romance would turn ruthless in the span of one heartbeat, one breath.”
“ Ah ,” he breathed out, and the candles seemed to sway as if another gust of sea air had caused them to move. “A true woman of the Fausti heart.”
I touched my heart again. “Who I am with your son is not who I will be to the outside world. I know my place next to him, and I know my place in his world.” I felt it was important for me to say these words to him. We were on an island owned by the Faustis to relax and have privacy. Who I was here was not who I was going to be in their world. I’d be a Fausti. A woman who kept her chin high as I held onto my husband’s arm.
Luca stared into my eyes so deeply, and for so long, that I started to sweat, but I refused to look away from him.
Actions spoke louder than words.
And finally.
Checkmate.
He covered my hand with his own, the ring on my left finger digging into his flesh and mine. “You arrived in time to save my son, daughter of my heart,” he said.
Nodding, I whispered, “ Papà .”
I wasn’t sure a man like him could melt, but that was exactly what it felt like when I’d said the word—like he’d turned into one of the candles burning for someone’s prayer and was shedding wax for it.
He placed a kiss on my hand, then took it as he led me out of the church. We repeated the same steps as we did when we first entered, and when we stepped outside, he handed Rocco’s sunglasses back to me.
Our relationship had transformed inside of that church, as a sinner is after leaving confession. Earlier, tension had been coming from me, and reservations from him—we didn’t know where we stood with each other. But on the ride back to Castello Sul Mare , there was a familiarity there that wasn’t before. We chatted about the wedding, discussing potential reception spots, and we both laughed when Pisolino jumped into my lap when we stopped to allow an older couple to cross the street.
“He’s always doing that,” I said. “Finding me on the island.”
“He is my son in his true form,” he said, smiling.
“A cat.” I attempted to cover Pisolino’s ears. “Except in a much, much bigger body. And with a lot more hair. A mane of it.”
He almost growled with laughter, and Pisolino gave him a curious look. We sped around the island, and I noticed we were making our final loop by going on the side of it that I hadn’t been since the day at the beach and what followed—the attack in the haunted castello . Men surrounded it, and Luca narrowed his eyes before he pulled to the side of the road.
Donato stopped a few feet from the car, and after Luca nodded and got out to meet him, Donato began speaking in hushed Italian. I only caught Rocco’s name. Luca became stiff, then turned toward me, coming to open my door.
We walked up to the castello together, the men parting for him, giving us a clear pathway. I could hear the grunts echoing. Grunts. Growls. Anger and despair all rolled into one. It sounded like a possessed man was taking a sledgehammer to the walls.
That was exactly what we found.
Rocco, except instead of a sledgehammer, he was using his fists.
His suit jacket had been flung to the floor, his sleeves rolled up, and he was going after the wall as if it had personally attacked him.
Had something attacked him?
Oh God.
He was bleeding.
It was all over the walls.
Only a few men had been standing around him, the ones who were closest to him, as far as hierarchy. Donato and Guido. But they had walked out after Luca had ordered them to.
That left me.
This was where my soft would come in. I’d wrap him in my arms, putting all my love on him, when he could see straight enough to know it was me he was seeing. I wasn’t sure what or who he was envisioning, but it was haunting him and pissing him off at the same time. But what was he fighting against? A ghost is as good as air for landing punches.
“Rocco,” I whispered, taking a step closer to him.
He was truly wild. His hair a mess. His clothes full of wrinkles. Blood splatters stained his shirt and pants. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew. All the darkness had drowned out the green color, turning him into a beast—nothing to separate animal from man. The man was too lost to him.
Another step closer.
That was when I noticed it. A…secret?…door behind the wall was open. I peeked to the side of it. I could see it led deeper into the castello, maybe to secret passageways. It felt like the air coming from that side was frigid, like the weather outside had turned cold, and soon enough, we’d have snow on the beach.
My eyes narrowed on writing written in red paint—or blood—right at the entrance.
Truth.
Voice.
Kill her.
I understood the kill her part, but what about truth? Voice? It meant nothing to me, but it seemed to mean something to Rocco. That was why he was attempting to take this place apart—wall by wall. It seemed the same ghost from last night was haunting the both of us.
I was about to take a step toward the entrance, shouting inside of the halls, “Come at me, bitch!” But it felt like something stronger than the candelabra hit me from the side. Whatever hit me was trying to take the brunt of something worse than blunt silver.
Rocco had hit me, like a knight with all his gear on.
We were both on the floor, his body shielding mine, but nothing was coming at us.
Nothing I could see, anyway.
His entire body trembled, and his arms were like bars around me as he kept repeating, “You are here.”
“That’s right,” I wheezed out. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, my leone .” After a few seconds, maybe even a minute, I called his name. “I. Can’t. Breathe,” I barely got out.
He released me in a whoosh, but he took me up with him, his eyes darting around like he was expecting something to come at us again. He set his back against the wall, a defensive position.
“What happened?” I whispered, my eyes darting around too.
“You will not leave me,” he said, an order amid storming winds that would push everything in its path.
“I’m not.” I stared into his dilated eyes. “No matter what.”
We stared at each other before he bowed his head to me, wrapping what seemed like his entire body around me again.
“Rocco,” I whispered, running my hands through his hair.
He only held me tighter.
A few minutes passed before he seemed to come back to himself. He cleared his throat and stood, lifting me, and we started for the door. The husband-and-wife caretakers of the castello were coming in as we did. They averted their eyes, like they didn’t want to see what was going on.
Me either, I almost said, but I was in the middle of this.
If I left him, would she stop? Was that why he was so distraught? He thought that in order to stop her, he had to leave me? Or vice versa?
Kill her.
I wasn’t sure what was going on here though. Rosaria—maybe her ghost—the slashing motion she made around her throat. What Stella had told me about Rosaria’s body not being found. She couldn’t have survived that drop…?
Maybe I wasn’t positive about what was happening, but I knew one thing that was more certain than my next breath.
I wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.
In two weeks, we’d be married, our vows set in stone so hard, neither of us could budge for the rest of our lives and even beyond.