Chapter Four Until Monday

The doorbell rang and Benny’s eyes opened.

He instantly felt the kinks in his body from sleeping on the couch.

He moved when he slept, which was why he’d bought a king-sized bed the instant he moved out of his parents’ house five months after he graduated high school. He’d had a tiny apartment and that bed took up nearly the whole bedroom, but he didn’t give a fuck. At his folks’ house, he’d had a twin and that shit was torture with the way Benny slept.

He forced himself to sitting and reached out to grab his jeans. He got up, stretching to get the kinks out, tugged them on, and nabbed his tee on the way to the door.

Frankie was out by nine the night before, so even though the kitchen took last orders at nine thirty, he went in to take over from Pop in order to supervise closing. He also went in to talk any of his kids down from quitting, seeing as his father was a drill sergeant in the kitchen and his kids weren’t used to that shit. This meant he didn’t get home until near on midnight.

He’d done the same the night before.

He was used to the late nights.

He was not used to that fucking couch.

He just hoped he could sort things with Frankie in a way so he wouldn’t have to get used to it.

He was pulling down his shirt at his stomach when he looked through the window at the top of the door and saw Frankie’s girl out there.

He unlocked it, opened it, and greeted, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she greeted back, her eyes traveling the length of him, catching on his crotch and staying there too long. They jerked up and he could swear he saw pink tinge the chocolate skin of her cheeks.

Used to that from women (without the blush, and the blush was cute), he bit back a grin and stepped out of the way, inviting her inside nonverbally but saying, “I’ll go wake her. Then I’ll make coffee and bring you both a cup.”

She was in by the time he was done speaking, so she turned to him, offering, “I’ll make coffee.”

He gave her a nod. “Have at it. Kitchen’s in the back. Make yourself at home.”

She dipped her chin and made a move to the back hall.

Benny closed the door and made his own move to the stairs.

“Uh…Benny?” she called when he had a foot on the first step.

He stopped and looked at her standing halfway down the hall. “Yeah?”

Her eyes went to the ceiling, then to him. “Figure you’re the kind who isn’t real big on interference, but…” She jerked her head toward the ceiling. “You know what you’re doin’ with her?”

She was right. He wasn’t the kind who was big on interference. Further, he didn’t know her and he was really not the kind who was big on interference from someone he didn’t know.

What he did know was that she was up early on a Saturday to come and hang when her girl was taking a shower. Same with her bein’ late to work the day before. So he didn’t know her, but he respected that.

He also knew from her question that Frankie had shared.

Not surprising. Women did that and that was a big part of what he didn’t understand about them. Why they would talk to their girls about their men in an attempt to understand their men when their girls were fucking girls and couldn’t begin to understand how a man’s mind worked, he did not get. Or, more to the point, get the concept that a man’s mind didn’t work at shit. Most men did what they did and that was it.

Trying to explain that to a woman was like slamming your head repeatedly into a wall.

But since Frankie shared and this woman had Frankie’s back, he was forced to do what he normally would not do with respect to the last.

“I know what I’m doin’,” he assured her.

“Frankie’s not right,” she told him.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “She just got shot. That shit’ll shake you.”

“That’s not why she’s not right.”

He knew she was not wrong.

But he didn’t agree with her. He just stated “I’m seein’ to her” in a way he hoped didn’t invite further discourse but didn’t do it in a way where he came off sounding like a dick.

She held his eyes, and while she did, he had to give her more respect. This coming from the fact that it was clear she gave more than a passing shit about Frankie and he already knew she did that just from her going out of her way to take care of their girl.

So he gave her more.

“I have not done right by her. I’m rectifyin’ that.”

She nodded and he had a feeling she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. Her ending their conversation indicated she was showing him respect, and with that, he respected her more.

She moved back to the kitchen.

Benny moved up the stairs.

When he hit his bedroom, he saw Frankie on her back, covers resting at her hips, one leg slightly hitched at the side under the sheets, one hand resting low on her belly, her other arm cocked on the bed at her side, her mass of dark hair everywhere.

Beauty sleeping alone in his bed.

Fuck.

She was not snoring, which was surprising.

Another surprise: he hated snoring. His pop snored and did it so loud, it filled their house at night growing up. That shit would wake Benny, and hearing it constant, he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep.

Frankie doing it, for some insane reason, he thought was cute.

But now she wasn’t.

He sat on the bed above her hitched leg, bent low, and whispered in her ear, “Frankie, baby, wake up. Your girl’s here.”

He lifted up and saw her eyes flutter open, still not believing those lashes were that thick and curly without aid of makeup. He’d discovered this impossibility when she was in the hospital. He’d liked it and wondered if that was a dominant trait, say, one she’d give to her daughters.

But right then, her eyes open, he saw that she seemed disoriented and the pain instantly tightened her mouth, which, in turn, made him tighten his.

With no warning, she did an ab curl to lift up and he heard her mew of discomfort. When he did, he moved quickly. Getting off the bed, then carefully shoving his arms under her, he lifted her and put her to her feet. Keeping an arm around her waist, he held her close to his side and lifted his other hand to her jaw.

She tipped hazy eyes to his and he looked into them with more than a little concern because she should be getting better day to day. Instead, she seemed far more out of it this morning than she was yesterday.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

“Sure?” he pushed.

She held his eyes, hers remaining hazy, but she nodded.

