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 . . .”