Ah. “News.” It typically bored us all to tears, but we all listened attentively, giving my father the god-like attention he demanded. We’d acquired new property, he’d bought a new car, we were going on a trip, blah blah blah.
And then I saw him. Standing in the doorway of the dining room. I stifled a gasp.
He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.
Younger than me maybe, yes, but taller, bigger, with the air of someone who hadn’t grown into his own yet. And those eyes… eyes that were much older than his years. A stark, vivid blue that pierced my soul.
Eyes that had borne pain and survived.
Yes. Survived. The stranger in the doorway was a survivor.
Just like me.
He faced me fearlessly, his jaw clenched tight and his stance welcoming anyone to try to knock him down. This boy was a born fighter. He was as tough as my brothers, but there was something… different about him. A brilliance in those eyes unmatched by his peers, as if he held the knowledge of some long-hidden secret.
Time would reveal him to be a brilliant strategist, an expert chess player, and the most skilled hit man my father ever trained.
He also became my father’s favorite, the one child unrelated by blood, the only one my mother couldn’t control. The only one my father would truly take under his wing.
Some say the only one of us unencumbered with a conscience.
And yet, I knew a kinship with this beautiful, haunted boy with the world-worn eyes within seconds of meeting him.
“Rosa,” Mama said, beaming, but even I didn’t miss the hesitation in her voice before she continued. “Meet Santo.” She cleared her throat. “He’s your new brother.”
“Rosa?” Mama stands in the doorway just like she did so many years ago. Her brow’s knit in concern. “Are you okay?”
I stand and brush imaginary dust off my dress. I give her a forced smile. “Oh, fine. It was a little hot in there, so I needed to get some fresh air.”
She smiles sadly at me. I walk to her, the sound of my own heels clicking on the floor of the courtyard. I like the sound the fabulous Jimmy Choos make when I walk. It’s… empowering.
I reach for her when I’m by her side.
She clucks her tongue when she looks at my feet. “My God, they’re incredible.” She shakes her head. “I did pass down good taste in shoes, didn’t I?”
I give her a wan smile, and she tucks me against her shoulder. She hugs me tighter than I expect. “Warm, is it?” she whispers in my ear. “Right.” She doesn’t buy my excuse. “Ah, my love, you carry so many things in your heart, don’t you?”
Why is it that a mother knows so much more than anyone else?
I’ve never talked to her about Santo. To her, I’m a daughter. To her, he’s her son.
But he’s never been like a brother to me, not since the very first day I saw him.
I can’t reveal what’s in my heart to her. It would be strange, and unexpected, not to mention put her in a dangerous position of having to choose sides.
I can’t do that to her, not after everything she’s been through.
I can’t cause any more ripples in the peace of my family ever, ever again. I won’t. And I won’t make anything more difficult for Santo.
I wish he would tell me why he went to Tuscany that fatal day.
I wish he would talk to me. Romeo thought I knew, and he pried as hard as he could without crossing a line. Orlando tried as well, but I told him I didn’t know. I didn’t.
And Santo won’t breathe a word to me.
“Rosa,” Mama says in my ear. “My love. Do you think at some point it might help to put down what you hold that’s so heavy?”
I release her and step away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s warm in here, and I needed to get away from everyone.”
I shiver as I say this and brush my hands over my arms.
“Right,” Mama says, her tone hardening. “I understand. Come, love, let’s have dessert before the boys begin their initiation process.”
When they do, just as always, the Rossi family tradition will trump all. The women will take their leave, and the men will perform their initiation.
It’s just as well. I know initiation involves a sort of hazing I’d rather not see the men I love perform.
I walk in as discreetly as possible beside Mama. Santo’s in deep conversation with Tavi and doesn’t even look up. I can feel him tense, though, as if his radar’s been flicked on by my presence.
I wonder sometimes if I’ve imagined his attraction to me, if I’m only someone who helped him pass the time until he could bed another woman.
And we all know he’s had no fucking shortage of them.