King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

41. Matteo

Chapter 41

Matteo

W e’d been in Natchitoches for six days, and my wife mostly stayed in my old room at my parents’ place. I enjoyed visiting, but not as much as my parents enjoyed living in the small Louisiana town. I had a branch there, but my roots had always been deeply buried in Italian soil. Part of my life was here, though, and that meant something to me.

So did the fact that my father and I had repaired our relationship here. When he’d forced me to move from Italy to Natchitoches, I’d felt like one day I could leave and never look back—including him in that picture. Years later, though, and I couldn’t picture my life without him in it.

My wife had my heart twisted and my stomach in knots. I knew what was coming, and as much as I braced for it, as much as I would try to steal it from her, grief couldn’t be stolen. And she’d buried it, hid it, for so long, it demanded to be seen. To be heard. To be felt. All that time locked away only made it stronger.

Her eyes had a vacant look in them most of the time, and she’d stare at nothing, too quiet. Even when everyone would try to bring her into a conversation, she’d nod or shake her head, then disappear into my old room. I’d follow behind her as she slipped into bed, staring at the box of things Saverio had brought me from her mom.

She hadn’t told me it was time yet, and I knew it wasn’t, but we were close. So fucking close.

It was nice having mamma and Mia around. Even Violet, mamma’s childhood friend, to a certain degree, because she was lively. I could tell she would have been someone Stella enjoyed being around, but nothing short of me being close to her made her seem somewhat content. She’d told me that being around me felt safe, like she could disappear for a while, knowing I’d bring her back.

I slid my hand against my chest, feeling a tightness there when I even thought about her saying those words to me with as much ease as she did. It was like she took comfort in them while they fucking haunted me.

This was only the beginning of her grieving, and it hadn’t really touched the surface yet.

I swatted away a bug that kept buzzing around my face. I leaned against the porch railing and watched as the sun started to lower in the late summer sky. I didn’t know how she did it, but Violet had convinced Stella to get dressed for a night out at the local bar. Violet told Stella that, in exchange for her company, she’d tell her all about the shit Brando and Scarlett did in this small town, and how they were legendary in the bar we were going to.

Stella admitted to her that she’d never been to a bar like that. “A honky tonk?”

“Something like that.” Violet smiled. “And I’ll do your nails!”

Violet started to tell her about Poisonous Dawn, her husband’s old band, and how they were going to be playing at the honky tonk. I caught Stella’s eyes in the mirror and nodded. It was the first time she’d showed interest in anything since we arrived, so I figured, what the fuck, let’s go. Everyone decided to tag along, and as usual, two became twenty. Except for Padrino. He was going to talk to Massimo.

While the women were doing all the girlie shit they do, all the men decided to wait on the porch. Sweat rolled down my face, and I had to keep wiping it with my arm. Humidity felt like it was at ninety nine percent, and even in the evening, it was over a hundred degrees.

No wonder my old man had gills instead of lungs. He had developed them out of necessity down here. I also thought that was how Mariano got his love for horses and beer. Nonno had kicked it off with the horses when we’d sword fight, but this small town had stuck a beer in his hand and welcomed him home.

“Fuck.” Marciano took a seat next to Mariano on the swing. “It feels like we’re swimming out here. I just took a shower, and it feels like I didn’t even dry off.”

“Yeah.” Mariano pushed at his head. “And your fucking deodorant is working overtime.”

My old man came to stand next to me. Graziana had grown so much in the short time since I’d seen her, and my old man had more silver in his hair since the last time I’d seen him. The passage of time made me rub the spot over my heart again.

My old man didn’t miss a thing. He watched me do it, then shook his head. “It’s like looking in a mirror at a younger me when you do that.”

“How’d you survive it? The pain in your chest?”

He pulled out a pack of antacids. “Here.” He handed them to me. “I bought these for you.”

“Uncle Tito,” I said.

My old man sighed. “Said there wasn’t anything he could do about love indigestion. I had to cure that one myself.”

I grinned and popped one in my mouth. “That’s fucking terrible.” I shook my head. “Tastes like I just took a bite out of chalk.”

“You get used to it,” my old man said, and then his eyes softened when he scanned his property.

The house on Snow was his pride and joy. He’d bought it for mamma when they were much younger. She was still in high school. He fixed it up with his own two hands and worked offshore to keep it. He’d refused money from the Fausti family, demanding to stand on his own two feet before he’d even step foot on one of their properties. By the time my sister, me, and my brothers came along, our parents had been sucked into that life. They made the best of it though.

My old man stood to his full height and nodded toward a tree. “Star magnolia, or Magnolia stellata. One of mamma’s favorite trees when it blooms.” He used his arm to wipe a bead of sweat from his head. “Besides roses, she’s always loved magnolias. Gardenias too. She loves the smell of them. Says the heat seduces them to smell like that.”

