A Madness Most Discreet (Brothers Maledetti Book 4)

by Nichole Van

  “We want it to be a surprise,” Claire added.

  My sister’s expression softened. “Congratulations, guys. I’m super happy for you. And, for what it’s worth, I also appreciate you saving the news until after the wedding. That’s thoughtful of you.”

  “But . . .” Jack trailed off.

  “But . . .” Chiara shot him a wicked grin.

  Suddenly a microphone appeared in front of my face. Jack held it out to me. “We think you should make the announcement right now.”

  I looked back and forth between them, glanced at Claire who shrugged, and then turned to my sister.

  “Are you sure?” I asked the question more as a formality. My hand was already reaching for the microphone. “I hate to upstage your big day.”

  “Pfft. Please. Do you see this gown? Have you seen how uh-mazing Jack looks? Nothing is going to upstage us.” She swept a hand down her dress and then patted Jack’s chest.

  Claire laughed, leaning into me.

  “Let’s do this then.” I stood pulling Claire with me. “I love you,” I said as I tugged her close.

  “I love you, too.”

  One month later

  Branwell D’Angelo

  “Bah. Bah.” A pause. “BAH!”

  Alessio pointed to the ball that had rolled out of his reach, smacking his hand against the floor to express his displeasure.

  His sister helpfully crawled over to it and proceeded to try to stuff the enormous ball into her small mouth.

  Predictably, Alessio lost his cool.

  My boy had lungs.

  “Tough breaks, little guy.” I scooped him up. “If you would just learn to crawl like Bronte, you could have beaten her to it. But, no, you chose verbal over gross motor skills and decided to talk first.”

  Alessio calmed into a pout and settled for tugging on my beard.

  I ran my bare hand over his head, loving the feel of his soft reddish peach fuzz. The fleece of his onesie was blessedly silent. Anymore, only the barest hiss of sound reached my ears and only then when I really concentrated.

  I knew that Dante missed his GUT occasionally, but not me.

  I was a prisoner set free. My cage was gone. I could touch things without worry. I could eat in a crowded restaurant without pre-planning and careful preparation.

  I was . . . normal.

  And after a lifetime of not-normal . . . being able to spontaneously hold my children and cuddle my wife like every other man on the planet was incredible.

  I bounced my baby boy, tickling his hand with my beard, his throaty giggles filling the air.

  “Well, Tenn did the deed,” Lucy said walking into the room.

  I smiled at her shirt—The Hokey Pokey Clinic: A place to turn yourself around—before responding. “About time. I’m assuming she said yes?”

  “Of course. Olivia is crazy about him. Almost as crazy as he is over her.”

  “But skydiving?” I had to say it again. “Proposing in mid-air?”

  “What? It’s super romantic.”

  “Is it? Really? Even you have to admit it’s a tiny bit morbid.”

  “Of course it’s morbid. It’s totally something Olivia would love.”

  “I will never understand women,” I deadpanned.

  “Good! That’s exactly what we—ugh! Bronte, no! Don’t put that in your mouth! Gross!”

  Lucy took the ball from Bronte, who then lost her cool.

  Alessio took that as his cue to start crying again.

  I chuckled, sitting him down next to his sister.

  They both instantly protested, raising their arms in unison, demanding our attention.

  I turned to Lucy with a smirk.

  “What?” Lucy shot me a wry grin.

  “Nothing.” I pulled my gorgeous wife into my arms. I would never tire of simply holding Lucy Snow D’Angelo. “Just thinking how much I love my life.”

  I then proceeded to kiss my laughing wife senseless to the sound of our screaming children.

  And ironic as it sounds, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect moment.

  Two months later

  Chiara D’Angelo Knight-Snow

  “Jack, I have to warn her.” I batted my eyelashes at my dashingly handsome husband. “It’s going to be a disaster.”

  Jack shook his head, spinning the steering wheel as we turned down the long drive to Villa Maledetti. The presents on the back seat shifted, wrapping paper crinkling.

  We were on our way to a combined party: a baby shower for Claire and a bridal shower for Olivia. Mom was beside herself with joy over all the changes happening in her family and insisted on throwing a huge shindig.

  “I think you just need to let things happen as they will, Chiara mia.” Jack glanced at me as we pulled up the driveway. “You can’t control everything.”

  I might have growled. “But the birds flew to the right, Jack! To the right, when they clearly should have gone left and now it’s going to be a disaster.” I nibbled on my bottom lip. “It was an omen.”

  “Are you sure it’s the omen that has you feeling this way? And not the fact that you don’t quite like your bridesmaid dress?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m faking a premonition to get my own way with my bridesmaid dress?”

  A pause.

  Jack was a wise man.

  He stopped the car in the gravel drive beside the house and killed the engine.

  Finally, he sighed, turning to face me.

  “Well, are you?” he asked.

  It was his earnest, sincere voice.

  I hated it when he used that tone with me. It was so reasonable and honest and forthright and made me feel like . . . like I should . . . grow up or adult or something.

  I looked out the window, chewing on my lip. “Fine.” I caved. “Maybe it is more about the dresses than any psychic prediction, but—” I pointed a finger at him. “—you know they would all believe me if I said it was a premonition.”

