The Promise

Chapter Seventeen Electric

Ben slammed the door on his truck and moved to the trailer that was removed from the noise and activity of the construction site.

He went up the two steps, pounded the side of his fist on the door twice, and heard a woman call, “Come in!”

He went in and saw a narrow space that was surprisingly tidy. Plans tacked to walls. Filing cabinets. A drafting board. A desk with a computer and phone that was covered in papers with a very pretty, dark-haired woman behind it wearing a dark blue polo with McCandless Construction stitched in white over her heart.

Her head lifted, her attractive face holding an expression that was not unwelcoming, but it was distracted.

Until she caught sight of him.

That was when Catarina Concetti Lugar declared, “We are not doin’ this.”

Not a good start.

Benny ignored that and walked further into the office, deciding to try to get them on track, even as he didn’t hold much hope he’d succeed, and he did this by greeting, “Hey, Cat.”

She did not greet him back. She ordered, “Ben, I’m at work. Just go.”

He shook his head and told her, “Your sister is worried about you. It’s her birthday tomorrow. She’s comin’ up tonight, I’ve been makin’ calls—calls you haven’t returned—so I thought I’d extend the invitation face-to-face. I’d like you and Art to come to the pizzeria for Frankie’s birthday party tomorrow night. More, it would make Frankie happy you were there.”

“I ignored your calls because me and Art aren’t gettin’ anywhere near that pizzeria,” she retorted.

And now it was getting worse.

“You wanna explain that to me?” he invited.

“Not really,” she refused.

“Do it anyway,” he ordered, holding her eyes.

She stared at him before she looked out the window, huffed out an annoyed breath, and gave him back her eyes. “My sister was shot,” she announced.

“I know. I was the one who carried her through the forest after that shit happened.”

“Yeah, I know. Frankie, up in the shit of another Bianchi,” she fired back.

Ben felt his skin start to itch, pissed that another of the Concettis brought that shit up. At the same time, he was wondering how in the fuck they couldn’t get their heads out of their asses and see why their sister would want to be part of a good, decent, loving family. Even so, she wasn’t the kind of woman to go about getting that with how they thought she was doing it. They had to know her better than that.

Then again, since they had their heads up their asses, and when they didn’t, they were all about themselves, he shouldn’t be surprised.

When he got control and spoke, he had to force his mouth to move but, in doing that, not to yell.

“I’m not feelin’ a lot of love for explainin’ anything to you, seein’ as your sister was in a hospital bed for a week and a half and you didn’t even call. Then she was recuperating at my house and you didn’t come ’round. But Francesca is worried about you. It’s her birthday. I want her to quit worryin’ and have what’s important to her on her special day. Not sure I agree with what’s important to her, seein’ as the majority of you Concettis treat her like shit, but it is so I’m here.”

Her face started to get red, even as ice formed in her gaze as he spoke, and she didn’t hesitate to reply when he was done.

“Concettis treat her like shit?” she asked. “How ’bout the Bianchis?”

“You spoke to your sister, you’d know that’s done and we’re all movin’ on.”

“Yeah, you’re here and word is she’s in your bed. I know how you’re movin’ on.”

“Known me decades, Cat. Honest to God, do you think I’m gonna sink low enough to field that one?” Ben clipped.

She glared at him, not like Nat, much like Frankie, except a lot less cute because he didn’t love her, and more, he’d never really liked her.

“You know,” she started, “your big sister’s boyfriend gets whacked in a mob war, then she gets shot, then it’s all over everywhere that her dead boyfriend’s brother is up in her shit and then it’s everywhere they get hooked up, a girl’s gotta make a decision. She continues to get caught up in that ridiculous drama that ain’t real healthy, or she cuts herself off and tries to make a decent life. Me and Art talked about it a lot. He’s tight with his folks, his brothers. He didn’t get it. Why I wanted to cut ties. Until Frankie got shot and you were involved. Frankie involved with another Bianchi. Then he got it. Totally messed up. Totally unhealthy.”

She flipped her hand in the air and didn’t shut up, she kept on yapping.

“Art and me got marriage counseling so we’d quit fightin’ all the freakin’ time. Art and me found out in marriage counseling that it might be a good idea not to drink so freakin’ much. Art and me quit the booze, and now Art and me are in a good place so we’re tryin’ to make a baby. We got a good thing goin’, had it goin’ for a while. We don’t want anything to fuck that up. More, we bring a kid into this world, we don’t want that kid to be involved in fucked-up shit.”

Benny couldn’t believe his ears.

“You quit the booze?” he asked.

“Yep. We’ve been dry now for nearly a year.”

“Congratulations, Cat,” he murmured.

“Yeah, hold a party for that,” she returned.

