I sat in the chair, hugging myself as my father stormed back and forth. He'd been doing so for going on two hours now, stopping only to turn and look at me silently for a moment before continuing his rant. It was simultaneously scary and monotonous, as he’d started to repeat himself with the line of his comments.

"How could you . . .? Of all the people to sleep with! A goddamned Norte? What the fuck were you thinking?"

It was the same the entire time, ever since he'd gotten to the house and talked with the staff. Once the thought that I'd been raped by Tomasso had been cleared up, he'd taken me back to the house in Porto Alegre, where I'd practically been a prisoner inside the walls.

I'd been sold out, plain and simple, although it was my own damn fault. After seeing the positive pregnancy test, I'd gone into a sort of daze, leaving it behind in my bathroom along with the box on my dresser while I went back out to oversee the cleanup and repairs from the storm. Of course, someone found it and put two and two together. As soon as they could, they'd reported back to my dad what had been found in his daughter's bathroom, and two hours later, I'd been surprised when he pulled up in a four-wheel drive TAC, red-faced and already starting to rant.

I could’ve denied it, but knowing my father, he would’ve simply ordered me to take another test. Besides, I’d never been able to flat out lie to him in my entire life. The most I'd been able to do was hide information from him. It was that deception I used to hide my feelings for Tomasso, and even that wouldn't work any longer.

So now, nearing midnight, I was exhausted and worn out emotionally and physically.

"How could you do it, Luisa?" my father finally yelled, turning and addressing me for the first time. "Why?"

"I love him, father," I whispered, hugging my knees. "With all my heart, I love him."

"No,” he said, shaking his head. "You're confused. It's what happened last time, remember? I know it, it must be. But that's all right, I will have vengeance."

He stormed off, leaving me with a chill in my heart. I'd listened in as he had ranted and screamed at Carlo Bertoli over the video call link before hanging up on him, only to start in on me. He'd called in all of the Mendosa men he could, including both Vincente and Eduardo, telling them to make plans for trips to America. He was preparing to take the fight to the Bertolis and start a blood bath in Seattle.

I stayed in the chair, not knowing what else to do. When I had to go to the bathroom, I found one of my father's men standing outside the door, escorting me to the toilet and then to my room, which had been stripped down to just the bed, a mostly empty set of drawers, and some books that I'd last read in high school. I fell into bed, exhausted and afraid but unable to fall asleep. Instead, I closed my eyes and decided if there was any time for this sinner to pray, it was now.

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."

"And you’re the one to tell me about this . . . why?" I asked, trying to control my excitement. To see Tomasso again, even with the stress and the situation in our laps, was more than I could have wished for, and my heart was leaping in my chest.

"Well, at first, Father wanted to greet the them with a hail of shotgun shells," Eduardo said, but he waved it off when he saw the shock and pain on my face. "Don’t worry, I talked him out of it, but he did ask me to do something, and you should probably know.”

"What?" I asked, suspicious. Eduardo already had multiple deaths to his name, and was as cold-blooded as any reptile when he wanted to be.

“Let’s just say that Tomasso won’t be returning home in the same condition, if you get my drift."

I swallowed and controlled my emotions. "I understand your feelings, and I’m flattered that you feel like you need to defend my honor. But what if I don't want you to?"

He shook his head. "That doesn’t change the fact that I have to do it. My question to you is, how would you prefer I do it?"

I could tell from the tone of his voice that it was no use arguing with him. Whether he was convinced to do it or father ordered him to, it didn’t matter. Once his mind was made up on something, there was no changing it. “Fine. If you have to do this—Vale tudo," I said. "Can you do that, at least?"

"No weapons?" He asked, surprised. "You must not love this man as much as I thought if you’re willing to put him in a fight with me with no weapons. If he had a stick, at least he'd have a chance."

He got up, wiped his hands on his pants, and headed for the door. Just before he left, he paused and looked back at me, giving me one last look before he left. I shivered at the coldness he left behind. I knew that fights in Brazil were different than in America. There would be no rules, literally, except to respect the referee's commands and that only two men would fight. And I knew how good Eduardo was. Even if Tomasso had been perfectly healthy, the odds were stacked against him.

I got to my feet and left the room, looking for Father. If Tomasso were to have a chance, he had to know at least a little bit about what would be happening to him.

I found him in his office, talking on the telephone with someone. Seeing me, he ended his conversation and hung up the phone. "Repairs from the storm are going to schedule," he explained. "And the other men are helping with the repairs around the city."

I nodded and sat down. "Eduardo just found me. Apparently you spoke with Margaret Bertoli?"

He nodded. "A nice woman, not Italian in appearance at all. I assume that Eduardo told you about my orders, which is why you’re here?"

"It is. I came to ask that you allow me to speak with Tomasso and explain it to him. He deserves that much.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Fine—it won’t matter. I’ll set up the call."

I stopped for a second, surprised. "Call?"

"Yes. Mrs. Bertoli gave me the number to the phone aboard the plane. I’ll make the call and leave you to it. Give me a few minutes—go and grab some tea from the kitchen for me while you wait."