“Bathroom?”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

He dropped his hand at her jaw and guided her to the bathroom. Just like the day before, he didn’t loosen his hold until she had a steadying hand on the counter.

“You seem fuzzy today,” he observed as, just like the day before, she stared at her hand on the counter with zero focus.

When he spoke, she tilted her head back to look at him. “I’ll shake it off, baby.”

His gut tightened.

Definitely fuzzy. She’d called him “baby.”

And Benny liked it, so he grinned at her, gave her a squeeze, and dropped his mouth to touch it to hers. Not her cheek this time. She had to get used to taking his mouth and she might as well start now.

Her eyes were still hazy when he lifted his head and looked down at her, at the same time lifting his hand to her jaw so he could brush his thumb over the soft skin of her full lower lip.

“Coffee, a pill, and your girl, comin’ up,” he said.

“Okay, Ben,” she murmured.

Looking in her eyes that were no less hazy but also crazy-beautiful, he whispered, “Sweet.”

Something moved through her gaze he didn’t quite get, but it was the good kind of something. So he left her with whatever thought was working behind that look and headed out of the bathroom.

Asheeka was filling a glass with water when Benny hit the kitchen.

She looked to him when he got there. “Coffee’s brewin’. Not quite done.”

“I’ll bring up some mugs when it is,” he told her. “How do you take yours?”

“Milk, one sugar,” she said, grabbing the pill bottle on the counter and making to move out. “She good?”

“Hazier this morning. Keep an eye.”

Her mouth twisted like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t let herself. She nodded and headed out.

Benny moved to the counter, put his back to it, and rested his hips against it. He watched her walk out of the kitchen, then watched where he last saw her when she was gone, settling in and listening.

Less than five minutes and the shower went on.

He grinned slow.

Then he took in his kitchen, and as he did it, the reason he bought this house came to him.

It had been in a time when he knew he needed to quit dicking around with his life and start living it. Not living it just to work to make money, buy shit, go out and have a good time, and get laid. Living it with meaning.

He grew up knowing that Vinnie would take over the restaurant from Pop. Since he had no intention of seeing to the front of the house, his life was his own.

Then he actually grew up and Vinnie twisted that notion, going his own way—that way being the wrong way—and Benny knew his younger brother Manny did not have what it took to run the kitchen for the long haul. Manny being social and liking flash clothes, the front of the house was where he worked. But the kitchen took something else, and with Vinnie out, Benny had to step up.

This was not an edict and it was not an expectation, not from Pop, not from Ma. They made it known they wanted the restaurant to remain in the family, but they didn’t lean on any of their kids to make this so.

But the home they provided through hard work, and the love they gave that they showed was never hard work, meant it meant something to them and it meant something to their kids.

Which meant Benny didn’t want to do it, but with Vinnie out, he had to make a choice and there was only one right one.

It wasn’t a hardship. If he didn’t fuck that shit, taking over the restaurant, he knew his life would be comfortable and he could give that to his family like Ma and Pop gave it to him.

So he made the right choice.

That thought in his head, his eyes drifted to the calendar tacked to the wall. It was three years old, arrested in time on the month of April.

Seeing it, it came to him that he didn’t think on his future much. He just knew, whatever he did, he wanted to give the kind of comfort his ma and pop gave to him to his family. A big one. At least three, maybe four kids. The house always full, loud, comings and goings, a calendar on the wall in the kitchen like his ma kept that was completely marked up. Little League practices and games. Dance recitals. Parent-teacher conferences. Barbeques, sleepovers, and birthday parties. The woman he’d eventually claim keeping the schedule, pinning him down to sign a birthday card to one of their kids’ cousins, a text coming to remind him she was picking their girl up from dance so he had to get their boys from the baseball diamond.

Until that moment, he didn’t realize that that was the only dream he had for his future. All he had to do was find his way to put money in the bank to make sure his family had what they needed. But the goal was to treat them more than occasionally to what they wanted. Not to mention, have times when he could afford to pile them in a car or on a plane to go see his sister, Carm, in California. Or take them to a beach where the kids could play in the sand and he could fuck his woman with the sounds of the surf coming through the window.

Wanting that—only that—he did not get where his brother went wrong. With the way they grew up, he couldn’t wrap his head around why the fuck anyone would want more.

Since Frankie got shot, he’d had to come to painful terms with why he’d been such a dick to her and then make a plan to sort that out.

But in that time, he had not given headspace to figuring out why Vinnie threw his life away.

Frankie, so fucking gorgeous, absolutely perfect…it was easy to go there. To twist it so it came down to her, Vinnie doing everything he could to give her everything she wanted in order to keep her. But Frankie never gave any indication she wanted anything but love and a solid life that she was right there, happy to help create.

So it was Vinnie who’d had something to prove.

Benny just did not get what there was to prove. Their pop was not a pushover, but he was not a driven man, driving his kids along with him. Their ma was definitely not a pushover, but she gave no indication she had great expectations, outside of hoping her sons wouldn’t knock up some girl too early or come home from carousing after the blood dried on their clothes so it was harder to get the stains out.

Both his folks just wanted their kids to be happy, however that came about.

Kids were kids to them. They had no choice but to mature and, if they were smart, learn along the way. His folks could and did provide support, advice, and, on occasion, showed disappointment in order to nudge their children to learn the right things, but neither of them did this with a thundering hand.