Whenever my old man talked about mamma, he always looked so in love and so proud. She was the honor of his life. It made me proud to call him father. All my life, he raised me to be a man. And Stella made me into one when she took her place next to me. I clasped my old man on the shoulder, and his eyes found mine. He gave me a subtle nod and then turned his face away.

We all turned in the direction of the driveway when a car pulled onto the gravel, then another. Zio Romeo and Zia Juliette. They had a house not far from my parents. Riding their tail was Gramps, mamma’s father. His Doberman had its head out of the window of his expensive truck.

Zio Romeo’s car was louder than the gravel. The entire car thumped. He didn’t even turn the car off when he pulled up. He opened the door, stepped away from it, and opened his arms. “Tell me, we are doing this or not?”

“Yeah, unc!” Mariano gave a whoop! “That sound is…” He whistled.

Zio Romeo was blasting a country song but giving it some heavy bass.

Gramps shook his head as he passed Zio Romeo. He lifted a box with cigars, Gurkha’s Her Majesty’s Reserve stuffed with eighteen-year-old tobacco and marinated in five-hundred-dollar—a bottle—Louis XIII de Rémy Martin cognac, his drink of choice, and an actual bottle of cognac. “Thought since I’m not going, we could start the night early. Maestro offered to drive me back. Said he’d hang with me and Pnina tonight.”

Gramps climbed the steps, his dog right behind him. Zio Romeo and Zia Juliette were right behind them. While Gramps handed out the cigars, Zia Juliette ran inside and got us each a glass. Gramps poured while we all settled into the balmy night, smoking cigars and taking sips of the cognac.

Everett Poésy, Gramps, was known for his expensive taste in women and things. He’d had affairs on my grandmother almost their entire marriage. His hair was entirely white, except for a few red strands on the side of his head, and I wasn’t sure whether, in his old age, he regretted any of it. His transgressions had seriously wounded my mamma when it came to trust. In her mind, she molded all men after my grandfather, and it screwed with her vision of what a man should be.

Albeit, if it wasn’t for my father being the man he was, I’d say my grandfather had prepared mamma for the real world. The Fausti men, if committed, were a breed of their own. Nonno said we were the last of a dying species, and we would be responsible for keeping it alive for as long as the world kept turning.

Fucking right.

My father taught his sons how to be romantic and ruthless. He taught us that, in a world where a man’s word is no longer valued, we would put a price on it. High enough to extract our blood if we went back on it. We respected women. We respected ourselves. We were gentlemen. We wore suits and respected the dining table. We didn’t slam doors. We were honest. And we weren’t fucking afraid to keep all these things alive when the world tried to change us.

That thought brought me to another, though. I had no fucking clue the true reason my wife acted the way she had the night we had dinner with shark bait. She started a fight with me over glass that she admitted was a good idea the next day, and even tried to keep her skin from me.

Yeah, I know, skin, but if I didn’t touch her every other minute, it was like holding my breath until my lungs would collapse. I could breathe when I felt her soft skin against mine.

My old man nudged me. Chucked his chin toward his younger brother. “What the fuck is he wearing?”

A grin I couldn’t control came to my face. Zio Romeo was decked out for a night of country dancing in a tight-ass T-shirt, jeans that were just as tight, a belt with an oversized square buckle, and smooth boots on his feet.

“He has to match the vibe.” I blew a ring of smoke out of my mouth.

My old man shook his head. “Fucking glad he’s over his hair-o-pause, or whatever mamma called it. One gray fucking strand, and it was the end of the world.”

While the men started discussing boxing matches and shit like that, the door opened, and I knew it would a second before it did. My old man turned to the door. He had a radar on my mamma. His eyes devoured her as she walked out, like he hadn’t seen her in years, and he went to her.

She was in an old band t-shirt, probably something from the ’90s, and a jean skirt that might get him in trouble later. Mamma was a stunner. Mia came out next, channeling our grandmother, Grazia. Saverio said something in her ear, then pulled her onto his lap. Zia Juliette came out with Violet. Violet was going to ride with mamma and papà to meet Mitch, her husband, at the bar. A minute later, I turned back, deciding if my wife didn’t come out in the next few minutes, I was going in.

It felt like someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned half a second before Stella walked out.

“Fuck me,” I muttered to myself. She wore a black tank top and short jean skirt. Her tits were full, her waist tiny, and those thighs… “ Pericolosa .” But not nearly as dangerous as that heartbreaking face. Her eyes were almost neon in the dimming light. She was wearing the necklace I’d given her with a pair of star earrings I’d given her in Los Angeles.

