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“ Faccia di culo. ” I called her sister an ass face. It meant, sort of like, “the audacity! ” but in a more disrespectful way.

She wrapped her arm around mine, pulling me in close. “Yes! Both of our sisters. Ass faces.”

We laughed and then she sighed again, perhaps because she kept feeling the loss of her father. As she had said, the regret was, perhaps, even heavier than the loss for her.

Papà Brando came around the corner, but instead of running with his sons, he stopped, hands on his hips, using his shoulder to wipe his drenched head.

Scarlett stared at him, and he stared at her, and a shiver stole over me.

It was as if I was watching a version of my husband stare at me.

As if I was having an out-of-body experience.

In that moment, no one existed except the two of them.

She swallowed hard—I was almost positive I heard it—and then he came running for her.

He was in complete control of his feet and stopped a breath in front of her, and in a second, he had her in his arms, carrying her back to the house.

His stare locked in the distance. He chucked his head in my direction after.

One of the soldiers emerged from the shadows, watching me with an intense look on his face. He seemed to harden at the same time the dogs’ ears stiffened. With two great woofs! they both began to run to the front of the house.

I was not sure if the dogs were allowed to go that far.

I started running behind them, the hems of my pants soaking, even wearing boots.

Even if it was not chilled outside, the house always seemed to hold a draft, especially after I was outside.

The saturated air made clothes feel frozen, so I had decided to go with a long-sleeved black shirt that clung to my form and was cut low in the back. I jazzed the outfit up with jewelry.

I did not realize until I came to a stop in front of the house that the man who Papà Brando had ordered to watch me was running behind me.

What a scene we must have painted.

A growling motorcycle was parked in front of the house. Two people were straddling it, a bearded man in front and a woman behind him. She took her helmet off and shook out her rainbow-colored hair. I had met them at the funeral.

Mitch and Violet… Lew is.

Mitch and Violet were friends of Scarlett and Brando’s when they had lived in Louisiana years ago—school friends, Mariano had said.

Mariano had not gone further, but by watching the entire family, I could tell they were all on good terms with Violet, or Viola, as she was known in my head, but with Mitch…

it seemed as if the family was split. I was not sure why this was. Mitch and Viola seemed okay to me.

Viola smiled at me. “I wasn’t exactly positive at the funeral,” she said, moving closer, “but…you are so much like Sandy.”

“Sandy Who?” I asked.

Viola looked at her husband, and they both laughed.

“What did I tell you, Mitch?”

Mitch nodded at me, ambling behind his wife. He walked with a limp. Mariano had told me a car accident had taken part of one of his legs. “Do you curse in a lot of languages?”

“Italiano,” I said. “Do you want to hear this?”

He laughed, shaking his head, patting the dogs. “You’re a spitfire, I can already tell.” His eyes moved behind me. “Mariano.”

My head whipped around.

My husband stood behind me, dripping sweat, his eyes narrowed on the new visitors.

He met Viola halfway and kissed her on the cheek before he shook Mitch’s hand.

He stepped back and set his hand on my lower back.

His thumb touched my bare skin. He moved it back and forth, his calluses against my tender skin making me shiver.

I could smell him in the air. Not the stink of sweat but his sweat.

I could sniff him all day long and not tire of it.

“We were just telling Sistine?—”

“My wife.”

Mitch nodded, his eyes narrowing against Mariano’s. “ Your wife that she’s a spitfire like Scarlett?—”

“My mamma.”

“ Your wife is a lot like your mamma.”

Mariano nodded. “That’s high praise.”

“It is!” Viola smiled at me. “I miss that bitch.”

Viola took me by the hand, leading me into the house. Mitch and Mariano fell back, and I heard Mitch telling Mariano they had come to meet Brando and Scarlett for Everett’s life celebration at the bar that night.

Viola lifted my hand and examined my nails. “ Girl ,” she said, eyeing them as though they were diseased, “let me help you out with this. What’s your favorite color?”

I looked at my husband’s eyes. “That exact color,” I breathed out.

She laughed. “I’m not sure if we can find that exact shade, but we’ll work something out.”

We stepped into the house as Charlotte came down the steps. The dogs got close to her as they ran up the stairs toward the room Papà Brando and Mamma Scarlett were in, and she shooed them away for getting too close to her orbit. I wished the male dog would lift his leg and piss on hers.

This did not happen, because of course karma would ignore her, but a woman could still wish. The evil sister spared no time for us. She was on the hunt for her sleaze of a marito .

Viola sighed, and it was a heavy sound. “Where is my Sandy? I’m sure she’ll need some pampering too.”

I squeezed her hand. “More than you know.”