So Benny didn’t get it. He didn’t get his brother having that growing up, then getting what was right then naked in Benny’s shower, and fucking up so fucking huge and losing it all so fucking early.

And the shit of it was, he knew he’d never get it. That would always be a question mark in his life that his mind would go to in order to pick at it, find an answer, erase that mark—a mark that would never go away.

Vinnie left him with that. He left his folks with that. And he left Frankie with that. Wondering why he was like he was. But worse, wondering if there was something one of them could have done to stop it.

He couldn’t deny this pissed him off. What he’d quit denying was that he was pissed at his dead brother, not the woman upstairs. It was not comfortable having that feeling about a brother he loved who could no longer make explanations or amends. That wound was arrested in time, gapping, sore, bloody, no way to heal it. And it was arguable, but Benny thought that might be worse than Vinnie turning to the dark side, working for Sal, and losing his life in a violent way doing it.

On that thought, he heard the coffeemaker beep that it was done. He had the mugs ready by the time the shower went off. He delivered them, setting them on the nightstand, then rapped on the bathroom door with his knuckles to communicate that fact. He came down the stairs and was walking back into the kitchen at the same time his parents walked in the back door.

Caro,” his mother greeted, coming direct to him, giving him a distracted kiss on the cheek, then moving straight to the coffeepot.

“Ben,” his father greeted, looking not at Benny but at the ceiling.

Apparently, Vinnie Senior was done waiting to sort things out with Francesca. Eyeing him, Benny thought his father might be done waiting, but he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“She’s just out of the shower, Pop,” he told his old man, and Vinnie Senior’s eyes came to him. “That means you got at least an hour and forty-five minutes while she does her hair to get some coffee and come to terms with the fact that she’s Frankie. She never changed and she’s not gonna make you work for it.”

“I told him that,” his ma put in. “He’s decided to worry.”

Vinnie Senior directed a dark look to his wife, then he changed the subject by directing an order at her. “Coffee, woman.”

She turned to him, pot in hand, two mugs already on the counter in front of her. “You know, just like every time the last forty-one years I’ve been near a coffeepot, I already got your mug ready. And just like every time the last forty-one years you tell me to get you coffee instead of asking for it, I want to throw your mug at you. Now, after hearing that for forty-one years, I’m wonderin’ why I held back.”

“You do because, for forty-one years, you have not once filled up your gas tank. You take the good, Theresa, you gotta take the bad.”

“You fill up my tank maybe once a week. Maybe. I fill up your coffee mug more than once a day. I’m beginning to see this doesn’t balance out,” his ma returned.

Jesus. They’d been there two minutes and they were already at it.

“Right,” Benny cut in. “You wanna bicker, do it after I get a cup of coffee.”

At that, Theresa’s eyes went right to her son. “Caro, you’ve had no coffee?”

“Pot just got done. I just got done deliverin’ it to the women upstairs. So, no.”

His mother’s face softened when he mentioned doing something for Frankie. What his mother didn’t do was move out of the way of the coffeepot or pull down another mug.

So he moved into her to get his own mug.

“I got it, I got it,” she mumbled, shooing him away before stating, “I take it you haven’t made Frankie her eggs and bacon.”

At this, Benny hoped like fuck that he could sort shit out with Frankie, and soon. Then he hoped like fuck what he figured they could have was what both of them wanted. And at that moment, he hoped this so that kitchen would cease to be his kitchen and, instead, it would be Frankie’s. That way she could battle it out for supremacy with his mother and Benny could quit doing that shit.

“Ma, you know Frankie likes sweet in the morning,” he reminded her.

“Then I’ll make pancakes,” his mother replied.

Benny looked to his father.

His father had his mug and was seating himself at Benny’s kitchen table. He also caught his son’s eyes and shrugged. Then he took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his seat, one leg stretched out, like he owned the fucking table and the house it was in.

No help there and it wasn’t worth the hassle to take it any further. Frankie would eat Theresa’s pancakes, even if she preferred coffeecake or wanted to switch it up and have him haul his ass to a donut shop.

Caffè, mio figlio,” his ma murmured.

Benny looked to her and saw her extending a mug.

He took it and went to the table.

His mother went to the fridge.

He was downing the last of the cup, listening to the hair dryer upstairs going on and off (and on and repeat), hoping that meant Frankie had shaken off her daze. At the same time, he was hoping his mother brought her clothes that would cover her up, like turtlenecks and massive sweatshirts, when the doorbell rang.

His mother turned to face the kitchen door, his father’s eyes came to him, and Benny got out of his chair.

He wasn’t expecting company, but Frankie was in his house. Word would be making the rounds.

Manny had his own amends to make, but Manny would no way be there that early. Manny had settled on a woman, they’d been together over a year, and Ma was biting her lip that they’d moved in together two months ago with no ring on Sela’s finger.

Sela was a good woman. Benny liked her. And Man came to work with a content look on his face that said he liked what he left at home. So Ben knew he liked his time at home, especially if a man was getting what Man obviously was getting…and liking, the mornings.

Sal would come in the morning. So would Gina. Sal’s boys knew better than to show at Benny’s door, morning or anytime. But the big man and his wife would do whatever the fuck they wanted.

For Frankie, he’d have to eat that shit and he would. Once. Then he’d have words with her, and if she intended to keep Sal and his wife in her life, she’d do that well away from him.

But Ben found halfway down the hall to the door that he wouldn’t be eating that particular shit that morning.

He’d be eating other shit.

