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“ Sì , this is true,” I breathed out. It was the answer to the question he had asked me about Chili.

My mind automatically threw it out, and my mouth delivered.

It just so happened to work for his last comment as well.

He got me this way, mindless, when he gave me that sexy Fausti look, and when he made comments to me that added fuel to the fire his eyes had started.

“Yeah, it is.” His tongue touched his bottom lip, as if he was starving for me and could already taste me there. “You’re going to be my sweet dolce .”

“Ah, yes, this is true, but what I meant is…the part about Chili asking me to dance.”

“ Bene. We have that part down.” He spoke in full Italian next. “Tell me, what happened after, my wife.”

I waved a hand. “Ah, his old lady.”

He cracked up when I called the woman this. This was what Chili had called her.

“His woman—” I rolled my eyes “—started to get, ah, sassy with me. Telling me I could not take her man, as the old country song sings about. I believe this was playing on the jukebox and seemed to spur her on. I did not want her man. I told her this as well. After this, she demanded to know why I did not want him.” I tapped my temple.

“Truly pazza ! However, I answered her. On the long list, the last reason was that her old man smelled of chili. She went after me, Magpie went after her, and…I do not remember how the rest got started.” I waved a dismissive hand.

However, the memory would always bring a grin to my face when I recalled it. I had never seen anything like it. A punch here. A punch there. I was almost positive I saw in real time as Chili’s teeth were dislodged by Papà Brando.

Mariano roared with laughter. “Fuck it,” he said, picking me up again. “Why else didn’t you want him, Annie?”

I laughed at how ridiculous it all sounded as well.

Mariano stopped walking after we stepped inside the villa. The air was cool and smelled clean—rainwater and fresh herbs. “What was the number one reason?” He quirked up one of his thick eyebrows at me.

I sighed. He was prosciutto . A ham . “He is not you, my husband.”

My husband set me on my feet and pressed his body against mine, and I took steps backwards as he took steps forward, until I set my hand on his chest and he stopped.

“That’s all it fucking takes,” he said. “One lift of your hand to stop me.”

It was my turn to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Would this—” I tapped my hand against his chest “—work if I ran from you?”

“Nah, Annie,” he said, his voice smooth and cool. “You run from me, no matter how far, I’ll find you—I’ll find you and bring you home.”

“You will make me fall in love with you again?”

“Again.” He made a sarcastic noise. “You won’t stop loving me—ever. I won’t fucking allow it.”

“Neither will I,” I whispered. “I do not believe this is possible.”

“Even if I smelled like Chili and was poor?”

“ Sì ,” I said without hesitation. “Your heart. If your heart was in his chest—it’s mine. However.” I lifted a finger. “I would have to teach you how to bathe properly. There is no excuse for stanky pits.” This was how Atta said stinky, stanky .

A beat passed between us before he roared with laughter again. He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulling me in, and kissed my forehead. Then I realized…I shoved him again, but he refused to budge.

“I know you do not smell, Mariano Fausti!” He was attempting to get me to sniff his armpits. In all seriousness, even if it made me a freak for him, I did take a few sniffs. He smelled… delizioso .

He lifted my arm and stuck his nose in mine. I was trying to get away from him. He laughed. “You smell…” His face lost all humor, and his head moved back as if the scent of me had slapped him in the nostrils.

“What?!” I tried to smell myself. “What?! Did Chili get me?”

He exploded with laughter, and I realized…

“You are messing with me, Mariano Fausti!” I slapped his culo as we entered the kitchen. “Your sense of humor has returned to the village, and I was not prepared for it. A sneak attack!”

He pulled me in again, kissing me, forever kissing me, touching me, bringing me close. We held each other, then he kissed my head again. He opened the refrigerator. I ordered him out of the kitchen, pointing at the table.

He took a seat, watching me with a grin on his face. Apollonia had cooked plenty of meals for us. I asked Mariano which he would prefer, and he only shrugged and said, “Your choice, Annie.”

