Page 124

He shrugged. “I’m no Fausti. I’m not that honorable.

Not to mention, I value my family’s life—my life.

It was constant trouble back then. The kind of trouble a man like me doesn’t need in my life.

I cause enough of it on my own.” He tapped his thigh, the thigh to the leg he was missing a portion of.

“So, you fucking tucked your tail between your legs and got the fuck out of dodge.”

“Call it what you want, Fausti. I did what was right for my family. At the time, I was giving your old man my truth.”

“Your truth.” I laughed, draining the rest of my beer.

I threw the empty bottle and made it into the garbage can.

I stood, looked directly at him. Lion to fucking mouse.

“I might look like my old man, but I’m not my old man yet.

Those are powerful fucking shoes to fill.

Shoes I’m fucking proud to wear. You know how I know he’s more powerful than me?

“I would have killed you if you ever spoke those same words to me. He has the restraint to control his urges. I fucking don’t.

Unless my wife asks it of me. Maybe the only reason you’re living today is because my mamma asked it of him.

His wife. My wife is my life, and anyone tries to come between us, take her from me, we’re going to have a fucking problem. History or not. Blood or fucking not.”

I turned to leave when he called my name.

I turned to face him.

He was standing, his beer bottle in hand, the label entirely gone.

“For what it’s worth, I fucking regret those words every day of my life.

Would take ’em back if I could. Your old man is my brother, and when he fucking cut me out, it felt like I lost both of my brothers. One by force, another by choice.”

I said nothing to him as I turned my back, prepared to race back to my wife.

That was Mitch Lewis’s issue to iron out, and I was not a man of the cloth for him to confide in, or a therapist who could tell him what to do. That was for him to figure out as a man. He spoke the words as one.

The only reason I had stopped to see him was to see the situation from a different perspective.

My old man’s. I realized after meeting my wife, making vows to her, that I was understanding my old man’s position in life like I never had before.

I was walking across the country in his fucking shoes, even if they felt too big at that moment.

I felt like my wife and her rubber boots slapping against the ground when she came after me—no longer fucking afraid to make a claim on what she wanted.

Me.

The thought made me grin.

“Fausti!”

My eyes snapped to a man who was waving at me from across the street. Benji. A Fausti solider was behind him, running for me.

Benji had a grin on his face, while the soldier was all fucking business.

“Barroom brawl,” Benji said, shaking his head. “Reminds me of the stories my old man would tell me about Maggie Beautiful when she would fight like a hissing cat.”

Leave it to a town of this size to spread news faster than a Fausti soldier could report it.

Mitch stepped outside of the garage, narrowing his eyes.

My truck came barreling down the street. Rio was driving.

“Get the fuck in,” he said. “Our women have lost their minds, and one of our soldiers, possibly, an eye. Maggie Beautiful hit him in the eye with a beam of sunlight from her makeup mirror, or whatever they’re fucking called, telling him someone had hit him with voodoo, before they all took off for the bar.

He thought he had been cursed. He said Maggie Beautiful mentioned something about a guy named Puddin’ before she got him in the eye and stole his sight. ”

I jumped inside the truck. Mitch jumped in the truck bed, Benji right behind him.

Mitch hooted. “This feels like old times!” He knocked on the back window twice.

Rio pushed the trembling truck to its limits. My arm was outside the window, my fingers tapping on the metal.

My wife.

My wife was pregnant and in the middle of a fucking barroom brawl.

The truck bounced, and dirt spit from the ground as Rio slid to a stop outside the packed bar. It was bright outside, but inside the bar, my eyes had to adjust to the dimness.

It was fucking chaos.

I threw an elbow into the face of a man who came at me. I had just walked through the door.

“Fuck,” Rio said, his eyes searching for my sister.

My eyes found my wife.

She was sitting on the bar, in her prim and proper outfit, a smile on her face, a beer bottle in her hand—it seemed like she had it poised and ready to go if someone got too close.

I didn’t see how that was fucking possible.

Marciano was keeping guard in front of her, our mamma, our sister, our grandmother, and a slew of other women, his arms crossed, as if he was nothing but a bored bouncer.

Our eyes met and he shrugged, a grin on his face.

Of course he would find this fucking amusing. He found our grandmother’s antics amusing. She had probably caused this entire scene for old times’ sake. Maybe to show my wife what it was all about.