He knew this when a vaguely familiar female voice shouted from outside the door, “Yeah! Fuck you too! And kiss all this good-bye forever, asshole!”

He wasn’t sure—he hadn’t been around the woman in years—but he was thinking that was Nat, Frankie’s sister.

Closing in on the door and seeing her head through the window, he saw he was right.

Fuck.

Frankie did not need this shit. More, he didn’t need it. She was not his favorite person normally. Having to keep his shit together after her sister spent a week and a half in a hospital bed and the bitch did not even send flowers was not something he had the patience to do maybe ever, but definitely not then.

He opened the door, positioned himself firmly in it, and got an eyeful of her jumping up and down, giving the finger to a beat-up Dodge Stratus racing down the street.

He also got an eyeful of her short, tight, black knit skirt, which was a centimeter away from giving a crotch shot, and skintight tank with material so thin, he could easily see the lace of her bra. With this, for some fucked reason, she was wearing a lightweight but bulky scarf wrapped around her neck. Silver and gold was profuse at ears, fingers, and wrists. She smelled like she’d just walked through one of those bitches at the mall who offered sprays of perfume and choked the air with it for reasons he never got. And he only had her profile, but he could see she’d taken Ninette’s heavy-handed makeup lessons to extremes.

Even way back when, when he was at school with the Concettis, it was like Frankie was not one of them. She knew how to trick herself out, absolutely. But the sisters dressed like whores from age twelve up and Frankie never did that shit.

She could do big hair, she did, and she did it well, as evidenced yesterday. She could show skin, but she did it with style and class that made it appealing, not cheap. And she liked her makeup, but as heavy as she could go with it, it never crossed that line from class to trash.

Ninette led that brigade, teaching her daughters lessons no girl should learn. Frankie was the only one opposed to them. The other two sucked that shit in and turned that shit out, not only in look, but in deed.

He’d never liked them, Nat or Cat, and not because they dressed like trash. Because they acted like it.

The brothers were a different story. He’d briefly met her brother Dino, and he knew Enzo Junior well.

Dino seemed an upright guy, affectionate with his little sister, pleasant to be around.

Enzo was a fucking crazy man, but he adored Frankie and didn’t have much time for the other two, so Benny had always liked him.

Now, with her showing out of the blue, he knew he’d be reminded why he wasn’t Nat’s biggest fan.

He just did not know she was bringing her A game.

When the Stratus screeched around the corner at the end of the block, she turned to him. Just like he wasn’t even fucking there, she picked up one of the three massive duffels sitting on his stoop and heaved it right by his legs into his foyer.

Oh no.

Fuck no.

Yo!” he barked, and her eyes snapped to his.

“Hey, Ben,” she greeted. Either not processing or ignoring his tone, she twisted and snatched up another duffel, dropping the strap on her shoulder and then shouldering her way right into his goddamned house.

She had to be joking.

“Get the last one, would you, big man?” she ordered, then stopped in the foyer and shouted up the stairs, “Frankie!”

She was. She was absolutely joking.

He turned to her, leaving her bag outside and the door open, and bit out, “Have you lost your mind?”

She drooped a shoulder, the duffel thudded on the floor, and she looked to him. “Heard Frankie was crashing here. Just scraped off my douchebag of a husband so I need to crash at her place.” She finished this outrageousness with even more outrageousness, “I could use a ride when I get her keys.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” he whispered, and he whispered because, if he didn’t, he’d shout.

“Say what?” she asked.

When she asked that, he knew she wasn’t ignoring what she couldn’t possibly miss: that Benny did not want her or her shit in his home. No, she was in her own world and she didn’t give a shit he didn’t want to occupy that world. And he sure as fuck didn’t want it landing in his foyer.

So he decided to give her that information.

“You are not here,” he told her, then explained, “And by that I mean, get your ass out.”

Her eyes narrowed and it was not sexy-cute and full of attitude the way her big sister did it, mainly because he’d never liked the bitch. She was rough in a way there was no smooth. She was loud, she was obnoxious, and with this shit, she’d proved she could take selfish to extremes.

“You don’t wanna give me a ride, that’s cool, but keep your pants on, asshole. I just need Frankie’s keys,” she snapped.

Benny felt his body get tight, which was good. That meant it’d make it hard to move.

He didn’t have the same problem with his mouth. “You’re tellin’ me you shouldered your way in my home, I haven’t seen you in fuckin’ years, and you’re callin’ me an asshole?”

“You just told me to get out,” she shot back.

“It’s my house. I can do that shit when someone who isn’t welcome is in it,” he returned.

He knew Theresa and Vinnie Senior were in the back hall.

Unfortunately, on his words, Francesca entered the space by walking slowly down the stairs.

Further to that misfortune, she was wearing a light pink baby-doll tee that was tight at her tits and a light gray pair of those loose but clingy drawstring yoga pants women wore that showed no skin but gave it all away in a way every man liked if his dick worked and he wasn’t into guys.

So no turtleneck or sweatshirt.

Fuck.

Her eyes were on her sister and her mouth was moving to ask, “What’s goin’ on?”

Nat looked up at her sister, and before Ben could say a word, she announced, “Just got shot of the douche, soon to be formerly known as my husband. Need a place to crash. Heard you were here, which means your place is empty, so I’m gonna crash there. I need your keys, and quick, ’cause Benny’s decided to be a dick and I’ve had a bad morning. I don’t need that shit.”

