King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

33. Stella

Chapter 33

Stella

I wondered if a permanent smile was a thing. Like, could it stick that way? I didn’t think that was such bad thing, except during sad, or mad, times. During mad times, it would probably piss the other person off more. And the laugh lines around the mouth? They’d be deep. And not very genuine.

Pushing my erratic, goofy thoughts aside, I thought back to Graziana’s birth. I loved that Graziana Margherita was born the day after our wedding, and that all was good with her and Mia. She was a healthy eight-pound baby who seemed to like her sleep and not fuss much. Uncle T (that was what I called Uncle Tito in my head), said it was because Graziana had enough padding to insulate her, therefore she’d be a more content baby.

I smiled even wider when I thought back to when it had been my turn to hold her. I’d never held a baby before. She was so warm in my arms, like a little plush weight, and she smelled like heaven. I could still smell her on my shirt, and, like Magpie had said, it was giving me baby fever. Especially when Matteo would stare at me, like he was imagining us with a baby too.

I dropped a dish in the sink and laughed when soapy water splashed me in the face. I was trying to help around the house. It seemed like Scarlett hadn’t had a chance to finish the dirty dishes. In fact, it looked like she might have been staring out the window when she was washing them, and when Whoever came running to tell her about Mia going into labor, she dropped and broke it. I set the mug to the side, but I still needed to find the missing piece somewhere underneath the suds.

Aunt Lola set her hand on my hip and peeked around me. “It is a good day to be alive, ah?”

“Yes!” I smiled. “The best!”

She pinched my cheek until it felt like blood came to the stinging surface. “Love you, sweet girl!” She took herself to the table, where she sighed as she sat down.

“Aunt Lola, do you think you could direct me around the kitchen so I can cook dinner for everyone?” I chanced a glance behind me, but Matteo was no longer there. He was “summoned” to Brando’s office for a family meeting. But sometimes he’d pop up out of nowhere, hidden in the shadows, and he would surprise me. He was quieter than our kitten. “I’d like to surprise everyone, especially Matteo.”

“ Sì. Though, I will admit, I have never been much of a cook. I have always been a great beauty.” She ran her paper-like hand through her thinning hair, giving me a look like a model would.

That made me laugh. I’d heard about what Grazia, Nonno’s famous Italian movie star mamma, could do in the kitchen, and she was a great beauty too. I didn’t think food would turn up its nose at a beautiful set of hands doing the cooking. But I was learning that Aunt Lola was feisty, and she had a great sense of humor.

“Not that great in the kitchen?” I asked.

“Better in the bedroom.”

I exploded with laughter, and she almost made a tititititit sound when she laughed. She asked me about our honeymoon, and I said that we were set to leave next week. We’d be doing a tour of Europe. We’d turned down Noemi’s invitation to the event in Paris—after speaking to Saverio, Matteo didn’t think the event was safe enough at the time—and we were going to start our honeymoon in Paris. I couldn’t wait to see it again with my husband next to me. And Matteo had secured the Paris Opera House for our second wedding, so we were going to check it out and speak to whoever oversaw things like that.

This time, though, the entire Fausti family would be invited. It was going to be the “event” of the year, or so Ava had said. She’d had an “event” of the year too, after she and Naz had been married in a lush ceremony after one of the cousins in the family challenged Naz for Ava’s hand. I was learning that this family had a long and thick history, and that even the years couldn’t stop legendary stories from being made. Most of them were romance-book worthy, and I hoped ours would be too, all the drama over in the beginning.

I sighed at the thought of going back to Paris, but this time, as a free woman. Maybe Matteo couldn’t understand it fully, but I had fond memories of Paris, made when it was just me and my mom there. It had been an adventure for the two of us, until she left me. And I refused to blame the place, the innocent people, for what Régine Nemours and her goons did to me. I’d overcome it, and maybe, just maybe, I’d have the courage to face the truth about the rest of my life.

Aunt Lola and I chatted for a few minutes about what we should cook, and the way she was talking was making me a little nervous. Scarlett cooked for an army, almost literally, and I’d need to start by making more than triple the recipe of whatever we decided to cook. I wondered if this was how it felt to be thrown into a pool when you couldn’t swim, or onto the interstate as a new driver.