“Ready.” She barely gave me a smile.

I wrapped my arms around her, leaning close to her ear. “I might fucking die tonight.”

Her eyes flew to mine.

“You,” I said.

“It’s a plain tank and a jean skirt, Matteo.” She lifted her feet. Black cowgirl boots with a silver floral design on them. “Violet said it’s real causal.”

I noticed her nails were painted silver. “You could wear an ancient T-shirt and sweats with holes in them, and there still wouldn’t be a fucking plain thing about you, baby.”

“Thanks. I think.” She scrunched up her nose, and when I kissed it, she smiled for me. “You’re out of a suit, and you’re still too gorgeous—it should be against the law to be able to look that good without makeup.”

“My old man has a rule. He says he’s the king of Natchitoches, and we’re not allowed to wear suits unless we’re going to church or court. The rest of the time, we are to wear jeans?—”

“And shit,” my brothers all chimed in with me.

Stella laughed.

I kept one of her hands in mine and one on my heart as we made it to an old truck I had fixed up myself in high school. My brothers had their own, and papà had one from when he still lived with Magpie. We all started them up, a sound people called “the Fausti rumble” echoing through the woods.

Stella cranked her window down when Mariano pulled up next to me. He tipped his nonexistent hat to me and revved the gas, like he wanted to race. Then he smiled and fell behind as we all headed toward the bar.

The bar, which used to be called The Road House, was under new ownership, and people in town were still pissed about it. The new owner was from out of town and trying to make it too fancy. It had been named the Boar’s Head and had beers imported from Europe on the menu.

A menu at The Road House.

Still fucking stunned me too.

The outside still looked the same—a bar that looked like it was placed on a road to nowhere.

“This is it?” Stella squinted her eyes. “What’s that on the neon sign?”

“A boar,” I said, turning the truck off and hopping out.

“Oh, I thought it was a piglet.”

“That’s called neon on a budget, baby.”

She laughed, and it seemed to surprise her. “You’ve been hiding something from me, Matteo Fausti.”

I lifted my eyebrows.

“You do have a sense of humor.”

“You like it on me, baby?”

“I do,” she breathed. I love it.”

“I’ll keep it then.”

After I opened her door and set her down on the ground, I took her hand.

“I still feel like I’m v-v-v ibrating,” she said.

“Yeah, that old truck has the shakes.”

“I love that too,” she whispered, her eyes flicking up to mine.

We met up with everyone and all walked in at the same time. I paid for everyone, since the new owners were charging a cover charge, and Violet bitched and complained about it. She shook her fist at the new owner, calling him ridiculous for it, but he only shook his head at her and turned back to a customer who looked like he was sampling all the different beers.

“Can you believe it?” Violet said. “A cover charge at THE ROAD HOUSE!”

A whoop! went up, and a few people screamed, “YEAH, LONG LIVE THE ROAD HOUSE!” The line of men all clanked their cheap beers and started bitching about it. The new owner had accepted this revolt and just did his own thing, like the complainers didn’t even exist.

“Some of these people are the same ones who were around when Maggie Beautiful was,” my old man said, keeping mamma’s hand tight in his. She was already tapping her foot to the music blaring through the place.

“You should know by now that, one , Maggie Beautiful is a legend in here, and two , alcohol preserves some people, Brando Fausti.” Violet touched him on the shoulder and then went for the bar. She ordered a round from the old bartender, a man who had always worked there, and then passed them out.

Stella sniffed her beer, then sipped it. She made a face at first but kept sipping. Not long after, papà had mamma on the dance floor, twirling her out and bringing her back in. She was laughing, and he was grinning at the look on her face. He fucking loved to make her happy. That laugh line thing again. Saverio led my sister next to my parents, and they started dancing.

Before I could grab Stella’s hand and lead her to the dance floor, Mitch Lewis ambled in. He’d lost his leg in a car accident before I was born. He stood next to me and nodded. I nodded back.

“Your wife?” he asked, looking at Stella.

“Stella, this is one of my old man’s acquaintances from this town. Mitch Lewis.”

Mitch’s face was buried by a full beard, and it was full of salt and pepper hair. He smiled at her, his teeth bright white against a tanned face. He was a biker who still loved to ride. “Pleasure to meet you, kid,” he said. “I have a long history with your in-laws.”

“Oh!” Stella took a drink of her beer. “You’re Violet’s husband.”

“The one,” he said.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Mitch.”

“You too.” He patted me on the shoulder but removed his hand quickly. “You did good, man. Happy for you.”

After he spoke to me, he turned toward the old bartender, bitching and complaining about the vibe of the new place—who did he have to speak with to get the saw dust and old jukebox back?—and then he left us. He was about to start his set with Poisonous Dawn.

