Page 6

A voice seemed to shout at her from somewhere close. Sounded like her sister from another balcony. She was complaining, almost with a screech, that she hated the song, the music Sistine was listening to, and she demanded it be turned off.

Sistine didn’t turn it off. Not until another voice, a man’s voice, ordered her to. Either her grandfather or father was my assumption.

The music faded as a beam of sunlight scattered the fog and thinned it.

It was enough that I could see the palazzo.

Sistine was standing on one balcony. A cream silk robe covered her body, and she was gazing longingly into the distance.

She sighed, and I imagined the fog had parted from the breath she took. It was heavy.

Her sister was standing on the opposite balcony in a green silk robe.

Her arms were crossed, and she was staring at Sistine with a pinched look on her face.

Her foot tapped, tapped, tapped, like she was expecting Sistine to face her, but Sistine stared into the distance.

She seemed unbothered, even though there was no way she hadn’t felt her sister’s stare.

Capri turned suddenly and noticed us. Her eyes registered shock before she hurriedly took her hair down and fluffed it up.

My eyes roamed to the opposite balcony. Sistine’s eyes were narrowed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Our eyes met through the fog, and like the thick air, she disappeared inside.

My body demanded that I run, so I did. I held my hand out for the oar and my old man handed it over.

The direction my compass pointed me in was the palazzo we were occupying.

I was eager to get dressed and go to the jewelry store before our meeting with the pirate informant who might give us information on my brother’s heart—the woman named Stella.

Dark eyes were on me the entire time I pushed myself harder and harder to make it back in record time. When we were close, I finally met my old man’s stare.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. A question swam in Brando Fausti’s deep depths: Is she worth wars, son ? Because we both knew he knew something about wars and women, and he sensed it would be battles over Sistine Capella with an A .

The rule our families had set was one war.

Sistine herself would be an entirely different one.

As we glided in front of our palazzo, I wiped sweat from my brow, even though the weather was cool.

Mist clung to my skin, and I could smell it on myself.

After I guided us to a complete stop, the words I wanted to say were on the tip of my tongue.

My voice was almost hoarse when I spoke just loud enough for the two of us to hear.

Talking to my old man always felt like talking to an older version of me.

“I had a dream last night. Or maybe it was this morning. It was fresh inside of my mind before we left.” I took a deep breath.

“I’ve had this dream before. Most of the time after I’ve left a woman who didn’t belong to me.

I’m running, like I always do. I’m a wild mustang running free.

A lion in my chest is chasing it—chasing me.

This time, it was different. In the dreams of the past, I’m always running with no direction, and it feels like the breeze around me is cooling the fire.

“This time, the fire is consuming me, and I’m running to find the breeze. I have a direction this time, and fuck me, if I don’t go in it, I’m going to be consumed by the flames. My heart, the restless lion, is going to catch me, and I’m going to be consumed by its passion.”

Those words hung between us until the gondola rose with a wave sent from a bigger vessel in the canal, and once we dipped and steadied, my eyes truly focused on the older version of myself.

He was staring at me—unblinking. He was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure if he was seeing me in this moment. I always got the feeling that if I was speaking to an older version of myself, he was judging a younger version of himself.

He didn’t like what he saw. Because the younger version of himself without a love like the one he shared with mamma didn’t make sense to him.

Brando Fausti had been with Scarlett Fausti for so long, his life couldn’t make sense without her.

She had become something vital to him—her soul and his were intertwined.

I had never had a love before. That was the version of himself he saw in me, and that made no sense to him.

A life without my mamma looked very different through his eyes, and he could barely stand it.

He had once told me that even the thought of not knowing her, but knowing she had existed and was his, would have driven him insane if he couldn’t find her.

He finally nodded to me and held out his hand. I took it, though I didn’t need to help him to his feet. Brando Fausti was in better shape than most twenty-somethings.