“You will need eggs,” Aunt Lola said, tapping her chin. “Scarlett was telling me that before Mia went into labor.” She chucked her chin toward the window. “She gets feelings about things, as I am sure you know. She was washing dishes, gazing out of her window, and before the knock came at the door, she dropped and broke one.” She made a noise like she’d gotten chills and rubbed her arms. “Odd, sometimes, that she has the power to do that.”

“I couldn’t imagine knowing something before it happens, and not always what’s going to happen. That would make me a very anxious person.” I started to wipe the counter’s down, but they were almost spotless.

Maybe I would sweep and then mop.

“Aunt Lola, where does Scarlett keep her cleaning supplies?”

Aunt Lola was in the middle of shaking her head and pointing to a chair, about to probably tell me to take a seat, but we both grew quiet when Rosaria walked in.

“Lola!”

We both jumped a little at the sound of Uncle Tito’s voice. She looked between me and Rosaria, and either she forgot about Uncle Tito, or she didn’t want to answer him, but when he called her again, she gave a heavy sigh.

She patted my hand. “He has trouble with his zipper sometimes. Gets stuck. Would you like to come with me?”

Helping Aunt Lola get Uncle T’s zipper unstuck was not something I felt like I needed to be in on. The only reason she asked, though, was because she was worried about leaving me alone with Rosaria. Maybe she thought Rosaria would have me for dinner, but I wasn’t afraid or intimated by her.

“No,” I whispered, patting Aunt Lola’s hand. “You go. He needs your help.”

“Lola!” Uncle T was screaming for her, but it was in more of a sing-song type of voice. Looooo-laaaa!

“I am coming!” She used the arms of the chair to brace herself, but she still almost fell back in it. I gave her a hand, and she lifted, leaving me with a lingering look.

Be careful , it seemed to warn.

Rosaria took a seat at the table. Her hard, hot stare was on me. I guess my threat to her at my wedding, about protecting me and mine, hadn’t penetrated her thick head. I acted like she wasn’t there until she cleared her throat and called me something in Italian. It sounded like “chin-eren-tola,” but I knew I was probably way off.

“Cinderella,” she said, getting more comfortable at the table, tapping her fingertips against it. “If you were wondering what it means.”

“I actually wasn’t, but thanks anyway.” I faced her, refusing to let her keep her eyes on me and try to intimidate me.

“You are a sassy little bitch,” she said to me, and I could tell I was getting underneath her skin because she couldn’t get under mine. She laughed, but it sounded more mocking than a true one, if she even had one of those, or maybe she’d forgotten how to use it. “Especially for someone who is essentially a pole dancer.”

I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with an exotic dancer. It’s an honest days’ work.” I turned slightly, reaching for the pitcher of water I’d made earlier.

Scarlett had asked me to make it one day for her. Sliced cucumbers and lemon in the water. She told me it would sit in the fridge until it got cold. I’d done that earlier and then had taken it out and set it on the counter for Aunt Lola and me.

I poured myself a glass. “You know, I always wondered. How do women like you, shameless, underhanded, selfish—even when it comes to their own kids—ever come to be?”

She smiled at that. A true smile. “How innocent of you, especially since you were raised by the female equivalent of Olivier Nemours.”

I returned the smile. “It didn’t matter at the time.”

She ticked her mouth. “Little girl, nothing happens to us. We are just made that way.”

“Your son is miserable.”

“He is miserable because that is the way love makes you. His father has allowed this entire foolish situation to go on far too long. Massimo will realize one day what he has missed. But that day is too far off, and we have more than one son. We have spares in this family for this reason.”

So, since Massimo refused to challenge Matteo for what the men considered in this family their “right,” Rosaria had lined up another son to do it. All together, they had four sons: Massimo, Amadeo, Marzio, and Ludovico. I’d met the first three a couple of times, but the night of our wedding was the first time I’d met Marzio. None of them seemed hostile or anything, but Massimo, Amadeo, and Ludovico seemed friendlier than Marzio.