  So, fun fact.

  Once upon a time, my father and brothers had this incredible, gypsy-bestowed gift of Second Sight that made them powerful and able to do a lot of crazy, cool things.

  I, on the other hand, had to make do with my more modest, un-gypsy-fied, au natural genetic talents.

  But then the D’Angelo men lost their gift.

  Mine, however, did not change.

  So with their GUTs all gone, guess who was the psychic powerhouse in the family?

  Yeah. She’s got two thumbs and they’re pointed at me.

  Corollary fact.

  I might have sometimes allowed the power to go to my head.

  I knew I needed to dial back my delusion of grandeur tendencies, but it was hard. I wanted to talk to my therapist about it, but I was pretty sure she’d get hung up on the ‘I’m a psychic’ part of my explanation, rather than the ‘I struggle to not use my psychic powers for evil’ problem.

  So . . . I was left to navigate it alone. Which we all knew was a simply terrible idea.

  “Instead of trying to manipulate the situation, have you considered merely talking to Olivia about it?” Jack suggested, voice gentle.

  I folded my arms and sat back in my seat. Gah! He made it sound so reasonable and mature.

  I shot him a glance.

  He did his meta-thinking thing, where I felt like I could read his thoughts.

  Jack: That’s because it is the reasonable, mature thing to do.

  Me: Stop reading my mind.

  Jack: I’m not. You’re just projecting here.

  Me: Grrr. Fine. I’ll talk to her.

  Another beat of silence.

  Jack grinned. “Glad we got that settled. You ready to go in?” He nodded toward the house.

  “I suppose.”

  “Don’t be too sad. You could finally tell Dante and Claire that they’re having a girl—”

  “Eh. They really want to be surprised. I’m not that mean.”

  “You could tell Tennyson that Italy is going to lose thei
r soccer match next week.”

  “Will they? I think they’re going to win.” In fact, I distinctly sensed that it was going to be a good year for Italy.

  “Probably. But Tennyson won’t be able to tell if you’re lying or not. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Gah! I loved this man.

  “I love you, Jack Knight-Snow,” I laughed.

  He chuckled, reaching over to pull me in for a sound kiss. “I love you too, Chiara mia.”

  One month later

  Tennyson D’Angelo

  I married Olivia Hawking on a sunny afternoon in September, almost a year after we first met.

  My sister and sisters-in-law were bridesmaids. Branwell and Jack were my groomsmen.

  Dante married us.

  Little Alessio and Bronte with their cherubic faces and riot of red curls were the flower boy and girl. They were supposed to hold hands and walk down the aisle, but as they were both new to walking, Bronte ditched her brother early on and toddled up the aisle to her dad, while Alessio promptly sat down and tried to eat the scattered flower petals.

  Basically, it was utterly adorable.

  And then Olivia appeared on her father’s arm and I forgot everything.

  This beautiful, brave, smart, funny woman had chosen to spend her life with me. I had never felt more humbled.

  She smiled at me all the way up the aisle. We both cried over our vows—she promised to always ask me her first fourteen questions, I promised to always believe in llamacorns—and I may have kissed my new bride a little too long.

  It was all glorious and unknown to me. I had never seen any of the details of my own wedding in my visions.

  Well, except one.

  After the ceremony and the family photos, my father pulled Olivia aside.

  I strolled around the marble venue, looking for them, finally finding them talking together against a white wall.

  Dad was smiling and saying something to her. Olivia smiled and then teared up. He handed her a handkerchief and gave her a hug.

  It was the exact scene of that first vision with Olivia nearly a year earlier. And like in my vision, love pounded through me, violent in its force. I adored this woman. I worshiped her. I would do anything for her. She was the other half of my soul.

  They both looked up as I walked over. Olivia smiled, radiantly.

  “Look,” she held out a ruby pendant on a gold chain. “Your father gave me this.”

  Dad motioned toward it. “Family lore says it belonged originally to Giovanni D’Angelo and might have come to us from the gypsy camp. At least, that’s what Dante caught fleeting glimpses of when he read this years ago. It seemed fitting that anything we have that might be connected to Olivia’s mother should go to her. I had the jewel reset, but otherwise, it’s as it came to me.”

  Emotion pricked my eyes, too.

  “Thanks, Dad.” I pulled him into a deep, back-slapping hug.

  I turned to my gorgeous bride. “You ready to get this party started?”

  Instead of replying, she laughed and threw her arms around me.

  Hours later, disco lights strobed through the dark hall. Luis Fonsi was thumping, telling me to take things despacito.

  Chiara and Jack were dancing like maniacs, laughing with Dante and Claire who rubbed her decidedly pregnant belly. Branwell and Lucy chatted in the corner, each of them holding one of the sleeping twins.

  Dad walked over to Mom and kissed her on the cheek, whispering something in her ear. She smiled at him and allowed him to thread his fingers through hers and tug her outside into the warm night.

  In that moment, I marveled at how completely my life had altered.

  I had gone from shadows and darkness and aching loneliness, to an existence full of life and hope and light.