“Cat—”

She shook her head and lifted a hand to him, palm his way. “No. My sister got shot. Before that, her boyfriend was in the mob. Now, after years of watchin’ the Bianchis like she was on the verge of beggin’ you to adopt her, she went from one to the other to get her in.”

“That’s not what she’s doin’,” Ben said, his voice tight.

“No?” she asked, sarcasm easy to read. “She’s gorgeous. I know it. She’s sweet. She’s funny. I see why you want a piece of that. Totally. I love her to bits, my big sis. Only one who gave a shit about me my…entire…life. Until I met Art. But she’s messed up, Benny. Took me a while, but I finally woke my ass up and saw I needed to get out of the crazy that was my family draggin’ me down. I love her. I know the way you’re lookin’ at me you don’t believe that, but I love her. That doesn’t mean she’s any good for me. It was a hard decision to make, but I gotta look out for me. And you can take this as my good turn to you: you need to get outta that shit before she chews you up and spits you out like Ninette chews up every man who even looks at her.”

“Your sister is not Ninette,” Ben bit out.

“Who lives with one brother and then hooks up with the other one?” she retorted, shaking her head. “No one does that.”

“Vinnie died seven years ago.”

“He’s still your brother.”

“He quit bein’ my brother when he joined the mob.”

At that, she snapped her mouth shut.

Yeah.

She got him.

“Life sucks, Cat, for everyone, not just you,” he told her something she should know. “Shit happens and you make decisions that can make it suck even more. From what you’re sayin’, I see you took a look at your life and decided to make good changes. But what you’re doin’, slammin’ the door on Frankie, means you won’t see she’s doin’ the same thing. Makin’ good changes to her life. And you didn’t ask, but what she did when she got shot was crazy. Crazy-stupid and crazy-brave. She helped save a woman’s life. You got a screw loose if you’d turn your back on a woman who’d take a bullet to do somethin’ like that. But I know it’s loose ’cause she’s had your back your entire life. Took you as you came, made no judgments when you were three steps away from bein’ a full-blown drunk, a mean one half the time, and she never shut the door in your face.”

He saw by her expression that he’d scored with that one, but he still took a step back, shaking his head and lifting, then dropping his hands.

“That’s your decision; it’s your life. I came by, we had our words. I leave, you continue your life. I’m happy for you. You’re tryin’ to make a good one for the family you wanna build. But that doesn’t mean what you’re sayin’ isn’t complete bullshit. The thing is, you sit there knowin’ it. You cast judgment for the decisions Francesca has made in her life, sittin’ there knowin’ you let your sister lie in a hospital bed with a hole in her without showin’ your face and givin’ some love. And still, you did that to her, Frankie calls you because she’s worried about you. What’s that say about her, Cat? And more, you can take this as my good turn to you: what’s it say about you?”

He knew he scored another point when the red went out of her face and it got pale.

He also didn’t give a fuck. He was done.

“Dinner’s at seven,” he ground out. “You’re there, you’re welcome. You’re not, I do not share blood with you so I do not have to put up with your shit. You don’t show, Frankie won’t cut ties. But seein’ as I’m in love with her and she’ll be the mother of my kids one day, you’ll have to work to get me to let you in our door, because, straight-up, Cat, I don’t need my woman or my kids around that kind of fucked-up shit.”

He left it at that, turned, and walked out, deciding he wouldn’t share this visit with Frankie. Cat and Art showed the next night, then he’d get the goodness of her gratitude that he went out of his way to get her sister back. If not, she didn’t need to know.

And anyway, he didn’t need to give more headspace to Cat, seeing as not fun as that visit was, the next one he was going to make he knew was going to be a fuckuva lot worse.

***

Ben looked around the huge-ass house Gina was leading him through, thinking that she’d had the whole fucking place redecorated since the last time he’d been there.

Since he lost track of when that was, he shouldn’t be surprised. It was more than eight years. It was more like fifteen.

She now had marble floors. Acres of them.

Things must be good in the mob business. He’d never be able to give Frankie acres of marble floors. That said, she’d never want them, and if she did, she’d work to get them for herself.

“It really is nice, you showin’, Benny,” Gina murmured, and he looked at her.

She held some weight, not much, but she no longer had the slender, built figure she’d had a couple of decades ago. That didn’t mean she wasn’t dressed well, she was. She’d always dressed well. Slightly over-the-top with jewelry and bright colors, but she wasn’t the stereotypical mob wife you saw in the movies.

But she was beyond middle age and her face didn’t have a line on it that he could see. And she dyed her hair so there wasn’t a strand of gray.

She took care of herself. Then again, she could. She had the money and she had the time.

Wouldn’t matter if she didn’t, Sal was devoted to his wife. Doted on her. Never was a time back in the day when they were around where he wasn’t affectionate or didn’t look at her like she jumpstarted the world every morning.