“You know what I think?” I didn’t stop to let her answer. I barreled right into how I really felt. “You’re the only bitch in this room.”

She stood. “You believe that wearing the insignia of this family makes you one of us.” She laughed, and not going to lie, it was a grating sound. “You have no fucking clue what it takes to be a Fausti. Your spot is earned, not given. Compared to the women in this family, you are a common whore!”

Okay, I had to give her the spot is earned, not given , comment. I knew my spot was not given, and it would take time for the entire family to accept me as their leader’s wife, but that was what I was doing. Learning my way around, working for my place. This family was so important to Matteo, and I wanted to support him because his family was not only his blood, but his passion.

Still.

She was wrong about the rest.

I sighed, like I was so bored, even if I was trembling on the inside. She was a beautiful woman, but the kind who could cut a person down with a sharp look. “I never took my clothes off or had been with a man until my husband. So, it doesn’t sound like I fit that description—of a whore. However.” I lifted a finger. “Who knows if this is true or not, just rumors, you know, but you sleep around on your husband. An open marriage, right? So…sounds more like you than me.”

Her fists clenched. “Or like your mamma, ah? The exotic dancer who slept with a married man and had a child from him?”

She couldn’t move out of my way fast enough. I swiped the first thing I saw on the counter, the broken piece of glass from Scarlett’s broken mug, and held it to her throat.

She smiled. “What will you do with that, Little Girl?”

I answered her dare by cutting her underneath her chin with it. “ No one will disrespect my mom, or who I consider mine,” I said through tears. Why the fuck was I crying? But it was a mad cry. Like it took me getting to this space in my head to do it. “I don’t bother with words if I’m not going to do what I say. You’ve crossed a fucking line.”

Rosaria’s flitting eyes were on mine, but then she turned them so fast, it took me out of my head space, and I turned mine too. Oscar, who seriously resembled Oscar the Grouch, was standing in the doorway. The slowly fading light of the day was at his back, and he was standing in its glow.

He made the sign of the cross, called out to Jesus, and was about to turn his back and leave when Rosaria screeched, “Oscar!”

Oscar’s shoulders visibly went up and then down, and with a resolved sigh, he came into the kitchen. But I wasn’t going to make this hard on him. I tucked the broken piece of stone, the end stained by Rosaria’s blood, into my pocket.

Oscar was one of Matteo’s men, not Rocco’s—directly—so I knew Rosaria couldn’t step in and stop him.

“Oscar,” I said, “would you mind walking me home for eggs?” Scarlett usually got hers from the market, or another farm close by, since she said she and Brando were never in one spot long enough to have chickens. Even though we’d probably move around a lot, from how Matteo had spoken about having different places to call home, I thought it would be great to have them.

Apollonia’s farm wasn’t far from ours. She’d always wanted chickens, and since our hen house was the size of an actual small house, we decided to share the chickens and eggs. As rent, as she called it with a laugh, she’d take care of the chickens and eggs while we were away.

Oscar hesitated, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up. Then he seemed to remember something, and he stood up straight. “ Sì. It would be my honor to protect you, Signora Fausti.”

It was odd that cousins called other cousins and their wives, or vice versa, the equivalent of Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. in English, but whatever they wanted to do.

“Thank you,” I whispered, nodding toward the door.

Oscar stiffened his shoulders and walked ahead of me, holding the door open. I stopped next to him and lifted the sharp piece of stone, making sure Rosaria saw it.

“That was nothing,” I said. “You say something like that again, and who knows, you might lose an ear, or maybe, if the words are even worse, I’ll go even further, to your chest.”

She smiled at me, blood running down her neck. “My son will speak to you soon.”

I shook my head. “All inquiries go through my husband first. Thanks.”

And with that, we left toward home.

Oscar wanted to drive me to our castello , but I told him I wanted to walk instead. It was only fifteen minutes—at best—on foot, and I needed the outlet. He didn’t want to do it at first, but after I told him we could drive back, he agreed.