Benny was pissed. Absolutely.

But he instantly had another problem on his hands.

This was that he knew, with the way Frankie’s face changed, his house was about to turn into a Concetti war zone. He’d seen it, more than once, but had been removed from it. Vinnie had to put up with that shit and that was one thing in all that was Frankie that he did not envy his brother.

But now, the woman on his stairs was not one hundred percent and she had no business throwing down with her sister. Not the way the Concetti women threw down.

Therefore, he made a move to the stairs just as Frankie replied, “First, you think of askin’ to crash at my place?”

To this, Nat retorted, “I don’t need hassle from you either.”

Frankie made her way down the rest of the stairs and stopped on the last step where Benny was standing at the bottom, barring her from going further, thinking distance was key in this scenario.

She ignored her sister and kept with her list. “Second, you come to Ben’s and call him a dick right to his face, right in his damned house?”

“Think I called him a dick to you, not to his face,” Nat fired back. “He just happened to be standin’ there.”

Frankie ignored that too.

“Third, you show at Ben’s house, layin’ your shit at my feet and his door, when I can’t take a fucking shower by myself, doctor’s orders, ’cause I got a hole in me?”

Her voice was getting louder, so Benny murmured a soothing “Frankie” that he knew no way in hell would soothe her.

“Babe—” Nat started, a change coming over her face. What Frankie said, by some miracle, got in there.

But for Frankie, it was too little, too late. “No. Fuck no,” Frankie hissed. “Get your shit and get gone.”

“Got no place to go, sis. Need you to help me out,” Nat told her.

“Why?” Frankie returned immediately. “’Cause you screwed around on Davey again, he found out again, and I’m up on the rotation when he kicked your ass out and you need somewhere to wait it out until he loses his mind and takes your cheatin’ ass back?”

Nat’s face, which had gone soft with guilt at Frankie’s earlier comment, went hard in a shot. “I’m not discussin’ my marital woes with you in front of the fuckin’ Bianchis and whoever that bitch is.” She jerked her chin toward the stairs.

Benny looked that way to see Asheeka three steps up. When he did, he also saw Asheeka didn’t take kindly to being called a bitch.

Fuck.

He had to wade in. Immediately. The Concettis were bad enough. He didn’t need the unknown Asheeka throwing her hat into the ring.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Benny stated, eyes back to Nat. “I’m gonna call a cab and give you some cake so you can put yourself up in a hotel for a coupla days while you sort your shit.”

Frankie instantly fucked with his plan by declaring, “You absolutely are not doin’ any of that shit, Benny Bianchi. And you” —he saw her finger jab out toward her sister in his peripheral vision— “do not ever call one of my sisters of the heart a bitch.

He cut his eyes to her face. “Babe, just let me deal with this quick so we can get you some breakfast.”

“And there it is. Rumor is flyin’ and here’s the proof,” Nat put in with a full-on bitch voice that Benny should have reacted to quicker and would not know until later that he would pay the price in a variety of painful ways when he didn’t. “Francesca Concetti, always wantin’ an in on that pizzeria and the cash it makes, has grasped onto another Bianchi cock to get it. Hat’s off to you, babe. Never thought after you killed the first, you’d get a shot at the next.”

Ben stood stone-still, afraid to move, because he knew precisely what he’d do if he did. He stayed motionless as he felt the emotion beating down from Frankie and he fought back the urge to do violence against a female.

His father, with more years to learn control, moved.

He did this to walk into the foyer. He grabbed a duffel, took it to the door, and sent it flying. He put some heft behind his toss because it didn’t hit the top of the stoop; it hit the sidewalk.

“Hey! What the fuck! I got fragile shit in that!” Nat shouted.

Vinnie Senior didn’t hesitate. He did the same with the other one.

What the fuck!” Nat screeched.

Done with the bags, Vinnie Senior stood, hand on the door, leveled his eyes on Natalia, and said one word: “Out.”

She was too stupid to take that one word, or read the look on his pop’s face that said the smart move was not to earn more. She straight-up prompted more with “Fuck you, old man.”

That was when Benny moved.

He only stopped when he felt his mother wrap her fingers around his forearm and she did this tight.

“One warning, Natalia,” Vinnie said low. “You go or I put you out, and I will be puttin’ my hand on you to put you out. You give me lip or problems when I put my hand on you, you’ll be makin’ a big mistake ’cause my son is holdin’ back and you do not wanna force him to let go. Now, you go and you do not come back to this house, and you have not one thing to do with your sister unless she reaches out to you. Are you hearin’ me?”

“Let me get this straight,” Nat started, crossing her arms on her chest. “The Bianchis pissed all over my sister for years, she gets shot savin’ one of your women you actually give a shit about, unlike Frankie, and you all see the error of your ways and crawl up her ass. Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Natalia,” Vinnie Senior replied. “And perhaps you should see this as a lesson in family: you mess up, you fess up. Make amends. And if you can do that bein’ there for someone you care about in her time of need, all the better. Somethin’ my son tells me you didn’t do, her lyin’ in a hospital bed for days without a visit from her sister.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I work nights so I gotta sleep days,” she returned.

“That is not an excuse and you stand there sayin’ those words knowin’ it,” Vinnie Senior replied.

Nat opened her mouth to speak, but Benny had gotten a lock on it.

That said, he was also done.

“Pop, get her out before I do it,” he warned.