That didn’t mean he didn’t fuck around. He did. Always. Even now. Word flew through the family, regardless if you didn’t want to hear that shit, and Ben knew Sal had two women on the side, both kept, both thirty years younger than Gina.

Gina probably knew too and kept her tongue. It was a thing with men like Sal, and the women with them had to put up with it. It was his way to show how big his balls were and that they still worked.

It was also as whacked as everything else Sal did.

“It’s good to see you, Gina,” he muttered in order to be nice, even if he didn’t mean it. He liked her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t bring up bad memories.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him and he knew she knew he was lying through his teeth by the sad look in her eyes.

Her husband fucked around on her and did seriously fucked-up shit for a living, which meant every day anything could happen, and that “anything” could include him being incarcerated or assassinated. When you lived a life like that, family was important, and not the kind who were all in danger of the same thing.

He couldn’t say he didn’t feel for her. She was a good woman. But he couldn’t help her by biting the bullet and giving her the big family that would make the shit in her life less shitty. She’d made her choice.

She looked forward again and led him out onto a patio with a pool, gazebo, and pool house. There was a huge-ass, ostentatious fountain shooting water into the deep end of the pool. There were pots filled with thriving flowers and greenery all over the place. It looked like it belonged in a resort, not in an affluent Chicago suburb that would much prefer the local mob boss hadn’t bought a house there but no one would say jack for fear they’d find a horse’s head in their bed the next day.

And like he was at his own personal resort, which he was, Sal Giglia was sitting at a table with an iced drink in front of him, along with a tablet, his phone to his ear.

He, too, was a good-looking man, a big man, tall, broad. He’d been built back in the day, but now he had a gut. His dark hair had silvered and he’d left it at that, but he did slick it back, even if he was doing that to sit on his patio. He dressed well—designer polos, nice slacks, custom-made Italian loafers. He looked like Tony Soprano with more hair, classic features, and an extra fifteen years.

When they came out, Sal’s eyes came to Gina and Benny. He then said something in his phone, ended the call, dropped the cell on the table, and stood, face breaking into a huge smile.

Ben felt his throat prickle and fought back the urge to form his hands into fists or, the better option, turn and walk away.

“Benny, figlio,” Sal called as they made their way over the expensive pavers to Sal.

Figlio.

Asshole.

“Frankie’s birthday, am I right?” Sal asked, eyes lighting, misunderstanding the situation and thinking Ben getting in there with crazy-beautiful Francesca Concetti meant that either he was thinking with his dick or being led around by it.

“Not exactly,” Ben replied, his gaze moving to Gina and back to Sal to make his point that what he had to say, Gina shouldn’t be around to hear.

Sal’s huge smile faded, but only slightly, as he took hold of his woman’s hand, pulled her closer, kissed her cheek, and leaned back to ask, “Get Benny a drink, would you, cara?”

“Of course,” she replied, smiling up at her husband before turning that smile to Ben. “What can I get you, Benny?”

He shook his head, searching for words that would take the sting out of his meaning. “Thanks, but I don’t have time for a drink, Gina. Frankie’s comin’ in tonight. After I talk with Sal, I gotta run some more errands so I can’t stay.”

She nodded understandingly, trying to hide the disappointment and failing miserably. She aimed another smile at her husband, then moved away.

Sal threw out an arm, inviting, “Sit.”

Ben didn’t want to sit. He didn’t want to breathe Sal’s air.

He had no choice.

So he sat, pulled the shades out of his hair and over his eyes to beat back the sun, and trained his gaze on Sal.

“Last place I wanna be,” he said quietly.

At his words, Sal’s mouth got tight. “Do not tell me my Gina let you into our home for you to sit on my goddamned patio and be an asshole to me.”

“Last place I wanna be ’cause I’m here ‘cause I need you to do somethin’ for Frankie.”

Sal suddenly went still.

He was listening.

Intently.

And Ben did not get that, why Sal and Gina sunk their claws into Frankie before and after Vinnie died. He could get falling in love with her, he did that himself. And these people understood loyalty. But not the healthy kind, which it seemed they gave Frankie.

They had two daughters.

It didn’t make sense.

But he wasn’t there to make sense of it. He was there to do something three months ago he would have told you he’d put a bullet in his own brain before he did it.

But there he was.

“Actually, two things,” Ben went on.

“You gonna tell me what they are?” Sal asked.

“Yeah,” Ben answered. “One, we’re havin’ a birthday thing for Frankie tomorrow night at the pizzeria.”

Sal’s brows shot up.

“You and Gina aren’t invited.”

Sal’s brows lowered and he scowled.