I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so hot, literally, but I was. It felt like a swarm of wasps surrounded me, stinging me all over the place. I’d never felt this…angry before. I wanted to go back and punch Rosaria this time. Right in her fucking mouth! The only reason I hadn’t before, I reasoned with myself, was because I knew hitting her was going to hurt me. I wanted all the hurt to be on her.

She called my mom a whore!

And the more I thought about how she came at me like that, the more I pictured Régine and her wicked daughters stealing my things.

How scared I was. How helpless.

You’re not helpless now!

“ Ah, ah, ah ,” Oscar said, raising his hands, stepping in front of me when I turned to go back to Scarlett and Brando’s villa. “Let us walk to your castello , ah? We will get the eggs for supper!”

It was almost impossible to not laugh when he got impassioned like that, so it said a lot that I crossed my arms over my chest, and I could feel how tight my face was. I huffed around him, and, hauling my leg back, kicked a big-ass rock as hard as I could. Before we’d left for Scarlett and Brando’s earlier, I’d hurriedly dressed in a floral dress that fell right above my knees, socks that were thick, and combat boots. I’d seen a picture of Scarlett in the ’90s, and I’d wanted to emulate her style back then. I was just glad I’d decided on the boots. My toe was still stinging with them on. Without, I would have probably broken the toe and been more pissed off at Rosaria—like kicking it was somehow her fault.

It was!

I’d had a smile stuck to my face until she came along and ruined it.

“ Signora Fausti?—”

I held a hand up. “Call me Stella.”

His face fell, and I felt horrible. It wasn’t his fault Rosaria was such a raging bitch—whore!

“I’m sorry, Oscar,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just…really, really, really mad right now.”

He lifted his hands, turning them a little. “It is okay. I understand.”

“Why do they allow her around?” I made a frustrated noise. “Why?!”

He took a step back, his hands still in the surrender position. “I believe it is because she is the wife of our next leader. We all live behind golden gates in this famiglia , and behind those golden gates are smaller golden gates.”

“You mean secrets protected by secrets?”

He pulled a real Oscar-worthy face, then wiped sweat from his brow. “ Sì. We live by certain rules. There are hierarchies. What is happening inside of our famiglia is our secret. If the rest of the famiglia finds out we are warring amongst ourselves…” He shrugged.

Oh, so if anyone got wind that Rosaria was banned from the kingdom, other branches of the family might start to smell weakness and try to swoop in for the kill. Ava had told me that before. She was like my Fausti Professor.

Shit!

I wondered what was going to happen after Rosaria ran back and ratted on me? A slice on her throat wouldn’t go unnoticed.

I started to walk faster toward the castello , and Oscar easily caught up, walking backward so he could face me.

“We should talk about something different,” he said.

This stopped me.

He stopped.

“If you continue thinking about her, you will only get more upset,” he said.

“Okay.” I took a deep, deep, deep breath and released it slowly. “What should we talk about?”

“Ah.” He looked to the left and to the right before his eyes met mine. “Noemi.”

Oh.

“What about her?” I asked.

“Did you see? She danced with me at your wedding.”

“Oh. That’s really nice.”

He nodded. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His eyes lowered some, like her name and the thought of her sent him off to dream-land.

This time, I had to control my features. He was pouring his heart out to me, and his eyes were soft, but the rest of his face was still scrunched up a bit. It was actually…cute. Maybe he was. It was just that everyone had dubbed him Oscar the Grouch because he looked like his father. He did, but I found Oscar wasn’t as Oscar-y as his father, Nino.

“I’m sure Noemi would think that’s very sweet.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. You just paid her a great compliment, Oscar.”

His eyebrows lifted, giving him an almost comical look. “I find that she has not so good taste in men. I am different. I am not her type. I see this with my own—” He pointed toward his eyes.

I started walking again, and so did he.

“What are you going to do about your…erm, crush?” I asked.

“Do you think she will agree to a date? I will ask her father, first, of course.”

“I’d love to say I know, but I really don’t. But that’s part of the excitement, right? Not knowing what she’ll say, but hoping she’ll say yes?”

