The washcloth was soothing and cool against Faith’s heated flesh. It blocked out the world and gave her a place to hide. And in that place she was able to calm down.
Leo’s thumb skimming over the back of her hand made her feel strangely safe. In spite of the kinds of things she knew he enjoyed doing to a woman, and in spite of his family, when he touched her like this, she couldn’t help feeling like everything would be okay.
His voice penetrated the bubble she’d put around herself. “Do you think you can sit up now and let me fix your face?”
He released her when she pulled her hand out of his and pushed herself against the headboard. Reluctantly she pulled the washcloth away. Leo patted her face dry with another piece of gauze. He must have bought stock in a first aid kit manufacturer. Both his home and Angelo’s were like a triage unit.
He didn’t speak as he laid out the items of her makeup bag. She had several concealers and foundations, but she didn’t think he’d know what any of them were for-or why one would have a yellow concealer and a greenish-tinged concealer to begin with. Her experience with men-at least straight men-suggested the contents of a woman’s makeup bag was an arcane mystery impossible for anyone without female genitalia to unravel.
She was about to ask if she could try to cover it herself when he began opening jars and tubes and canisters, whipped out a small makeup brush, and went to work. He’d done this before.
Had he hit other women in the face like Angelo had? Was that why he hadn’t reacted in the kitchen? Was this so commonplace and okay to him that covering his tracks had become second nature?
He’d said he would keep her safe, but he’d meant from others. Would he hit her like this if she made him angry? How else could he be so selfassured about which makeup to use and how? It took everything inside her not to start crying again, but she kept control. If her endless blubbering messed up his work, she might have to find out why he was such an expert at this.
After a few minutes, he closed the tubes and canisters and handed her a compact. “What do you think?”
Faith took the small mirror and turned her face this way and that. The evidence was gone. She nodded, not trusting her voice as a single renegade tear started its way down her face.
He quickly brushed it away with his thumb before the wet trail could undo his work. “Look at me.”
His voice was stern and brooked no argument. Faith’s eyes rose to his. She felt a flood of warmth at the unexpected kindness in his expression.
“No one is going to touch you. No one is going to hurt you. I will not leave your side again. I didn’t anticipate Angelo’s behavior, but I should have known he’d suspect you and I weren’t carrying on the relationship he intended.” Leo pulled her into his arms.
Everything inside her broke into a million pieces; God help her, but a tiny part of her was falling for him. She wanted so desperately for the ruse they were playing on his family to be real, for the story to be true. She wanted to be someone he loved; she wanted this tenderness to be honest.
Leo nudged her off him and reached back to undo the clasp of the gold St. Christopher medal he wore under his shirt. He put the jewelry around her neck. “My ma’s favorite saint. It’ll give you an in with her.”
The medal was warm from his skin, like something magic and alive. It felt like a talisman that could protect her from anything and everything.
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Raspallo?”
“Yes, Demetri?”
“Dinner is ready.”
“Thank you. We’ll be right down.”
Faith took a deep, shuddering breath as he helped her to her feet. Whether it was wise or not, she did trust him to keep her safe from his brother and anyone else who might pose a threat. When he offered his hand, she took it and followed him downstairs to where the family gathered.
The dining room was large and filled with voices speaking part English and part Italian. If she had to name it, she’d call it Italish. True to his word, a buffet table was set up filled with seafood and pastas and sauces. Another table overflowed with cookies and cakes and fruits and nuts. And of course there was wine. Bottles and bottles of it along with alternatives for the kids.
“It looks like agita tonight,” Uncle Bernie said, patting his overlarge stomach as he looked at the buffet table with something close to lust.
Faith clung closer to Leo, too overwhelmed by so many people crammed into one room.
“Who brought the zuppa di pesce? It looks amazing,” one of the men asked.
“Gemma did,” answered another voice.
“It’s a new recipe. I hope it’s okay,” a voice answered from the back of the room.
“Gemma, I didn’t know you’d arrived,” Leo said, turning toward the dark-haired beauty. His voice had gone softer, kinder-as if he were trying to settle a spooked horse or a stray dog that had been abused and kept in a cage.
The room grew chilly as the woman looked away. A few guests closest to her stiffened as well. It was as if a behavioral contagion had been let loose on the room.