“That is not disrespect,” Ben said low and it was the truth. “Feels like it, but that’s me respectin’ my family and givin’ a good night to my woman. Ma and Pop would not want you there, Frankie would want everyone to have a good time, and knowin’ that they weren’t, it would fuck with her. Last, it would be awkward and I do not want that for Frankie on her birthday. But Frankie will wanna see you so I made reservations at Crickets for a Champagne brunch tomorrow morning,” Ben told him and finished with, “I will not be there.”

Sal nodded slowly. “And the second thing?”

“Guy at Frankie’s work got whacked.”

Sal’s brows shot up again, but Ben didn’t miss that his body also got tight.

Preparing. Like Benny, he knew Frankie was a magnet for drama.

“Whacked?” Sal asked.

“Professional hit, one shot to the head in his home. Nothin’ stolen. Nothin’ even moved. Guy came in, did him, left. He was a doctor who worked on developing drugs for her company. Police have no suspects. Cal’s got a friend who’s a cop in Brownsburg who asked around. Indianapolis Metropolitan PD have no clue why this guy had a hit taken out on him. Nothin’ in his life leads to that kinda retaliation. They’ve been over everything repeatedly. He has a wife, two kids in college, nice house. No gambling. No drug use. Not a big drinker. Kids not fucked up. Wife all good. Plays golf. Belongs to a club. No shit in his past. No shady friends. Not one fuckin’ thing.”

“And you’re tellin’ me this because…?” Sal prompted.

“I’m tellin’ you this because Frankie told me the guy bought it, she feels weird about it, and she feels weird about the guy’s boss.”

“Fuck,” Sal muttered.

“Yeah,” Benny agreed, knowing Sal again got him. “Her feelin’ weird can die on the vine or it can flourish, and Frankie bein’ Frankie, I’m wantin’ to nip it in the bud before it flourishes.”

“Tell her to keep out of it,” Sal advised.

“Sorry, thought you knew Francesca Concetti,” Benny replied, and Sal grinned.

“Reckless, that one,” he muttered. “And headstrong.”

“And stubborn and crazy,” Benny added, and Sal’s grin grew into a smile, clearly these being traits Sal admired. The troubling part of that was Ben did too. “Told her that she needed to steer clear. She promised me she’d do that and just do her job. Far’s I know, she’s doin’ that.”

“And you’re here because you want me to make some inquiries, find out who whacked this guy and why.”

That was why he was there.

Asking a favor from Sal.

Fuck.

“That’s why I’m here,” Ben confirmed.

“Consider it done,” Sal replied.

Fuck.

“I give, I take,” Sal went on, barely taking a breath before calling the marker.

Fucking fuck.

Ben stared at him through his shades and said nothing.

Sal did.

“When you two get married, Gina and I are invited.”

Ben’s back straightened and he leaned toward Sal, starting, “Sal—”

Sal shook his head, lifted a hand, and dropped it. “Not the reception. We’ll sit in the back of the church. But I’ll wanna see my Frankie happy. I’ll wanna give that to my Gina. And I am not unaware you do not like me much, Benny Bianchi, but I still wanna see you happy. So does Gina. You give that to us, I’ll find out everything there is to know about what’s goin’ on in Indy.”

“That seems too easy,” Ben noted suspiciously.

“That’s because what I do in Indy isn’t for you. It’s for Frankie. But she didn’t ask for it, you asked for it, so you pay.”

He got that and he could pay that marker without too much headache.

Except one thing.

“My parents don’t see you,” Benny stated, and Sal’s face went hard.

“I’m not gonna slink into a church like a snake and Gina’s not doin’ that shit either.”

“I don’t care how you walk in,” Benny returned. “You just do it so my parents don’t see you.”

Sal held his eyes before he jerked up his chin.

Assent.

They had a deal.

Christ.

“Then we’re done,” Ben ended it, and Sal’s face changed in a way Benny did not get, even when he did.

Sal Giglia didn’t want to be done with Benny. With the Bianchis. With family.

How the man could think he could hold on to blood when his business was about taking it, Ben had no fucking clue.

He’d never figure it out and he had another stop to make. Then he had to drop what he was picking up at home before he went to get Frankie from the airport. So he didn’t give that headspace either.

“We’re done,” Sal released him.

“Tell Gina I said ’bye,” Ben murmured, rising from his chair, Sal coming with him.

“Will do,” Sal replied.

Ben gave him a nod, turned, and started away.

He stopped when Sal said, “She was with the wrong brother.”

He turned back, his throat prickling again, and he leveled his shades on the man.

Sal wasn’t done. “Vinnie was a good man, but not for her. She was made for you. Always knew it.”

Ben said nothing.

Sal did.

“She’ll drive you fuckin’ crazy and you’ll love every minute of it.”

Ben kept his silence.

“Happy for you, figlio,” Sal finished quietly.

Since Vinnie died, Ben had spent nearly zero time with Sal, putting up with him at the hospital the night Frankie got shot only because he had no choice.