Stella stared at me for a second before she took another drink. “You were rude.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was.”

“Something I should know about?”

“He’s right. He goes back a long time with my parents. When mamma almost died, he told my old man they should just separate. Too much trouble follows them around.”

“Oh.”

“Matteo,” Mariano said, coming up to the bar for another beer. “That was just how he felt about it. Mitch is an all-right dude. He’s just opinionated.” With that, Mariano took his beer and went back to the crowd. Out of all of us, he enjoyed this scene the most. He was into the music, and he liked to just people-watch, unless he found a woman he found fascinating.

“How do your parents feel about it?” Stella asked. She was watching them dance.

I shrugged. “Can’t say my old man appreciated it. But mamma is good friends with Violet. He tolerates Mitch’s company for her sake.”

“That’s really sad, though,” Stella said, her voice lowering. “I mean, they were friends for so long. Mitch shouldn’t have said something like that. That was mean and unsupportive.”

Yeah, especially after his history with Violet. She had been married to his brother, but one night and a gun changed all of that. Their kids were all right, though.

I downed the rest of my beer, not caring enough to talk about Mitch Lewis, and then took my wife by the hand and navigated the crowd until we had our own spot. The song was fast and country, and she moved her body next to mine. She wasn’t herself, though. When a slower song played, it seemed like she was more comfortable with it.

She gazed up at me. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I thought…I thought I could do this. But it feels like I’m celebrating. I can’t. Not right now.”

I kept her hand against my heart and leaned down. “Let’s go then. Go home. I’ll hold you all night long.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s where I need to be. Home, in your arms, the same thing.”

“Matteo!”

Stella turned at the female voice before I did.

Fuck me.

“Matteo!” The owner of the female voice tapped me on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” Stella nodded toward her. “Matteo.” I could see she was on edge, but not fully convinced this woman was trouble. She was much older than me.

I turned. “Agnes.”

“Matteo!” She wrapped her arms around my neck with a big smile on her face.

It fell when I stepped out of her embrace, pulling Stella closer to me. She tried to step out of my hold, but it was too tight.

“Stella, my wife,” I said. “Agnes. Her aunt owned the chocolate shop in town.” She’d sold it to Agnes when she got too bored to run it.

Agnes nodded at Stella, and Stella only stared at her.

“So,” Agnes said, “I’d heard you were back in town. I’d heard you were married, too, but I just thought it was a…stupid rumor.”

“It’s not a rumor,” Stella said, and her tone was on fire. She lifted her left hand, showing her rings. “We married in Italy in June.”

“Oh.” Agnes was having a hard time deciding what to do with her hands. She ended up clapping them. “Congrats to you both! Hope you have a wonderful trip home, Matteo. Good seeing you.” She set her hands on my shoulders, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek before she almost ran away.

I didn’t have time to fucking step out of her embrace. She was faster than a rabbit with those lips.

Stella’s eyes were narrowed into dangerous daggers, and she turned them on me. “I want to go.” She crossed her arms over her chest. And that same vibration seemed to radiate off her as it did in Los Angeles when the trap kept trying to flirt with me across the table. But maybe worse.

On our way out, papà gave me a look I couldn’t understand. It was probably meant to be sympathetic. He’d screwed around with Agnes’s aunt when he was a young man. She was his first.

Agnes was my first.

Stella kept trying to walk a step ahead of my touch on her back. When we got outside, I took her arm, and she flung it out of my hold. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Did you sleep with her?” she blurted out.

Abe, probably the oldest man in town, was sitting outside, enjoying his pipe, and he started cackling. “You done did it now, Son of Brando Fausti. Hehehehehe .”

Instead of grabbing for Stella’s arm, I hauled her up and threw her over my shoulder. She beat against my back until I set her down in front of the truck. The red neon of the light fell on her face, and it seemed to reflect whatever was going on inside of her. They say jealousy is green, but I wasn’t so fucking sure about that. When I’d turned Carter into shark bait, all I could see was red.

Stella kicked a rock at me, and it hit me in the knee. “ Well. ” She put a hand out. “It’s a yes or no question. Did you or didn’t you sleep with the woman who smells like chocolate?”

The woman who smells like chocolate.

I was so fucked.

“Yeah. I did. Fucking years ago.”

Her mouth opened before it closed on a snap. “She’s much older than you.”

I shrugged.

She shrugged, mocking me. “Take me home.”

I opened the door for her, and after I picked her up and set her in the truck, she acted like she was dusting my fingerprints off her. I expected her to yell at me some more, or maybe even throw a boot at my head, but she went completely silent.

Her silence grated against my skin, making it to my bloodstream.

It was cold.

Burning.

But there was no light.

She set me in the dark and refused to shine for me.