I nodded, swallowing the anger at his dismissive tone of voice. Going to get my father some chimarrao, the strong Brazilian tea that I also enjoyed, I looked down at my stomach and rubbed my tummy, knowing I’d need to avoid such drinks for the foreseeable future. "Nine months of no caffeine or no alcohol? I think for you, I can do that."

I brought the tea back to the study, where he looked up from his computer. "It’s ready.”

"Thank you," I said, handing him the drink. "May I have some privacy?”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I took a deep breath and un-paused the call, tears springing to my eyes when I saw Tomasso looking back at me. The camera jittered, and I wondered what he was using to make the call, then figured he was probably holding a tablet in his hands. "Luisa?"

"Tomasso?” I answered, smiling despite my worry. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, my love. Can you tell me what the hell is going on?" He said, concern in his voice. "I get a call from Aunt Margaret that says your father wants to talk, but then when we call him, he puts me on hold before I can even get a word out. Dad's been patient so far, but he’s starting to get a little pissed off.”

“Well, this isn't the way I wanted to tell you, but . . . Tomasso, I'm pregnant."

The video in front of me shifted as Tomasso was so startled he dropped the tablet. He picked it back up, his face shocked, but at least it appeared to be a happy shock. "Say that again?"

"Tomasso, I'm pregnant," I repeated slowly, my heart lifting as his smile spread across his face. "Well, that's a relief off my mind."

"I . . . you mean we . . ." Tomasso said, still grinning. He looked over at Carlo off-screen, nodding.

Off-screen, I could hear Carlo. “Isn’t that good news? What is the problem?"

"Yeah, what's the problem then?" Tomasso asked, turning back to me. "Oh . . ."

"Yeah," I said, sobering. "My father isn't exactly happy about it, obviously. It was probably worse because someone ratted on me instead of me telling him myself. I wanted to tell you first and then him, but it looks like things didn't happen that way."

"And he flipped his lid. Great,” he said sarcastically. “So how do we make this right?”

"When you get off the plane, you're going to be greeted by my father and some of his men," I said. "Tomasso, you've got a big problem on your hands. My brother, Eduardo, has been tasked with defending my so-called honor."

Tomasso's smile disappeared, to be replaced by a concerned frown. "Which brother is he?"

"My eldest," I said. "Before you say anything, it's an improvement. My father wanted to shoot you both as soon as you stepped off the plane, though he was probably just speaking in anger when he said that.”

Tomasso looked off-screen and adjusted the tablet camera so that Carlo could see as well. “What does this defending mean?"

"Basically, a duel," I said, sighing. "Eduardo gets to choose the style of the duel, which will be Vale tudo."

"Vale tudo?" Carlo asked. “What’s that?”

"It's a no rules, no weapons fight," Tomasso said.

I nodded. "It's the only way I could think of that would let both of you walk away relatively uninjured . . . I hope. It’s stupid, but if you refuse, they’ll probably have you tied up and give you a good beating, which would probably be even worse. Tomasso, your leg . . .”

"I know," he said, nodding. "I know. Luisa, you did the right thing. You don’t want your brother seriously hurt, and I'd like to keep living too. All right. Thanks for the heads up. Anything else you can tell me about your brother?"

"He knows about your ankle," I said, thinking. “But that may work in your favor. Eduardo prides himself on being honorable, and he probably won’t try to take advantage of it."

"All right. Well, that gives me about three hours to think. One more thing . . . will you be at the airport?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. Tomasso, be careful."

He smirked, the same casual smirk that had at first infuriated me before working its way into my heart and finally stealing it. "Of course I won't be careful. I love you, Luisa."

"I love you too. I will try to be there."

There was a knock at the door, and my father came in. "Have you told him?"

"Yes. We were just saying our goodbyes," I said. I waved at the screen, where Tomasso mouthed I love you once more before hanging up. I stood up and looked at my father. "They have a request."

"Which is?"

"That I go with you to the airport. No offense, but when you get emotional, you become difficult for them to understand. I don’t think I need to explain the consequences a misunderstanding with the Bertolis could cause. I’m not talking about just losing a business partner here . . .”

Sure, it was a stretch on things, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. He considered the idea, then nodded. “Whatever. I would’ve spared you the sight, but maybe you’ll find some kind of satisfaction in watching your brother punish this man. Go get dressed. You’re hardly fit to greet our . . . guests."

He dismissed me with a gesture, and I returned to my room. Looking around, I thought as I started to change my clothes—I hoped that Dad was going to be satisfied with a little brawl. I rubbed my temples and saw something on my desk that set me thinking. Hurriedly, I emptied out my backpack and replaced the contents with some necessities. If my plan was to work, I might only have moments to put it into place. If that meant I had to leave Brazil with my passport, a change of underwear, and nothing else, so be it.

My preparations ready, I sat down on my bed and closed my eyes. Prayer had helped a little bit before, giving me at least a chance to talk to Tomasso. Maybe a little bit more couldn't hurt.