Now, he was reminded why someone like Frankie would hold on to a man like Sal. Away from him, it made no sense.

But fuck, you got anywhere near, the man was likeable. Always was.

So maybe he had a piece of the puzzle as to why his brother did the shit he did, and having that piece was a miracle.

Ben didn’t tell Sal that, mostly because all the other puzzle pieces did not fit.

He only nodded again and got his ass out of there.

***

“Can you explain why you’re gonna be here six days but you got enough luggage to be here for the rest of your life?” Benny bitched as he hauled Francesca’s huge-ass suitcase up the stairs of his back stoop, along with her carry-on.

“I told you I’d carry them,” Frankie replied. He twisted his neck to give her a look, so she widened her eyes at him and continued, “You wanna be a protective, take-care-of-my-woman, Italian guy, you can’t bitch.”

She was absolutely right.

Still, it bought him Frankie with wide eyes being cute, so he was going to bitch.

He let go of a bag to open the door, asking, “What do you have in these bags anyway?”

“You gave me no hint as to what you had planned so I had to come prepared,” she answered as he shoved in through the door, hauling her bags in with him.

“So by ‘prepared’ you mean you came prepared to assault the White House?” he asked.

“I have clothes and shoes in those bags, not assault rifles,” she shot back.

“Feels like half a ton of C4,” he muttered.

“Shut up, Benny,” she returned, but he heard the smile in her voice.

That made him smile as he kept moving toward the door to the hall.

Once he hit it, he said, “Shit, babe, forgot to put your Fanta in the fridge. It’s in the den. I’ll take these upstairs. You toss a couple cans in the fridge, and while you’re at it, pop me a beer.”

“Your den is not a den. It’s a den-shaped dump,” she replied.

“You gonna pop me a beer or what?” he returned, still smiling.

“All right,” she murmured, and he heard her purse hit the table.

He hauled the bags to the foot of the stairs, left them there, and retraced his steps, timing it perfectly to hit the door to the den so he could see Frankie’s hands shoot to her mouth as she shrieked, “Oh my God! Benny!”

He grinned as he watched her drop instantly to a closed-knees squat as a wrinkly bulldog puppy—brown body, white feet, belly, face, and ears, with little brown spots on one floppy ear, and brown emanating out the sides of his eyes—waddled her way.

Benny leaned against the jamb as she gathered the puppy in her arms and rubbed her cheek against his fur.

“Meet Churchill,” he said.

She tipped her head back, gave him her eyes, and when he got them, Ben went still.

“Gus,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes shining with tears. “His name is Gus.”

Looking in those crazy-beautiful eyes that were filled with tears and love, Ben found he couldn’t move.

The dog and Frankie could.

The dog squirmed. Frankie came out of her squat and moved toward him, holding the puppy close to her face, her eyes never leaving his.

She came to a stop not a foot away, and he said softly, “One day early, but couldn’t leave him in there forever.” His voice dipped low, “Happy birthday, baby.”

He barely got the words out when he watched a tear slide down her cheek.

But she didn’t move.

So he asked, “You gonna kiss me?”

She rubbed the still-squirming puppy against her cheek and asked back, “Do you have any clue how awesome you are?”

“Pretty much,” Benny joked.

“No you don’t,” she whispered, and his gut clenched.

“Come here, Frankie,” he growled.

She came to him. He wrapped his arms around her (and the dog) and bent his head to take her mouth.

He didn’t have to take it.

She gave it to him.

He kissed her deep.

But not long.

Because in the middle of it, using puppy tongue, Gus kissed them both.

***

“This okay?” Benny asked as he parked behind the pizzeria the next night.

The night of Frankie’s birthday.

“Are you makin’ my birthday pie?” Frankie asked back.

Ben grinned as he shut down the ignition. “Yeah.”

“Then yeah,” she finally answered.

He looked her way to ascertain if she was bullshitting him and saw her leaned forward, face in the visor mirror, slicking on lip gloss.

But doing it on smiling lips.

There it was. She wasn’t bullshitting him.

She liked his pie enough to be perfectly happy eating it on her special day.

She’d finished with her gloss and hopped down by the time he got to her side of the SUV.

He slammed the door for her, and as he did, he took her in yet again, top to toe, doing it thinking he was looking forward to what was going to happen in a few minutes. But Frankie in that red dress with its short, tight skirt and slouchy, sleeveless top that fell off one shoulder, her hair big, her makeup set straight to “going out,” her jewelry set to “seriously tricked out,” and a pair of high-heeled sandals, he was more looking forward to later when he intended to feel those heels in his back.

He took her hand, guided her to the back door, and she started talking.