Nah, he didn’t give me his hand to help him; he gave me his hand to communicate that if Sistine was it for me, he’d do all he could to support me—he’d join whatever wars came at me.

As we got to the door of the palazzo, he squeezed my shoulder, then went to find the part of himself he could never live without.

Zio Romeo pressed the buzzer to the jewelry store. I’d planned on making a solo trip, but he insisted. He’d ordered jewelry for Zia Juliette, and he wanted out of the palazzo for a while.

Picking up his order was the reason for the out.

Romeo was in a foul fucking mood. He’d found a silver hair, and he wasn’t dealing with it well. I kept catching him staring at my hair and sighing.

It would have been fucking hilarious if it wasn’t so serious to him.

Everyone always claimed his ego lived in his scalp, which produced the hair, and if I wanted to keep mine intact, laughing would be the last thing I did.

Out of all my father’s brothers, Romeo was the most amicable, but cross a line, and he’d turn quicker than a domesticated lion.

I had something to ask him. A question that might put his woes to rest, but it wasn’t the time.

The door buzzed, and I entered after my uncle. He removed his black leather gloves and stuck them in the pocket of his long, custom-made black overcoat, one almost identical to mine, before he told the clerk he was picking up his order.

Our orders were usually delivered by men who could shoot a bottle off someone’s head, so the clerk raised his eyebrows at the news, but he seemed smart. He kept his mouth shut and said he would let Adone know we’d arrived and would get the order ready.

Even though Zio Romeo’s business was in my ear, my eyes were searching for that Renaissance woman in the painting, the mosaic light over her desk clinging to her skin.

A sigh left my lips in a fucking dramatic fashion when all I could find was mist where she should’ve been standing.

It seemed like the fog from outside had crept in with me and was filling all the empty spaces with smoky air.

It made my heart do this weird fucking flip in my chest. It felt a lot like unease.

After what I’d seen this morning, the way Capri was looking at Sistine, like she dared her to meet her eyes, it made me more aware of a situation that might not be good for Sistine.

In fact, those two reminded me of mamma and her sister, Charlotte. Theirs wasn’t even a decent relationship.

Adone came in from the back, Capri on his heels. Adone greeted us before he started conversing with Zio Romeo about his order. My eyes were still on the mosaic colors falling over Sistine’s desk. Capri’s eyes were on me. I could feel how hard she was staring. She was willing me to meet her eyes.

She’d stare until her eyes froze and I was gone from this spot. It wasn’t her I came to see.

An imprisoned breath released from my lungs, leaving my mouth in a slow flow, and a grin I couldn’t control came to my face. Sistine had appeared from the back, but before she made it to her desk, she’d stopped and started sniffing the air like she scented me in it.

The smallish waiting room in the front of the shop was overwhelmed with the scent of manly colognes and Zio Romeo’s hair gel. The heater felt like it was on high, and it was probably circulating the scents to the back.

Her face overwent two spectacular changes.

First.

Her brows lifted for a second before she ran a hand down the dress she wore.

It was different from what she’d had on the day before.

It fell right below her thighs and was black with a three-dimensional flower print.

It was form-fitting. She wore black tights with it and a pair of cowgirl boots.

Her hair was the same as it usually was, though.

Pulled back with a few different lengths of tendrils falling around her face.

That morning it had been pulled back too, but even so, I could tell she had a lot of hair. It would probably fall well past her waist, with a slight wave. And even though our male scents were consuming the front of the store, I could smell her dancing through it.

Subtle apple the most prominent scent.

Then…

She seemed to check her appearance, and then she reverted to the pinched look she wore the day before, like I was a problem she was going to have to deal with. She even sighed and rolled her eyes.

I smiled.

She narrowed her eyes and went to her desk. She looked up a few times, and after she realized I wasn’t budging, she moved her torch closer.

If she only knew that she’d set fire to my world the day before, and I could feel it inching closer and closer, so fucking close, I felt overheated. I removed my jacket, and a man appeared to take it from me.

Adone cleared his throat.