Nat’s eyes shot to him just as Vinnie moved to her and he saw she was at least smart enough to read his look and know her time was up.

This was why she yelled, “Shit! Fuck! I got no place to go and no money to get there!”

“Not my problem,” Benny told her.

She looked to her sister. “Frankie, seriously—”

“I did not kill Vinnie.”

This was unexpected. It was also whispered. And it sounded tortured. Hearing it, everyone in that space went still except Ben, who looked to Francesca at the same time he moved up, crowding her on the step.

Her eyes stayed glued to her sister. “That you would say that to me, even think that about me…you’re dead to me.”

Fuck.

“Frankie, babe—” Nat started.

“Dead,” she whispered, turned, and rushed up the steps.

Benny cut his eyes to his father and ordered a growled, “Get her the fuck out, Pop. Now.

Then he turned and took the steps two at a time, following Frankie.

He hit his bedroom to see Frankie pacing, face pale, visibly deep breathing. He was concerned about her state of mind, but he was downright worried when he saw she had her hand resting where her wound was.

Uncertain about getting physical when she was so clearly agitated, he called, “Baby, come here.”

Her eyes moved to him. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it before she got a word out.

He still caught the look in her eye and it was one he couldn’t read again. This one was bad.

“Francesca, come here,” he repeated.

“I need alone time,” she stated, her voice dead, her feet still moving her around the room in a twitchy way he did not like.

Cara, you don’t need that,” he told her. “You need more coffee, breakfast, and to sit down at the kitchen table with people who give a shit about you.”

“Everything okay?”

This came from the door where Asheeka was standing, eyes on Frankie.

They moved to Benny when he said, “Got this, darlin’. Be down in a minute.”

She bit her lip, looked to her girl, hesitated indecisively, then nodded in a way that Benny knew she didn’t like doing it. After that, she disappeared.

Frankie paced throughout this.

Benny approached, gently pulled her in his arms, and put a stop to it.

She didn’t put her arms around him, nor did she remove her hand from her middle.

“You got pain?” he asked.

“I was premature in upping my doctor-ordered exercise to a dramatic dash up a flight of stairs,” she answered.

Fucking Nat.

“Right. Then I’ll carry you downstairs, you’ll lie on the couch, eat Ma’s pancakes, visit with people who give a shit about you, and after they’re gone, you can give me what’s right now fuckin’ with your head.”

Her gaze moved to his and he could easily read what was in it before she hid it.

Panic.

He didn’t get that, but he did get he had to conquer it. Not later.

Now.

So he drew her cautiously closer. “Frankie?”

She looked to his shoulder. “You’re right. Pancakes would be good.”

“Francesca.”

Her eyes lifted to his and they were carefully blank.

Oh yeah, he had to conquer that.

Now.

“Maybe we should talk right now about what happened downstairs,” he suggested.

“Vinnie’s here. I should talk to him.”

“He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

She shook her head, her eyes drifting away, but he got them back by giving her a light squeeze.

“She’s Nat,” she surprised him by whispering the second she caught his eye. “She’s been married to Davey for five years, with him for three before that, and I know of four times she’s stepped out on him. There’s probably more. And he’s a good guy. If she’s not screwing around on him, and he’s not pissed and tryin’ to save face by puttin’ her out when everyone knows he’s gonna take her back, he treats her like gold. They don’t have it great, but they’re not starving. They got a decent place. But bottom line, he loves her. What more does she need? What’s she lookin’ for?”

Her words so closely followed his earlier train of thought about his brother, Benny found it disturbing. At the same time, it stirred something deep in his gut, which was a place he felt a variety of things stir when it came to Frankie.

But this one went deeper.

Frankie kept talking.

“I know she learned that shit from my parents, thinkin’ it’s okay to have your fun however it comes and the people around you who love you will put up with your shit or bail, and if they bail, it’s no skin off your nose. You just keep on findin’ your fun and you don’t think a thought about the people who love you that you’re hurting in the meantime.”

“Babe—” he started, but she was on a roll and she wasn’t ready to quit.

“And she’s my sister and that scene played out in front of your folks who don’t get that. They’ve been together for decades and they have been because they know what’s important. And they made Carm, who’s been tied to her man for twelve years and wouldn’t even think about lookin’ at another guy. Hell, the four years she was with him before they got married, she wouldn’t do it.”

Benny was just disturbed at hearing her talk about his sister and her man and the time they’d been together, and how at the beginning of that time Frankie was not a part of their lives.

But she wasn’t done.

“She’ll never grow out of that shit. She’ll never wake up. She brought her shit to your door, it got ugly, but in six months or two years or whenever she fucks up again, she will not hesitate to do it again. Who does that?”

“Francesc—”

“My family,” she answered her own question. “They do that shit. Cat’s almost as bad but in her own unique way. And right now, Enzo has two women who both say they’re pregnant with his kid. They live in two different states and he’s currently shacked up with another woman who luckily isn’t knocked up…yet. And he’s only twenty-eight.”

“Can I talk?” he asked when she fell momentarily silent.

“What’s there to say?” she asked back. “That was embarrassing.”

His brows drew together. “How was that embarrassing?”

“Ben” —she threw a hand out— “that happened in your house, in front of you, your folks. She even called Asheeka a bitch and she’s never even met Asheeka.”

“Yeah, that happened and she did that. She did. Nat. That doesn’t reflect on you.”

“She’s blood.”