“You should have told me, though. I could have invited Asheeka and Jamie and some folks from my old work and tried to get Cat to give up whatever grudge she’s holdin’. A grudge, no matter how deep, is no match for a Bianchi pie.” He’d shoved open the door and pulled her in when her eyes came to him and she said hurriedly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like I wanted a bunch of people around. You want this to be a couple thing, I don’t get enough of you, so I’m way down with that. You, me, your pie, and your pizzeria.” She leaned into him and finished on a bright, happy smile, “Perfect.”

It was going to perfect all right.

“Glad you’re down with that, honey.”

“Totally,” she assured him, squeezing his hand.

He moved her through the bustling kitchen, giving nods to his kids as they went.

Then he moved her through the short hall that led to the dining room.

Finally, he moved her into the dining room.

When they hit it, he knew the kid he gave the order to keep an eye out for them and spread the word when they showed didn’t fuck it up, because the minute he cleared the hall and pulled Frankie to his side, a cacophony of streamer poppers sounded, bits flying through the air, along with shouts of, “Surprise!”

That was when Ben saw that his ma had also done her job.

To one side, there was a table set up with a massive cake on it that had white frosting and a shitload of pink and purple frosting flowers that said Happy Birthday, Frankie, presents placed all around it. They’d closed the restaurant for the night so the floor had been arranged so there were two long, rectangular tables with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths taking up the space. Each table had several huge bouquets of balloons floating up from them down their lengths and big bouquets of flowers in the middle.

His eyes went through the smiling crowd and he saw Asheeka there with her date. Frankie’s friend Jamie was there with her boyfriend. Manny was there with Sela. His ma and pop obviously were there. Asheeka had gotten the word out to Frankie’s friends from her old work, including her ex-boss, and they were all there. As were Frankie’s best friends from high school, and old lady Zambino and her bowling posse.

Last, he was surprised to note, Cat was there, looking anywhere but at Benny or Frankie, and her husband, Art, was standing beside her.

“Hello, girl, you alive in there?” Asheeka called, and when she did, it hit Benny that Frankie stood unmoving at his side.

He looked down at her and saw her staring at the crowd, face set firm to stunned.

“Babe,” he said, pulling her by her hand his way, and her head tipped back to look at him.

That was when his chest warmed, because her face was still set to stunned, but her gaze was filled with so much wonder and tenderness, seeing that look in her crazy-beautiful eyes, it was a wonder he could breathe.

“How’re you gonna top this next year, Benny Bianchi?” she asked quietly.

“I’m awesome so I’ll figure it out,” he answered.

Her eyes got bright again, but this time, no tear fell.

This was because she threw herself in his arms and laid a hot, wet one on him.

They went at it to catcalls, shouts of encouragement, offers to get them a room, and his mother yelling, “Thank God Father Frances couldn’t make it!” before he broke it off and said softly, “Gotta start makin’ pies, baby.”

She held his eyes and held on to him tight when she replied, “All right, Benny.”

He winked at her, gave her a squeeze, and turned her from his arms and toward her crew.

When he did, she threw her arms straight in the air and shouted, “Birthdays rock!”

Two seconds later, she was engulfed by friends and family.

Benny watched it, grinning.

Then he went into the kitchen to start making pies.

***

“Oh my God!” Frankie yelled. “I love these!”

Benny, sitting beside Frankie, where she was at the head of the table, figured she did love the present she just opened, seeing as she instantly yanked off the bracelets she had on and shoved on the bracelets whoever just gave her.

She jiggled them in his face. “Aren’t they gorgeous, honey?” she asked.

“Gorgeous,” he muttered, smiling at her and not looking at the bracelets at all.

She gave him a look, dropped her hand, leaned into him, and hissed, “Don’t be sweet.”

He looked down the length of the table that was filled with empty cake plates, wrapping paper, used streamers and confetti from the second (and third) round of streamer poppers, and people who loved Francesca Concetti.

Then he looked back at her and asked, “Seriously?”

“If you’re in the mood to be sweet…er,” she went on, “maybe you can get one of the kids to bring out more Chianti. I’m dry.”

“I’ll go to the bar,” he murmured, but she caught his wrist as he made a move.

“I’m not done with presents, you can’t leave. If you do, whose face am I gonna jiggle bracelets in and who am I gonna force to smell my candles?”

Benny got off on seeing his baby happy.

He did not get off on having jewelry jiggled in his face or courting a headache because he had to sniff another candle.

He looked across the table at Art and said, “Art’ll stand in.”

“Great,” Art muttered, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Benny ignored him, got out of his seat, bent to Frankie, and said in her ear, “Wine for my woman.”

He pulled back, she gave him a big smile, and he went to the bar to tell the bartender to set the tables up with more wine.

He was heading back when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Asheeka was there, so he stopped.

“Yo, babe,” he greeted.

“Hey, Benny,” she replied, coming to a stop next to him. “Great pizza, as usual.”

“We kinda got practice at that here.”