He said something in Italian, but I didn’t understand, and he didn’t translate. I was thinking it was probably along the lines of… No, woman, that’s not part of the excitement. She might turn me down! And then him telling me to scram! I laughed a little, and he smiled at me. His teeth were perfect and straight and so white against his dark skin.

If he was going to say anything else to me, he didn’t. Armando came running toward us, taking my other side. He shot Oscar a glare, and I was sure Oscar was probably going to get into trouble for something—maybe walking me instead of driving me? I could see men dotted all over the hillside. Just walking around or doing something in our groves. As we came to the castello , only a thin sliver of day left, Placido met us.

Armando ordered Oscar to stay with me at the hen house while he and Placido took positions further out. Not that I minded Oscar’s company, but it was nice to be—almost—alone for a few minutes. I loved collecting the eggs from the hens. Their house was made of the same stone and stucco ours was, and they seemed to be happy. Yeah, they were somewhat dirty, in general, and could be harpy sometimes, but overall, they were going to have a wonderful life here.

That made me breathe a little easier.

I told Oscar he could wait outside for me. Grabbing a wicker basket from the hook outside of the house, I stepped inside with all my furry ladies. Some of them squawked a little, fluttering their wings, but mostly they squinted at me and went back to whatever they were doing.

My fire had tamed a little since the walk, but a leftover flame seemed to be burning me inside. I wasn’t sure how to put it out, or if I really wanted to. Maybe I just had to get used to it. It felt like it was right underneath my breastbone, even though, when it rushed through me, I got hot all over. Especially in the face.

Common sense told me that part of it was from the way Régine had treated me, and how I hadn’t dealt with it yet, but I’d never been so short-fused before. I really could have hurt Rosaria without blinking an eye at the violence it took to do it.

“It’s okay,” I cooed at the hen as I collected her eggs. “I’m not going to hurt you, only mean people.”

Her beady eyes took me in, and I could have sworn she was thinking… Not me, but my eggs! You’re about to scramble them for dinner, you psycho!

I sighed, moving on to the next hen, who I hoped wouldn’t be as judgmental. I laughed quietly at the thoughts in my head, and then I wondered if I needed serious mental help. I didn’t have time to stress about it too much, though. A commotion was happening at the back of the hen house. One of the hens seemed to be fluttering her wings, going after something, trying to peck it, or use her claws to get it, and she was upsetting the other hens.

Or something was.

I turned my head a fraction, about to ask Oscar to check it out with me, but another man stood in the doorway, blocking most of the light. It broke around him and made me squint. A rush of panic ran straight through me, and it seemed to affect my feet, because one got caught on the other, and I started to fall.

He grabbed me before I hit the floor, but I was still close to it.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was Marzio, Rocco and Rosaria’s third son.

He had me by the arm, and I was almost dangling in his grasp as the hens all clucked and panicked around us. Feathers were flying in all directions. One landed on Marzio’s head, and it made him look like a demented animal. His eyes were narrowed on me, but his lips were set in a sarcastic smirk. Just like his mom’s. I bet he laughed like her too.

Except.

It was the first time I was really noticing his face. He didn’t look like Rocco, or the Faustis, like the rest of Rocco and Rosaria’s sons. He looked a lot like Rosaria, but with a twist. Rocco had named him so wrong. He didn’t look anything like Marzio, Nonno’s father, and from the stories I’d heard, it certainly didn’t seem like he took after him in behavior, either.

“Let me go,” I breathed.

He let me drop to the floor. I hit with a thud that sent the hens, more feathers, and stuff I didn’t want to think about, scattering.

Marzio stepped over me while I tried to get up, forcing me down again, while he walked to the back of the house. He shooed the frantic hen away, the one trying to attack something. She was still at it. While he had his back turned, I tried to quietly get up, wondering where the fuck Oscar had gone. He had just been outside.

I was quick, but Marzio was quicker. He caught me right before I could get to the door, stepping in front of me, using a hissing and wriggling black snake to stop me. He held it close to my face until I took a step back.

