Rushed(118)

I said a little prayer that no blood would be spilled and that a peaceful resolution could be found. I didn't know if my words had any supernatural effect, but I found enough inner peace to fall into a deep sleep, where Tomasso found me. We were back in Seattle, but much older, maybe in our mid-thirties or early forties, sitting by the ocean. We weren't doing anything special, just watching two children play by the water, but I had a sneaking suspicion that those children were ours, a girl and a boy. We sat there, sipping coffee, and I was wearing an Angora sweater while Tomasso had his arm around my shoulders. It was restful, it was relaxing, and I awoke in the morning to feel a hint of hope.

It was that hope that sustained me throughout the day as I felt like a pariah around the house. Vincente, in particular, was the worst, looking on me with disdain any time he and I were in the same room. Finally, after about the third time he'd given me a look, I snapped the book I was reading closed and stared at him. "Do you have something you want to say?"

"I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you whored yourself out," Vincente said. "Fucking a Bertoli and getting pregnant by him? What, were you looking for a green card or something?"

I was too settled into my chair to be able to jump up at him in time to get him, but my throwing arm is pretty good for a woman who never played sports, and I was able to whip the hardback book well enough to hit him in the chest. He stumbled back, probably more in shock than in pain, and I was able to get up and grab him by the hair, spinning him around and jamming him against the door frame. He struggled, but his extra strength and mass meant nothing with my positioning. Besides, I'd been working hard, both in Seattle and here, and I was in good shape. When he started to push off, I stepped on the back of his right knee, collapsing him down. "If you ever, and I mean ever, talk to me like that again, our father will find that he only has two sons."

Vincente struggled for a bit, until I heard a quiet, commanding voice in the hallway. "I'd apologize if I were you."

“S . . . sorry," Vincente gritted out through clenched teeth, and I let him up, stepping away but not lowering my guard one bit. He rubbed at his cheek, which was turning red from where I'd jammed his face against the door frame, and walked out without saying another word.

Eduardo came into the doorway, watching as Vincente made his escape before turning to me. "I'm sorry he was rude to you. I'll talk to him later."

I chuckled darkly, knowing how Eduardo had discussions with people. The eldest of us, he was composed and serious, much more so than the hot-headed Vincente, at least, even if he was still arrogant. "Make sure you don't break his arm," I said, going back around to my chair and sitting down. "I just left a place where I was helping a man rehabilitate. There is no way I'm going to be stuck helping Vincente take a piss for the next two months."

Eduardo snorted in humor, about the most humor you could get out of him, and sat down in one of the other chairs. "So how are you feeling?"

"Like the gum on the bottom of this family's collective shoe," I replied, picking up my book. Eduardo had always been my favorite brother, for a couple of reasons. We were so close in age that even though we had different mothers, we were practically twins who grew up together. Going through school, we'd been in the same year group the entire time and had stuck up for each other. We'd drifted apart over the years since I went to Brown and he stayed in Porto Alegre, but we still got along well enough. He was insufferably arrogant, but I could still talk to him. "Vincente's not the only one who has been giving me looks today."

Eduardo shrugged, then leaned back. I was struck at how similar he was in mannerisms and behavior to Carlo Bertoli and wished that the two men could meet. "So you are with child. Congratulations?”

I was shocked for a moment at his words, and turned to look at him. "You're not going to call me a whore or say I screwed up? Or are you just being sarcastic?”

"The Lord does nothing without purpose," he said. He’d always been the most religious member of my generation in the family, weirdly enough. “Don’t take this the wrong way—it’s just a question. I take it you’re going to keep the baby? I only ask because despite what the Church teaches, so many young women our age do it."

I shook my head fiercely. "Even if I never see Tomasso again, this child is my child. I’ll love and protect it."

“And I’ll love and protect my sister," Eduardo said simply. "I just got a message from Father. It seems that after his little rant last night, the Bertolis have decided to respond."

"Oh? And how is that? Eduardo, I don't want to cast doubt on our men's skill, but if Father thinks he can take the fight to Seattle and wipe out the Bertolis, he's sadly mistaken. They're well-trained, professional, well-armed, and bigger than our family. It'd be a bloodbath." I was being slightly hyperbolic, but I wanted to do whatever I could to prevent fighting. If that meant scaring my father, I'd try it.

"That won't be a problem," he said, a chilly smile on his face. "Carlo and Tomasso are flying to Porto Alegre. According to Margaret Bertoli, their intention is peace.”

I blinked, stunned. "They're what?”

Eduardo nodded. "Either they are serious about peace, or they are insane, because we've already checked with our friends at the airport, and a private charter jet is scheduled to land at three this afternoon. We've already instructed the customs officials at the airport to let them in without any real inspection. From there, we will determine what course of action to take."