“And Vinnie’s my blood. Does him bein’ in the mob reflect on me? My family?” he returned and knew he scored when she clamped her mouth shut. “No. I think we all learned the hard way not to take that on or pile that shit on someone who doesn’t deserve it.” He gave her a careful squeeze. “So don’t take that on.”

She turned her head to the side.

“Francesca” —he drew her closer— “do not take that shit on.”

She kept her gaze aimed to the side.

“Baby, put your arms around me and look at me.”

She remained unmoving.

“Francesca, cara, put your arms around me and look at me.”

He watched and felt her heave a sigh, and being Frankie, she didn’t do what she was told. But at least she lifted both hands, rested them on his chest, and gave him her eyes. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was something.

“Do not take that shit on,” he whispered.

He saw it again, something moving over her face, shifting in her eyes. This was bigger, weighty. He thought she was going to say something, give it to him, explain it, and he felt her body tensing as if she was going to share the weight, let it go.

But she relaxed and said, “I’m hungry.”

Benny had to admit, he was disappointed. But she’d opened up before closing down and he felt it wise at that juncture to take what she gave freely and not push for more.

So he asked, “You good?”

“Yes,” she lied immediately.

“You aren’t,” he replied. “But you are full of shit.”

Fire danced in her eyes as they started to narrow.

That made him feel better.

“We’ll talk more when we don’t have a house full of people,” he told her.

“An alternate and slightly more enjoyable plan than talking about my family or anything you might want to talk about when you don’t have a house full of people, you tear my fingernails out by their roots.”

He grinned and pulled her as close as he felt safe. “You do know you just get it over with, give in to it, let me in, you could get to the good parts.”

He knew she was done when she shut it down. “I’m too hungry to have this conversation.”

“Too hungry, maybe. Too chicken, definitely.”

Her eyes narrowed again, right to squinty, and Benny had to bite back laughter.

Fuck, as hard as she could be, she was easy.

“I’m not chicken. I’m hungry.”

“Total chicken.”

“Am not.”

“Absolutely are.”

Her eyes went to slits. “You make clucking noises, I’m kicking you in the shin.”

He let himself smile as he asked, “You gonna suck it up and talk to me later?”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Chicken,” he teased.

“Am not!” she snapped, getting louder, and that was when he let himself laugh, he just did it silently.

When he quit laughing, he reminded her of something he told her the night before, “Cal, Vi, and the girls’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Shit. Right,” she muttered.

“Right then. Plan,” he stated, and she focused on him. “You got today with Ma and Pop. You got tomorrow with Cal and his girls. Monday, you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go out to dinner. Neutral ground for you. Change of scenery. We’ll talk where you’ll feel safe.”

She stiffened in his arms. “Are you talking a date?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

She stiffened more. “Ben—”

He dipped his face to hers and he was straight-up serious when he said, “Honest to God, all I’ve done to you, what you know you mean to me, do you think in a million years I’d make anything tough on you?”

She closed her eyes.

“I wouldn’t,” he answered his own question.

She opened her eyes.

“I get you’re scared and I know why. But if I didn’t have somethin’ to offer that I’m gonna bust my balls to make good, somethin’ I know in my gut you want, same as me, this would be goin’ a whole lot differently. I haven’t earned it, baby. I don’t even fuckin’ deserve it. But I gotta ask you to trust me anyway.”

“Okay,” she whispered, straight up, right there, no hesitation.

Jesus. That felt good.

He couldn’t let that feeling settle.

He somehow got her where he wanted her; he had to press his advantage.

So he asked, “Monday?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

Thank fuck.

He knew he’d be pushing it to kiss her, as bad as he wanted that mouth.

It killed, but he didn’t kiss her.

He still gave himself a taste of her by dipping his head further and touching his lips to hers.

He lifted it and said, “Pancakes.”

She relaxed in his arms and nodded.

He let her loose only to bend and lift her in his arms.

Then he took her downstairs so she could have pancakes.

***

An hour and a half later, while Theresa was in the kitchen doing dishes, Frankie was lying flat out on the couch, her mass of hair spread on the armrest where her head was resting, smiling huge at something Vinnie said to be funny.

He’d been right. She didn’t make his pop work for it. Not even for a second. And she did this two seconds after Benny had put her on that couch and she asked his pop if he minded getting her a “cup of joe,” like she did the same the day before and the day before that.

His father had grinned, openly showing his relief, then shocked the shit out of him and his ma by getting it for her.

It was while Frankie was smiling at Vinnie Senior that Asheeka made a move to leave.

Benny waited until the good-byes were said, hand squeezes were given to Frankie, hugs to Vinnie, then he stood and murmured, “Walk you out.”

Frankie gave him a look.

Asheeka gave Frankie a look before she moved her look to Benny.

But Benny held her eyes, and with nothing for it, she moved to the door, him following, her calling her good-bye to Theresa on her way out.

He walked with her to a flash black Land Rover parked at the curb.

“Sales are good,” he noted, eyes on her truck.

“I’m not complaining,” she replied, feet firm on the sidewalk.

He moved his gaze to her. “Got anything for me to go on in there?” he asked straight up. He had no time to beat around the bush, no inclination, and no skills with that shit.

She crossed her arms on her chest and studied him.

He read her as quiet, a little shy, but not dumb.

With what she said next, he’d learn he was right about the last, and she could get beyond the first two.