We ate a feast by candlelight, and the taste of the food gave me inspiration—I wanted to cook meals such as these for my husband. Our family. The conversation flowed. We spoke about the horses Apollonia had adopted for her property. He said after dinner he was going to check on them.

While he did so, I prepared for bed. I found another white cotton pajama dress in my suitcase.

I pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants for my husband.

We would bathe together, and then I wanted nothing more than to get comfortable in bed with him while he pulled me close, my head on his chest, his scent in my nose, and discuss the situation with Iggy in more detail.

The meeting was to take place the next day.

If my husband would speak to me about it. I was not sure if this business with the Russians would be a welcome subject.

I went to the window, moving the lace curtains to the side. The world was entirely silver, even the tributary running from Apollonia’s home to my in-laws’ home. On my in-law’s property, a small bridge was built over it. It led to their massive pool.

The stream seemed angry, creating swirling eddies with its temper.

The weather.

It was gaining in strength.

Lightning flashed, almost as if the sky was holding a camera over earth, and thunder barreled through the atmosphere, shaking it.

“Mariano,” I whispered.

Where was he?

The weather did not bother me any longer, but my husband being lost out in this storm did.

I grabbed a sweater from my suitcase and pulled it over my head.

Snatching the rubber boots from Louisiana, I carried them down instead of putting them on.

I did not want them to trip me down the stairs.

Once on the bottom level, I slipped them on.

A breath from the door, one of the Fausti soldiers stopped me.

“Signora Fausti,” he said, motioning outside, “your husband requests that you stay inside. The, ah, storm.” He met my eyes but then turned them away. This could have been out of respect, but I also knew it was because they were wary of me and my temper.

“My husband can request,” I said, narrowing my eyes in his direction. “However, I have the right to politely decline.” I was letting him know, in that subtle Fausti way, if he attempted to stop me from getting to my husband, who could be in trouble, I would eviscerate him.

The solider went to speak again when a knock came at the door. His eyes came to mine, suspiciously, as if I had invited the visitor.

I lifted my hands. “I do not know who it is.”

“He has to be known to us to have made it this far.” He still adjusted his gun to a position that would give him the advantage if some unknown had made it this close to us.

My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them on the thin cotton.

What if the man on the other side of the door was Iggy?

“ Asp —” I went to call out, a hand outstretched. Aspettare! Wait!

The solider was too fast for me. He had already opened the door.

I sighed in relief when it was only Signor Dandolo. He resembled an almost drowned Venetian rat whose hair was blown to smithereens by the wind. Rat. I had never seen him in this way before, and I was not sure what had changed.

The solider had not invited him in, and I could see the look on his face when Signor Dandolo went to gain entrance. What shocked me the most was the look on Signor Dandolo’s face when the solider blocked him. Signor Dandolo was insulted by the gun and attempted to move it from across his chest.

“It is okay,” I said to the solider. “Signor Dandolo is friendly.”

The solider gave me a narrow look. Perhaps Signor Dandolo’s obsession with Dr. Musa had spread throughout the ranks.

This made me uneasy. I had forgotten about this.

Nino would not appreciate his presence. Neither would Oscar.

Both men were around—my eyes scanned the area—someplace.

I would encourage Signor Dandolo to leave, then I would go after my husband, if he had not appeared by then.

The solider stared at me, the narrow look turning into a true searching gaze, as if he was debating on whether to take my word on this.

I smiled and nodded at him, holding my hands together, attempting to quell the trembling that had started.

The solider shook his head but lowered the gun. Signor Dandolo tore into the villa, as if he was a tornado in motion as I went straight for him. In a move that no one, least of all me, saw coming, he pulled a gun from behind his coat and pointed it at my head.

“You will come with me, Signora Fausti.”

As a powerful tornado is wont to do, he was faster than anyone anticipated. He held me in his arms, the gun in his hand, not even trembling, pressed to my temple as he led me out into the strong mouth of the storm.