“Just fucking wait,” I breathed out. “Just fucking wait until it’s his wife in the melee.”

Rio flung a man over his shoulder. The fucker went right over. Rio rolled his shoulders. “Time to have some fun. This has been a rough fucking week.”

Rio joined in, making his way toward my sister. My old man was knocking them out left and right. So was Matteo. The only way Marciano would was if one of them got too close to our women. His fists could be considered deadly weapons.

This was fucking fun to the men in my family.

Nothing but a good time.

Mitch laughed in my direction. “Man oh fucking man.” He wiped his eyes. “I missed your family so much.” He almost hooted with laughter when he noticed the new owner of the bar crying into a cleaning rag.

The town had some serious resentment against the motherfucker—he wanted a beer bar, and what he got was…this fucking scene.

Mitch shook his head at me. “Your wife…” he laughed harder “…she’s into this, man. Look at her up there. It’s almost like she’s cheering at a sports game. Man, do you have trouble on your hands. So much fucking trouble.”

Mitch hit a guy and then got lost in the pit. I noticed he was taking my old man’s back after Matteo went after another man.

Benji jumped into the crowd like he wanted to crowd-surf.

I sighed, going for my wife. A man with missing teeth got in my face, and I let him shove me before I knocked a few more lose. His woman wasn’t fucking having it. She screamed out his name—“Chili!”—then came after me. She jumped on my back, and we went in circles until she let go.

She hadn’t unlocked her claws because she was dizzy.

We had gotten close to the bar, and Marciano had stepped out of the way to allow my wife the chance to use her bottle, being the thoughtful brother-in-law he was.

“What. The. Fuck.” I managed to get out, directing this comment at him.

The woman was dazed, her wary eyes on my wife, as she took a seat at the bar, attempting to get the sobbing bartender’s attention.

Glass shards shimmered in her hair. She pulled out a cigarette, even though they were outlawed in buildings, and tried to light it up.

Mamma hit her with water from the sprayer behind the bar.

“This is a no-smoking zone,” mamma said politely.

The woman blinked at her, then went back to trying to get the bartender’s attention, dripping water all over the floor. After Mamma set the sprayer back where it was, the woman grabbed it and sprayed Chili’s face with it. He muttered something incoherent but didn’t get up.

“Fuck me sideways,” I said, lifting my elbow and smashing it into a random man’s face coming at me.

My wife gave me an innocent wave, and when she noticed the expression on my face, or fuck if I knew, she exploded with laughter.

Not her normal laugh, either. An evil little laugh, echoing the song playing on the jukebox—“Angel Eyes.” Then she lifted her arm, showing me her flexed muscle, and fanned herself.

She was overcome by the vapors. The vapors of fucking ninety proof alcohol and sawdust still lingering in the air.

Still, she was impressed with me, and damn if it didn’t make me want to lift this entire bar from the ground and fling it into the distance.

Marciano was shaking his head, and I could hear his fucking raspy laughter, even over the blaring music.

“Get ’em, Rio!” my sister cheered from the bar.

Mamma set her hands around her mouth, her eyes on my old man. “You still got it, Fausti! Remember Puddin’?!”

Stella made a hooting noise and screamed, “That’s my man!” She pointed at Matteo, telling him to keep up the good work.

Magpie clapped.

That was when I noticed him.

My grandfather—the fucking head lion of the Fausti family.

He was tossing men back like he was half his age.

He was having a time too. He had a beatific grin stuck to his face as he would sometimes make eye contact with my grandmother.

I knew I wasn’t imagining it when he would flex his muscles for her.

Soldiers stood by the doors, watching as it all unfolded, arms crossed.

In the distance, sirens blared.

Most of the people in the bar got the fuck out of dodge.

We never ran from consequences. Dodged them, yeah, but run?

Nah. Especially not with Luca Fausti around, in a good mood or fucking not.

The police never showed. It seemed like they were going to another call.

I picked up my wife and flung her over my shoulder, carrying her cavemen style out of the bar.

“Fuck,” I snapped, giving her a nice whack on her juicy ass. Later, I was going to fucking bite it. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

She exploded with laughter and slapped my ass.

Fuck me sideways. My wife wasn’t even drinking.

I sighed, and it did nothing to lessen the pressure in my chest.

Mitch was right.

I was in so much fucking trouble.

As usual when it came to my wife, I didn’t know if I wanted to fucking grin or rub my chest.