She nodded her head, her lips curved up.

“Ohmigod! I love this lotion! It’s the best evah!” Frankie shrieked, and Ben and Asheeka looked her way to see she was forcing a bottle of lotion under Art’s nose.

Art’s face did not communicate he much liked the smell, but at least the guy was game and was sniffing it.

“That girl isn’t half breathin’,” Asheeka said softly, and Benny turned to look at her just as her hand caught his. “Got my gratitude, Benny.”

“Not sure what to say to that since I’m the one who gets to enjoy a Francesca Concetti who’s breathin’ easy.”

“You got it anyway.”

He tightened his hand in hers and said quietly, “Appreciated, Asheeka.”

She squeezed his hand back, let him go, and moved to the table just as Cat vacated her seat, a seat that was strategically far away from Frankie.

Art had thrown himself right in, and the way he did, it reminded Ben that he was a good guy, when he wasn’t hammered.

Cat, so far, had not thrown herself into anything. She wasn’t hanging back, sulking and making a point. She was hanging back like she wasn’t sure how to get close anymore.

Now, she was making her way toward Benny.

Shit.

“Ben,” she greeted.

“Cat, glad you came,” he replied.

“Me too,” she said. “Been so long, thought the delight of a Bianchi pie was a dream. Now I know it’s better than I remembered.”

She stopped next to him as one of the kids who worked the floor passed them with two bottles of wine in each hand.

When the server was gone, Ben, eyes to the tables, noted, “Keepin’ a distance from your sister.”

“Been a bitch,” she whispered, and Benny looked down to her, surprised again.

“Rectified that tonight, Cat,” he reminded her.

“She got shot and I did somethin’ selfish and stupid, and now I show at her birthday party for free pizza and cake?” she told the table where her eyes were aimed.

“Sortin’ out your life isn’t stupid,” he remarked.

“Doin’ it bein’ a bitch is,” she returned.

“Better late than never,” he pointed out.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she retorted.

“Frankie givin’ you crap?” he asked.

She turned her gaze to him because she knew the answer. Frankie was giving her sister space, mostly because Cat was taking it. But she wasn’t giving her crap.

“Trust me, she’ll take you as you come,” he said. “She’s just glad you’re here. She gives you that gift, Cat, just roll with it.”

She heaved a sigh, looked back at the table, took a few moments, then asked, “It true, Dad’s latest bitch havin’ his baby?”

“Any day now,” Ben affirmed.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“You’re gettin’ a sister,” he told her.

She kept muttering. “Jesus.”

“I’m not Enzo Senior’s biggest fan, Cat, but his woman seems solid.”

“They always are,” she said to the table, and Ben didn’t doubt that.

Another question that would go unanswered in his lifetime was how good women got hooked up with dicks all the time.

He decided not to reply and looked back at the table to see old lady Zambino sitting in his chair, leaned into Frankie’s space, and Benny couldn’t tell by his woman’s expression if she was about to laugh, cry, or shout.

“Thinkin’ I should get back,” he said.

“Yeah,” Cat replied.

Ben made a move, but stopped and turned back when she called his name.

“Thanks for havin’ the balls to come and get in my face,” she said.

“You still got her love, and you’ll always have her love. You fuck up again, I’ll do it again.”

For the first time that night, he saw her smile. “I’m thinkin’ I’ll do my best to avoid that.”

“That’d be my call.”

She rolled her eyes.

He heard Frankie burst out laughing and turned back to the table to see she had her hand wrapped around the back of Mrs. Zambino’s head, she’d pressed their foreheads together, and she was giggling herself sick, her entire body shaking with it.

Mrs. Zambino wasn’t giggling.

She was yelling. “Francesca Concetti, you’re ruining my hair!”

Frankie did not let go.

She just kept giggling.

Ben left her to it for three beats before he made his approach to unlatch his woman from his neighbor so Mrs. Zambino wouldn’t unsheathe the talons or take him off her Christmas gift list.

Frankie’s chocolate-filled snowballs were his favorite.

But Mrs. Zambino’s homemade cookies cut out like poinsettia leaves and filled with green-colored creamy frosting were a close second.

***

Ben laid in his bed, back to the headboard, sheet to his waist, and just managed to avoid a traumatic injury when Gus made to jump right on his dick. Frankie had scooped him up and put him on the bed before she skipped to the bathroom to clean up after he’d fucked her. And Benny was making a mental note to see to it that she did not do that again.

He pulled the dog up his chest and got a wet jaw for his effort. Still, he kept the dog where he was and scratched his head. This got him puppy breath right in the face because Gus started panting happily.

Ben continued to keep him where he was and give him scratches as Frankie, now in a sweet, short nightie, skipped out of the bathroom, made a beeline to the bed, and hopped in, landing on her knees. She bounced across the bed to him and tossed out a thigh, ending up straddling him.

