“He used you against me, knowing what it would do to me.” He advanced on me, pinning me against the counter. His nostrils flared with his temper, a dragon about to set fire to the world. But all that I needed to see resided in his eyes. He had been afraid, afraid of what the sheriff would do to him in front of me.
His cheek was a bit swollen, a red tint beginning to mar his beautiful skin. Hesitant but determined, I caressed the spot with one fingertip. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have—I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him hurt you again. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He covered my hand with his own, and I thought he would rest his face against my palm. Instead, he slid his fingers down to wrap around my wrist, stopping me from touching him. Something told me he wanted me to, but he wasn’t sure how to let me. That was all right, though; whatever way he needed me, I was there.
“How long?” I asked softly. “How long has he been doing this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. It matters to me. Tell me.” I drew in a breath and released it. “Please.”
His hold grew tighter and I squirmed a bit to let him know it was uncomfortable. He released the pressure but didn’t let me go. Neither did his eyes.
“There’s been bad blood there for years, even when Nick and I were friends. Luca Fausti killed Nick’s mother. Luca had been drunk and should’ve never been behind the wheel of a car. After Nick died—” He shrugged, as if that answered all of the unanswered riddles.
“Luca is?”
“Lucious Leone Fausti is my father.” He seemed to spit out the word “father,” like it was distasteful.
Strike three.
“And he’s still in prison?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage. “So the sheriff blames you for it all. Even the sins of your father.”
“He can’t separate me from Luca. Make the distinction. The night of the train accident, they had searched for me too. They knew I had left with Elliott and Nick. I didn’t go home right away. I stood behind to watch you leave. That’s when I found the thing—the ribbon—from your hair. Stone knew that I should’ve been in the car, but I wasn’t.”
“Because of me,” I said.
“You saved my life,” he said. “More than once.”
“Was he telling the truth? About Nick?”
“Being sweet on you?” His grin didn’t touch his eyes. All I could find was sadness when I desperately wanted to find something else. “Yeah, he was telling the truth.” He searched my eyes for a moment. “Tell me, Scarlett.”
He had said those words to me before. Two words that were more commanding than any other words I had ever heard. It wasn’t the words though; it was just Brando Fausti, moving me to respond to what he knew I’d understand. Something inside of me instinctually knew what he asked of me, and I answered.
“I won’t do it again.” I took a moment to collect my breath. The way he looked at me seemed to teeter on the edge of rage and sexuality. It felt like a thin line for him to cross, either way. “If it happens again, I’ll keep quiet. I won’t put you in that position again with the sheriff.”
We stood that way for some time until he nodded, once. Just before he released me, he set his lips against the pulse in my wrist. Leaving me breathless, he turned to the counter, reaching for a bunch of carrots. “A knife.”
“Ye—” I cleared my throat. “Yes.” I reached over him and handed him an onion and a stalk of celery. “Can you dice these too? Knives are in that drawer.” I pointed. He had sidetracked me before I had the chance to grab one.
He removed a knife, pushed the chopping block over a bit, and then got to work. I watched him slice and dice, unable to help myself. The rhythm of his motions hypnotized me.
“You stare at me,” he commented out of the blue, as though he were commenting on the weather.
I shook my head, turning back to the task at hand. “I do.” I poured the flour into a ceramic bowl, added vegetable shortening, and then used a pastry cutter to work the mixture together. “Does it bother you that I do?”
“Only when I can’t figure out why.”
“It’s usually the same reason. You’re beautiful, Brando.” So damn beautiful that you