“This is my fiancee, Faith. Faith, this is my sister, Gemma,” Leo said, as if nothing was wrong. His tone, his posture and body language… none of it revealed what might be going through his mind or whether he noticed the change in the atmosphere.
“Hi,” Gemma said shortly, not making eye contact either with her brother or with Faith.
Faith didn’t have time to puzzle over the coldness of the sister because an older man was giving her the once over. Not in a lecherous way-more sizing her up like she was a prize heifer at the state fair.
“The babies will be good drinkers,” he said after a beat. Then he looked to Leo. “You had to go Irish on us? I didn’t mind when you were just dating them, but marrying one? For God’s sake…”
“Uncle Sal,” Leo said. It sounded like a warning, but there was no bite behind it. Nothing like the encounter with Angelo earlier. “She’s Catholic. Let that be enough.”
The old man shrugged. “We’ll see. I just hope those babies have your strong Italian looks.”
Faith was sure she winced visibly at that and equally sure Leo’s uncle believed it was about her heritage. No one could suspect the real source of her angst. Would she truly be expected to be Leo’s baby factory? He’d promised he’d never make her do any of that, but what would he tell his family when no babies came? Would they pity her or be angry she’d taken something away from them which they felt entitled to? When no children came, would they then hold her racial background against her?
“At least she’ll have babies,” Gina said. “You’ll need to get started on that soon, Leo. At forty-one, you aren’t getting any younger. Thank God, you didn’t join the priesthood, or there would be no one to carry on the family name.” She pinned Angelo with a glare and crossed herself. Whether this was to put a point on her thanks, a prayer against her other son’s homosexual nature, or guilt for disparaging the priesthood, Faith couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was a melting pot of all three.
Faith tried to hide her shock at the revelation. Leo’s priestly ambitions hadn’t been on the questionnaire. She knew he was religious. She’d asked one of the household servants where he’d gone one Sunday, and the answer had been “Mass, of course”, as if it were ludicrous for her to ask what the man might be doing on a Sunday morning. But the priesthood? Never would she have guessed he’d once had such saintly ambitions. It made her feel safer-even if she knew that was ridiculous.
A man’s goodness or badness could not be measured by whether or not he was a member of the clergy. Scandal after scandal in the news had proven that. Nevertheless-like many people-she couldn’t resist the desire to trust those who were closely entwined with the Church.
Angelo and Davide sat at the far end of the table trying not to look like black sheep and sinners. No, they would never have grandchildren for Gina. And Leo’s mom would hate Faith when she realized Leo may as well have followed his original plan.
What else didn’t she know about him? As she glanced around the table, she wondered if everyone knew the family business or if the women were kept out of it. Did all the men know or only some of them? Not every man at the table looked like a thug, but some fit the stereotype to a T. Were they all involved in crime, or had some opted out like Leo? What was with the iciness between Leo and his sister, and why had Leo almost become a priest? More importantly, what had motivated him to abandon his calling?
Faith wondered if Sal was the boss, or if Angelo was. Angelo had seemed pretty powerful to her when he’d kept her at his house, as if he were the one who gave all the orders for how the mob universe should run. But something about the power that emanated off Sal told her different. But then, what about Leo’s grandfather, Carmine? He was old, certainly, but he could still be the boss. He clung to the back of the room like a fading cologne, observing everything in silence. Maybe he was the one to be afraid of.
Before she could avert her gaze, he smiled at her-a smile with too many layers to untangle that sent a chill running down her spine.
Leo spent most of dinner talking to Fabrizio. From the bits of conversation Faith could pick out, his cousin wanted to open a sandwich shop near Carroll Gardens. He needed start-up help, which Leo was happy to offer.
Most of Faith’s attention was taken up by Leo’s grandmother, Alba. Her Sicilian accent was still strong, even after so many years in America. While most of the family had an accent straight out of Brooklyn, Alba was a first-generation immigrant, and proud of it, since every other sentence started with: “In the old country…”
The matriarch of the family was a touchy-feely sort who couldn’t speak a word to someone without putting a hand on their arm. But Faith didn’t mind. It was unusual but comforting, a sharp contrast to Alba’s cold, silent husband.