Once positioned, she pulled Gus right out of his arms, lifted him up in front of her face, and cooed, “Who’s Mommy’s special little boy?”

She was being cute and dorky, which was also cute, but Ben had frozen.

This was because Frankie had skipped out of the bathroom, hopped into bed, and bounced across it.

Frankie, after hours with family, friends, food, presents, and unlimited wine. After digging her heels in his back hard and riding his cock harder.

And there she was.

Electric.

“Is Gus Mommy’s special little boy?” she asked, and he had to jerk himself out of his freeze to lift his hands and rest them on her hips.

“Babe, don’t talk to him like that,” he ordered, trying to ignore the warmth in his gut at the happiness written all over the woman astride his hips.

She looked down at him and curled Gus into her chest. “Why?”

“’Cause he’s an English bulldog,” Ben explained.

“And?” she prompted as Gus made a successful escape attempt, which meant he successfully landed dead weight on Ben’s chest, something that made Benny grunt.

Frankie scooted the puppy to Ben’s gut and gave him scratches there, her eyes on Ben, waiting for an answer.

Benny got his breath back and continued to explain.

“He’s a male English bulldog. In other words, he’s a badass breed. A chick baby talks him, his ears might start bleedin’.”

She grinned. “His ears won’t start bleedin’.”

“Don’t look at me when you coo at him and that shit happens.”

She rolled her eyes, rolled them back, and declared, “Just so you know, you being annoying is not gonna kill my buzz. I mean, you got Cat there, and Art, and old lady Zambino, who was still so pissed I bailed on you, she hadn’t talked to me in months, but she showed too.”

He tipped his head to the side and asked, “You work that out with Mrs. Zambino?”

She nodded but said, “She busted my chops about how I went off half-cocked and didn’t walk across the street to” —she lifted her hands and did air quotation marks— “‘get some wisdom.’ But I had your pie and a ton of wine in me, so she couldn’t kill my buzz either.”

He took in her shining eyes, squeezed her hips with his hands, and asked quietly, “Happy?”

“Yes and no,” she answered.

He felt his head jerk with surprise. “What’s the no part?”

“You kicked this birthday’s ass. I mean, Ben…” She scooped up Gus and cuddled him to her chest again. “You closed the entire restaurant. Cake. Flowers. Balloons. A surprise party. A sisterly reunion.” She cuddled Gus closer, finishing, “And a freakin’ puppy.”

“And there’s a part of that that doesn’t make you happy?” he pushed when she explained no further.

“Yeah, seein’ as it’s gonna be practically impossible to one-up you on your birthday and I have barely a month to plan.”

At that, Benny burst out laughing, did an ab crunch, and confiscated the dog. He also put an arm around his woman, twisted, leaned to the side, and put the dog on the floor. Then he lay back, taking Frankie with him the way he wanted her, with one arm still around her, the other hand in her hair, holding her close.

“My birthday’s easy, baby. You, a couple sweet nighties, and a bottle of chocolate sauce.”

Her eyes got big and she asked, “Chocolate sauce?”

“Yep.”

“That’ll be sticky,” she declared, but in a tone that said it might be sticky, but it was far from out of the question.

“That’s the point, Francesca. You get sticky, I make you unsticky.”

Her hips rolled against his.

It was after two in the morning, after wine, food, cake, friends, presents, and she was ready to go again.

Electric.

He ran a hand over her ass. “I get greedy and make a mess, I got a big shower.”

“Mm,” she murmured, eyes dropping to his mouth.

“You gotta hold that thought, tesorina. I gotta put the dog in the kennel and I won’t be in the mood to leave this bed to do it after I do you.”

“Okay, honey,” she whispered, then leaned in and touched her mouth to his.

He gave her ass a squeeze before he let her go. She swung off him and he got out of bed, found the dog, scooped him up, and headed to the door.

“Ben?” she called when he was almost there.

He turned back and saw her and her hair and her body sitting on one hip, legs curled under her, eyes on him.

“Yeah, Frankie?”

“I’ll give you nighties and chocolate sauce, all you want,” she told him. “But I’m still gonna find a way to give you more so you’ll remember it forever in a way that never fails to make you smile and feel allover happy, like I’m gonna remember tonight.”

Jesus, seriously?

She was giving him that when he was a room away from her?

“Don’t be sweet when I’m naked, got a puppy in my arms, and I’m a room away from you.”

It was then she gave him all the gratitude he needed.

She smiled that smile. That smile that said she had a secret and it was a really good one.

Then she urged, “Hurry.”

Ben turned and moved into the hall knowing Frankie didn’t have any secrets. What she wanted to whisper in his ear wasn’t words.

It was moans.

And he liked hearing them.

So he didn’t waste any time.