“Here is your problem,” he said in a low, almost hoarse voice. “A, ah, serpente in the hen house. Such defenseless creatures against such a thing.” He made a tsk noise and looked me in the eye. “I hear you are strong, but perhaps that is only when you have a knife handy, ah? We shall see how brave you truly are.”

He held it out to me to take.

I quickly glanced at how he was holding it. Taking a deep breath, I took a step around him. I refused to rush, to give him the satisfaction of thinking that I was intimated or scared. I was, both , but I was good at burying my feelings deep enough that not even Régine could see what I was going through. Biting my lip so I wouldn’t fucking chicken out, I stood next to him, and steadying my hand, went to hold the scary-ass thing like he was. He held it in a way that it couldn’t turn its head and strike him.

Okay, the times I was locked in with rats came back to haunt me. I’d hope for a cat, or even a snake, to eat the four-legged piranhas. This felt like some kind of warped karma coming back to get me. I just hoped, prayed , that it wasn’t coming back to bite me.

“Are we scared?”

“No,” I said, thankful my voice came out even. “Just figuring out how to hold it without it biting me.”

He tsked again. “You? Afraid of a little bite?” He laughed, and it seemed to piss the snake off even more. It started to wriggle even harder, its tail whipping around. “I would think you are immune. After all, you are a snake with two legs.”

Rosaria deserved everything she got , I was going to say, but I had to bite my tongue. One move and he’d fling that snake in my face. I wasn’t sure if it was poisonous or not, but it looked like it. It had fucking fangs!

A sharp voice came from behind us in Italian.

We both turned at the same time, and in a split second, Marzio launched the snake at Mariano and Oscar, who was suddenly standing next to Mariano. Oscar made an “ EEEEEEEEE! ” noise as he and Mariano seemed to part at the same time, using the stone to shield themselves from the flying snake. Marzio rushed out of the house, faster than I thought possible, and was making a run for it.

I rushed out of the hen house. Mariano was only a few steps behind Marzio. They disappeared around the castello in a flash, probably heading toward the driveway. Mariano had taken his horse. I was willing to bet Marzio was in a fast car.

“S-s-s-s-te-lllaaaa.”

I turned my head.

Oscar was pressed against the stone, trying to become a part of it. Sweat rolled down his head like he was getting rained on, and he kept blinking at me like he was trying to communicate through his eyes.

Slowly, I looked down.

The snake was still hanging around, between Oscar and me, and it seemed to be deciding who to go for first.

“Maybe if we don’t move—” the snake seemed to turn to me at the sound of my voice “—don’t even talk,” I whispered, “it’ll just go away.”

All Oscar could do was shrug.

The scariest part was that a small light had come on against the hen house—and it was all the light we could see by. It was already night, and the snake was dark. It was agitated. It was hot out, and we’d ruined its egg dinner. Maybe even a few chickens. I wasn’t sure how much a snake of that size could eat!

The crackling of grass and earth came from behind me. I was too frozen to move to check it out. But whoever it was was moving slow, carefully, hardly making a sound. Then strong arms came around me, and in a rush, lifted me off my feet.

Matteo.

I went to open my mouth, to warn him, but he shook his head.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. But his eyes—I couldn’t even see the whites of them. They were dilated. Slowly, oh so slowly, he walked backward.

Italian came flying through the night. Brando. He seemed to be talking to Oscar. Oscar didn’t answer, but he kept bobbing his head.

Matteo whistled long and low, covered my ears, and a second later, a blast echoed through the air. It smelled like something was burning, and it took another second to realize something wet was on my face. I touched it and pulled back a smear of blood and what looked like a chunk of charcoal. It was all over Matteo’s face.

Pieces of the snake.

Matteo looked down at me, eyes possessed by something that seemed to be internally controlling him, and just stared at me. I didn’t want him to see the residual panic coming to the surface of my own eyes, so I looked away.

Oscar slid down the wall, making the sign of the cross and praying in Italian. Or giving thanks.

I squinted my eyes, looking for the shooter. I thought it was Brando. But when I finally made out the shapes, I realized it was Brando and Scarlett. He was standing directly behind her, and she held the gun.