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Mariano

T he fiery sun outlined my wife and made it seem as if she were on fire. She glowed in the distance. A distance Guerriero could eat up in half a second if she needed me.

My wife was sitting atop Seraphina, a hand to her cowboy hat, her boots securely in the stirrups.

We were taking our evening ride along the beach, our backdrop the Tyrrhenian Sea, and she was gazing out at the azure water, her long hair braided, draped over her left shoulder, but the strong hands of the wind had untucked a few pieces.

The small tendrils whipped around her face as her eyes narrowed on the horizon.

Guerriero stirred underneath me. He was fucking impatient when it came to his mare.

My wife turned Seraphina toward us, and Guerriero instinctually knew. He flew forward toward the mare who had somehow tamed his wild heart. He was protective of her. A true killer.

Sometime between when my wife and I had left for Fiji and our return, he had fallen in love with Seraphina.

The men who worked the farm had to allow her out whenever he chose to go out.

She could run back into her stall if she wanted, but he had to know where she was, always.

If she made a distressed noise, they had to be together.

When Guerriero was close enough to my wife, Seraphina backed up a pace or two, and my wife patted her side, the blood diamond glinting in the early autumn sun.

My grandfather had found it. When he had returned it to me, he said fate had created our union, and no mere man could separate it.

Not even with a sword. My grandfather had sent the traitorous Judas back to his people without hands. I sent him back without a heart.

Then there was Iggy. After the battle in Tuscany, my grandfather and Lev came to an agreement.

Since Iggy had proved himself, somewhat, he could keep breathing.

It wouldn’t come down to a war between Lev’s people and ours.

However, Iggy owed me a toe. Symbolic. He had stepped over a boundary.

I fucking hated that it was only a toe. The situation had evolved into a Brando Fausti vs. Lev one. Me versus Iggy.

My wife smiled and tipped her hat to me, then gave Seraphina a nudge. The two of them took off, sand flying from the alabaster horses’ hooves. My wife’s hair flew in the wind, and every muscle in her body worked to fly.

Guerriero rose on his haunches, his front legs almost whirling as he kicked out, and then, with a snort, he took off after her. He could easily catch up, but it seemed like he always allowed her to have this short freedom before he cozied up next to her, nuzzling her.

Even a cold-hearted bastard like him had fallen.

I had fallen.

Hard.

Irrevocably.

For the woman ahead of me, laughing into the wind, the sound carrying back to me.

I could scent her in the air, juicy apple, floral pear, sweet rose, tangy citrus, along with leather and metal, and I couldn’t wait to get her back to the barn, where the sign was fixed and hanging straight, and make love to her in the hay until night came.

I’d pick her up, carry her to our room, and spend the entire night buried inside of mine.

The next morning…who the fuck knew where life would take us.

To Wyoming, where our cabin was almost finished?

It just needed a few decorative touches, and Sistine said those could come in time.

We’d spent a portion of the summer there, getting it ready for winter.

We demanded to watch all the seasons from our window.

We would always look out at a world that was ours.

A world within another world when we needed to disappear into each other.

Or to Fiji? She had collected more decorative items to make the place ours. We’d gone back, and she got to do all the things her heart had desired the first time. Her blood pumping as hard as mine. Hers was from doing something wild enough to get her heart racing.

She was my wild.

It never seemed to fail.

She sent my heart racing in a circle as round as my wedding band.

As eternal.

She always would.

Or to our home in Maremma? We raced our horses there and lived in harmony with each other, knowing our lives had been intertwined since before birth. The day at the jewelry store, we had crashed, and our pieces were finally reunited.

Or to an old truck or a vintage car in Natchitoches? My wife would sit in the shotgun seat, sipping on a cold beer while she handed me tools. The cabins my grandfather had willed to each grandchild were almost done getting a makeover. We’d start decorating ours as soon as we were back.

Or to anywhere in the fucking world. If we were together, we were home.

All of these places and memories we were adding to our quilt.

My wife slowed her horse some, and she and her mare allowed us to pass, both breathing heavy as they watched us race.

My wife had once told me it was her favorite time of the day.

