Page 60

Sistine

T he All Nighter, an all-night diner, was not even a block away from Gold Rush. Mariano shook his head when I suggested walking.

“Not tonight,” he said.

Mostly everyone who was at Atta’s girlie party, as Mariano had called it, decided to come with us. Atta, Angelo, Marciano, and more Fausti men included.

“Yeah!” Marciano punched the air. “I have no idea whose idea this was, but fuck, yeah . I’m going to eat a stack of pancakes that’ll break records. Eggs, steak, hash browns….” He continued to name off breakfast items as he jumped in the front seat of another SUV.

Mariano drove ours. Angelo and Atta sat in the back, all cozied up.

Mariano held my hand as he drove. Atta and I discussed some of the singers at Gold Rush.

She showed me a few pictures she took, I showed her the ones I took, and we both promised to share the ones we took of each other with each other, especially the one she took of Mariano and me.

We did not have a lot of time to talk, however.

The diner was close. It was packed, and there was barely any parking.

The Gold Rush crowd was rushing the place for an after-hours meal.

Everything with the Fausti family seemed to run smoothly.

Mariano braked, and not even two minutes later, Remo was there to take the SUV and park it.

Marciano was stepping out of his and we all went inside together.

After a bit of waiting, we were seated in a booth.

I was squished between my husband and his brother, Atta was squished between Angelo and Michele, one of Angelo’s brothers.

He was born after Angelo. The Fausti and their hierarchy.

Giacomo, Dante, and Piero, also Angelo’s brothers, were sitting behind us in another booth. By the time our food arrived, it seemed like almost the entire place was filled with Fausti men or Atta’s friends from the party.

All eyes were on Marciano. He was still eating. It became a thing in the diner. Everyone cheering when he took another bite. He ate it up. It was the first time since Gold Rush that I noticed him grin.

Mariano nodded to my plate, a glass of water in one hand, his other arm around my neck. He was sucking on ice, twirling it around his magical tongue. “You’re not far behind him.”

“Drinking makes her hungry,” Atta said, reaching across the table and going for a hash brown from my plate.

I poised my fork over my food and pretended I was going to stab her with it. She hurriedly stuck the potato in her mouth and scrunched her nose up at me.

Marciano laughed so hard he had to set down the bite he was about to take. Atta and I caught his laughter, and we were howling by the time Marciano began to eat again. I had fallen for Marciano as a brother almost right away.

Atta nodded at me, reading the thoughts behind my eyes.

She had fallen for him as a cousin. The Fausti men were jovial when they were together.

It was easy to accept them as family, especially, I was noticing, outside of Italy.

Perhaps in America, they still had rules, but not as hard as they did in Italy.

“Ty is missing out on so much,” Atta said, setting her napkin down. Then the slight look she sent me registered.

She was missing him but was also relieved that he was safe in Maine. He had gone back to escort Emma to Angelo and Atta’s wedding. If the Fausti men did something to disturb Rattler and his brothers, Ty was not around to be used as leverage and revenge.

“He will be back tomorrow.” Angelo wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her in, kissing her temple. “I spoke to him earlier.”

A song started to play from the jukebox.

Atta and I looked at each other and sang along to it.

It was our song, one we enjoyed singing together.

The waitress came back to our table, halting our karaoke time.

She was as nervous as she was the first time.

Her eyes kept darting to every man seated at the table.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can I get you all anything else?”

“Hash browns.” Mariano nodded to my plate, barely looking at her. “Another stack of pancakes too.”

Marciano added to his order as well.

Our eyes met over the table.

“Challenge accepted,” I said.

He laughed again.

“He even cuts her pancakes,” the waitress muttered as she walked away, sighing wistfully.

I looked down at my plate. My husband did. He prepared my plate for me before he gave it to me. He even ordered me extra syrup on the side. He knew I liked to dip my pancakes. He did the same for me with salad. He would mix it all together for me.

He always took the first bite as well. He said for me to consider him the food tester for his queen. He wanted to make sure all was okay before I ate it. When the waitress brought more of everything out, Mariano did his usual routine.

I leaned over and kissed him in thanks, then moved to his ear. “I want to go home,” I whispered, moving my eyebrows up and down as I pulled away.