  I smiled down at Olivia in my arms, those incredible eyes popping off her face.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Her words reverberated—You okay?

  My nemesis.

  She had never asked me those words. Not once. Olivia had always been circumspect when feeling out my mental space.

  But now . . .

  She knew. She understood that the words had lost their coldness.

  You okay, when you were one bad day away from oblivion, implied Hope. They suggested that you might one day say, ‘Yes, I’m okay.’ But when you will never be okay, the question felt cruel.

  But now . . .

  Hope washed my life with glittering color, embraced and welcomed.

  So, for once, I answered truthfully—

  “Yes, Olivia Hawking D’Angelo”—I pecked her mouth—“I am without a shadow of a doubt, one hundred percent . . . okay. With you beside me, I will always be okay.”

  She laughed, catching my joy with her lips, sealing the promise with her kiss.

  Meanwhile, in the garden . . .

  “Was it worth it? In the end?” he asked her in the hush.

  “I have you back, don’t I?” she replied.

  “That wasn’t the question I asked.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments through the lantern-lit garden. The sounds of people laughing, glass clinking and thumping music drifted out to them.

  She watched her son and new daughter-in-law laugh in each other’s arms before turning back to her husband. The man she worried she had truly lost.

  She held his hand, running her fingers along his palm. What a simple luxury, to be able to touch him again.

  “I missed you,” she finally said. “I missed you so damn much.”

  “Me, too.”

  More silence.

  “We had to do something,” she continued. “You saw this outcome in your vision. Yes, we potentially lost time together. But you were wise to act when you were still lucid enough to function. It was a logical decision.”

  “Logical, yes, but based in emotion, too.” He bumped her shoulders. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Was it worth it? Honestly? I can’t say.” She snorted. “Did we have a choice?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “In the end, there was no other path forward. Either you died or you died trying. At least, this gave us hope. When they never found your body in the rubble, I found solace thinking that perhaps you had survived. That perhaps what you had seen would come to pass.”

  “But . . .”

  “But . . . I hated every minute of you being gone. Sometimes we exist through hardship simply because there is no other option. We live because we cannot die.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. She cuddled into him.

  He kissed her head. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t either.”

  “You did an amazing job. Our boys made it because of you.”

  “Don’t forget our girl.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think I could if I tried. She always loved making herself heard.”

  She sighed and sagged her head into his shoulder.

  “Thank you for coming back to me, my love,” Judith whispered. “Thank you for giving us more beautiful memories together.”

  “Always,” Cesare returned. “Always.”

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  True confession—the entire Brothers Maledetti series started with Tennyson as a character.

  I wanted to write a story about a beautiful broken boy, about a man who was damaged—physically and emotionally—but also stunningly handsome, charismatic and idealistic to a fault. From that small idea, I added Italy and family and the entire Brothers Maledetti series morphed and grew. But at its heart was always Tennyson. I have loved coming to his story, at last.

  So a few other notes about items in the book:

  There really is a Renaissance Medici fortress smack in the middle of ancient Volterra that is still a maximum-security prison. And, yes, every couple of years, they operate a fine-dining restaurant during high tourist season that is staffed by the inmates. You can’t make this s
tuff up, folks.

  The plight of the Roma in Italy is significantly more complex than I portray here. They are still very much a marginalized segment of the Italian population.

  Also, you can buy llamacorn t-shirts on Amazon. You’re welcome.

  I have created an extensive pinboard on Pinterest with images of things I talk about in the book. So if you want a visual of anything, pop over there and explore. Just search for NicholeVan.

  As with all books, this one couldn’t have been written without the help and support from those around me. I know I am going to leave someone out with all these thanks. So to that person, know that I totally love you and am so deeply grateful for your help!

  To my beta readers—you know who you are—thank you for your editing suggestions, helpful ideas, and support. And, again, an extra large thank you to my amazing writing group, as well as Annette Evans and Norma Melzer for their fantastic editing skills.

  Again, I cannot thank Rebecca Spencer enough for her insights and dedication to this series. Thank you for being so invested in these characters and fighting for Tennyson’s most authentic voice to be heard.

  And, as usual, this book could not have reached its current state without the careful help of Erin Rodabough. Thank you!

  And, finally, thank you to Andrew, Austenne, Kian, and Dave for your endless patience. I love that no matter how random my question (What’s a good name for a rooster? If you could breed two animals together to make a new animal, what would it be? Etc.), you all just roll with it and toss out answers. I totally owe you guys for wee-wolves and llamacorns. I love you.

  READER'S GROUP QUESTIONS

  Oh yes, this book has reading group questions.

  You’re welcome.

  (Though be warned, there are big spoilers in here.)

  The title of this book, A Madness Most Discreet, was taken from a passage from Romeo and Juliet (see the epigraph to the book). In this passage, Romeo describes love. Why do you think the author chose this as a title for the book?

  How do you react to this statement, as it relates to the book? Unselfishness is the biggest key to overcoming evil. In the Brothers Maledetti series, Giovanni D’Angelo made the contract with the zingari out of selfishness, a desire to win at any cost. How did characters’ unselfish behavior help break the curse?