To watch one of the endangered species of the Fausti family, the last of the romantic and ruthless knights left in the world, be truly wild.

She said she could barely breathe when she noticed how, by thighs alone, I could control the wild beast beneath me, always ready to take a fucking chunk out of me.

A fire would light her hazel eyes, my kaleidoscope of colors, from behind, and she would jump on me, breathing against my ear, “It’s time for me to ride my cowboy.”

I shivered at the thought. At how her mouth couldn’t get enough. She would gasp, like my air was hers and hers was mine, and to breathe, we needed to be connected. Her nails would rake me from shoulder to lower back, and the next day, I’d check in the mirror to make sure I had marks.

Hers.

She would say we marked each other as she checked her body for my brands.

They covered her.

She was mine.

As mine as the half-lion/half-lioness on my chest. As mine as the half-stallion/half-mare on my back. Her name was above both. Sistine Evita above the lioness. Annie above the mare.

The world would always know who she was to me.

My wife.

My life.

My heart.

My breath.

My protection.

My healing.

She took off after me when she realized where Guerriero was headed.

When she’d found out how he would attempt to fling me off the cliff, her entire face transformed.

It went from pale white to dangerous red.

She was going to attempt to cut him off before he could, but Seraphina stopped that shit cold.

She made a noise at him, and he stopped and turned around.

I laughed my ass off, telling him it happened to the best of us.

He tried to bite my boot off, and I flicked his ear.

He grumbled. And I did the fucking same when Sistine shook her head at me, as if to say, You are chestnuts, Mariano Fausti!

Even though she thought Guerriero was a gorgeous specimen of a horse, she still wouldn’t get close to him unless Seraphina was close enough to keep his attention.

But yeah, I was fucking insane over my woman.

My wife.

Guerriero slowed some, allowing Seraphina to run next to him. My eyes cut to my wife’s, and she smiled at me. I tipped my hat to her, and the smile melted into something…breathy. Her eyes narrowed, getting that look in them— we are almost home , it said.

Both horses climbed the rock together until we came to the end of it, and I reached out and took my wife’s hand. The world seemed like nothing but a vast expanse ahead of us.

Maybe I was turning into my old man by refusing to give my wife another baby, at least then. Too much had happened, and the thought of losing her…I was hard on the outside, but on the inside…the powerlessness of it still clung to me.

I couldn’t help but be caught up in it whenever I thought about it. Thought about Leopoldo.

My wife squeezed my hand. She knew it had taken hold of me, but she was reminding me that the world was at our feet, and anywhere we wanted to go, any place we wanted to see, we were doing it together.

She always reminded me that nothing in life was certain, and even riding a horse could get her seriously injured, so why not another baby when the time was right…

I cleared my throat.

Jumped back to the most important part of my train of thought.

We were doing life together.

Together.

Or no dice.

I followed where my wife led.

She followed where I led.

I brought her hand to my mouth, breathing her in.

“What will you do?” she whispered to me.

My grandfather had come to me with a proposition.

He said he’d always known how strong the Fausti blood ran inside of me, and after the health scare with Matteo’s wife, Stella, Matteo’s position in the family might be challenged.

My marriage couldn’t be challenged, not even by the Fausti family, and as far as leaders went, I wouldn’t be either.

I could behead men in record time with a sword while atop a horse that was called “metal teeth” by some of our enemies.

If they wanted a more modern type of villain, I was faster than any man who stood against me with a gun.

I didn’t fucking mind running through a hail of bullets like my grandfather, Luca Leone Fausti.

At that moment, though, I shook my head, breathing in my wife’s apple scent. “Nah, Annie,” I said. “Not for me, not now. Matteo was born to fill that role.”

Seraphina stomped a bit, my wife easing into the motion easily, as if she was born to ride. “What role were you born for, Mariano Fausti?” She quirked her eyebrow up at me.

I spoke to the pulse in her wrist. “To be your husband.”

“ Bene ,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Race you back!”

She turned Seraphina around, giving her a tap with her boot, and they both flew down the rock. Guerriero shook his head at the same time I did, and then he was after her, his heart racing in his chest for the thrill of the hunt.

Mine was racing for the thrill of…her.

My woman.

My wife.

My life.