He grinned at my eyebrow wiggle. “You’re still drunk, Annie.”

“Just a little, which is a shame. I was enjoying…feeling loose, if you understand what I am saying.” I gave him a pointed look. “We have whiskey at home. I might get drunk again to see how I am in bed then.”

His eyes heated as I ran my hand over his thigh, his thigh not the central point of what I was going for.

A loud thunk, thunk, thunk came at the glass window. Atta screamed, and when my eyes found the same thing she had seen, I dropped my fork on the plate so hard, it chipped.

Rattler.

His brothers hovered around him. They were all wearing cowboy hats, trench coats, and leather gloves.

Mariano’s hand was on my neck. He squeezed lightly. “Look at me, Annie.”

I did.

“I protect you.” His eyes were serious on mine, but in that moment, they were almost…softer, allowing me fully into the moment with him. I could be vulnerable.

Once inside, his eyes grew harder, but somehow, they let me even in further, coating me in armor and allowing me to stay in the shadow of his safety for as long as I needed to.

I had never felt either way before, vulnerable or safe in anyone’s care, and somehow, they came together to sum up the way Mariano Leone Fausti loved me.

I could not even speak. All I could do was nod.

When I could form a word, I whispered a word he knew frightened me, snake .

Then I held on to his hand so hard, it was almost as if I wanted to merge our bones together.

I had not even realized how hard I was leaning on him, almost in his lap, until the moment of shock faded.

My voice finally appeared. “I know you do,” I whispered. “I also protect you.”

I was wasting my breath. The men around me had grown hard and cold, the same as the grits Marciano had ordered.

All eyes were on the window. The men outside of the glass were taking great care to keep their eyes on Atta and me.

I glanced at her, and she was staring at Angelo, who almost hummed with a violent intensity.

All our men did. It was as if the music faded into the background and that humming was in my ears, almost like bees.

“Finish your food, Annie,” Mariano said, nodding to it, and that frightening tone was back to his voice. It was hot and cold at the same time.

“I cannot,” I whispered, pushing it away.

He said something in Italian, and my eyes snapped to his face. I was not a hundred percent sure, but I thought he said… another charge added to the list of crimes against my heart .

His eyes met mine, and we stared at each other. He was speaking to me. Speaking to me in a language that was ours alone. He was making vows to me. Vows to keep me safe. A vow of vengeance.

“Yeah, Annie.” His voice was rough. “After I kill it in your honor, it goes away, because it’s mine to fucking carry.”

I shook my head, about to argue with him, but I knew it was no use.

There was not an option in this situation that would stop my husband from dirtying his hands for me.

I glanced at Angelo. Then my husband. Both men were staring at Rattler.

I knew how the Fausti family felt about honor, and a different sort of worry sat in my stomach like a stone pit.

Whatever happened before I arrived that hellish night, I was not too sure of either.

This meant, Mariano and Angelo might fight over who got Rattler to himself.

I was not familiar with all their customs, but I had heard plenty of stories over the years. My grandfather and father discussed these things without fear of me listening. Once my earbuds were in, they assumed I was cut off from the world. Yes, this was true, but only when I was ready to disappear.

Rattler gave a patronizing little wave. First at Atta, then me. She turned her face away.

Just as I did that night, I stared into his eyes, and although it was not premeditated, I stuck him the bird. His eyes caught fire, and he was trying to burn me with them. I narrowed back.

“Dead bitch,” he mouthed at me.

The hate he felt for me had not cooled. I was waiting for smoke to appear from his body in the chilled night air. He was incensed. If he could have gotten to me…I shivered. He would have abused me and then ripped me apart, limb from limb, as venom began to spread throughout my blood.

“Sistine.”

It took me a moment to realize Mariano had said my name. The way he said it was sharp, a command. He did not wait for me to move. He slid me out of the seat and set me on my feet. I had never seen him so…enraged before. Enraged but also controlled.

It was hard to find an adjective that fit these men regarding how gorgeous they were, and it seemed to be the same when they were at this level of pissed.

Pissed .

Could you ever call a murderous cat on the hunt pissed ?

Or even mad ?