“You do know with that question, you’re askin’ me to break the sacred sister trust.”

“I know.”

“Don’t know you, but she’s my girl.”

“Know that too.”

She fell into studying him again.

He didn’t have time for that either.

“You don’t know me so I’ll tell you. I get I’m puttin’ you on the spot, and I mean no offense when I also tell you I don’t give a fuck because the reason I’m doin’ it is important.”

She didn’t study him after that.

She said, “You know that commercial where the guy wakes up in half a bed, eats outta half a bowl of cereal, and sits on half a couch?”

He heard her. He got her. He lifted his chin to communicate that and tell her to get on with it.

She got on with it. “That’s our Frankie. Livin’ half a life. Doin’ it by choice. Now, way I see it, before, it was penance. Punishing herself for somethin’ that was not her fault. You all pullin’ out the stops to say she needs to let that go, I still see Frankie goin’ to sleep in half a bed and watchin’ her shows on half a couch.”

Yeah.

He heard her. He got her. And what she said made him uneasy.

“Why?” he asked.

“I read you right with the way you’re positionin’ yourself to be in her life, that’s the part you gotta figure out, sort it out, then show me you can fill her full of life. I’ll tell you, you do that, you’ll have my gratitude ’cause I’ve known her years and she can fake it real good. But you watch. You listen. She laughs half a laugh, even as she’s tryin’ to convince you it comes full. And every breath she takes is half a breath. Nobody can live like that, half breathing. And no person like Frankie Concetti should.

Benny felt his mouth get tight as his eyes moved to his house.

He then felt Asheeka get close and his gaze went back to her.

“It’s not your brother,” she said quietly. “She’ll use that as a shield to hold you back.” She shook her head. “It’s not him, though. It’s deeper. It’s why she chose him when, no offense, but the woman you and I know could have had more.” She held his gaze and whispered, “Think about that.”

She said nothing more and moved to the driver’s side of her vehicle.

Ben watched her pull out and his eyes remained on the road long after she was gone.

But his mind was on Frankie.

And his thoughts were troubled.

Because, suddenly, he couldn’t figure out if back in the day, when she was with Vinnie, if she was electric.

Or if she was desperate.

And he wondered, even back then, if every breath she took was half a breath.

By the time he made a move to his house, he had no answers.

All he knew was he had to find them.

***

Hours later, when everyone was long gone, Benny rested his back against pillows shoved up on the headboard of his bed, Frankie doing the same beside him. After thirty minutes of watching television, which was after ten minutes of Frankie bickering with him about why he was stretched out beside her and not downstairs on the couch, she declared, “I need you to take me home tomorrow.”

He turned eyes from the TV to her. “Why?”

“’Cause your ma brought me loungewear. I’m meeting Vi’s girls. I need better than loungewear.”

He turned his eyes back to the TV. “I think they know you were shot so I’d guess they won’t expect you in a ball gown.”

“I don’t want a ball gown. I don’t even own a ball gown. I want a nice dress.”

“I think they know you were shot,” he repeated to the TV. “So I’d guess they won’t expect you to be in a nice dress.”

“Do you have pressing matters to attend to tomorrow before they get here?” she asked.

“Nope,” he answered, feeling her attitude beginning to fill the room and fighting back a smile.

“So you aren’t making pizza for the governor?” she went on.

“Not that I know of,” he replied.

“Then it isn’t that your schedule is full that you can’t take me to my apartment to get a nice dress.”

He didn’t turn his eyes to her on that. He turned his whole torso to her and got her gaze when he did.

“You own a dress that won’t make my dick get hard?”

Her eyes got squinty, but her mouth stayed closed.

“Can I take that as a no?” he pushed.

“FYI, women don’t like it when men talk like that, Benny Bianchi.”

“Bullshit, Francesca Concetti. They fuckin’ love that shit.”

“Wrong,” she snapped.

“After our talk on Monday, when you come to your senses, I’ll give you more of that when I’m in the position to test the results of my theory.”

She straightened on her pillows. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

“When I’ve come to my senses,” she stated.

“Yep,” he replied.

“Do you try to piss me off?” she asked, and he grinned.

“You haven’t got that?”

“Why?” Her voice was pitching higher.

“You pissed is cute. It’s hot. And, just sayin’, it makes me hard.”

“Are you hard right now?”

“Be my pleasure, you wanna check.”

Abruptly, she leaned forward, pulled a pillow from behind her, swung it around, and slapped it against his chest.

Then she found it no longer in her hands and her body no longer up on pillows but on its back down the bed, her side pinned by his front and his face in hers.

“Do not move like that,” he growled, and she stared up at him, eyes wide, as he did.

“Benny.”

“I’m all for a pillow fight in three weeks when your stitches have dissolved, you don’t wake dazed and fightin’ pain, and I don’t have a heart attack every time you do somethin’ jerky or abrupt.”

“Ben—”

“You need to see to yourself, Francesca. You don’t, like I just demonstrated, I will.”

He watched it pass through her eyes. That good something he was getting meant he’d said or done something she liked, but she wasn’t going to give it to him straight out, and he felt her body relax against his.

“You got me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“You hurt yourself just now?” he pressed.

“No, Ben. It’s actually been a good day,” she told him.

“You woke rough,” he told her.

“I know. It was weird. But I rallied faster.”

“It worried me.”

He watched her entire face soften to a look that made beauty indescribable before she said, “Nat’s brand of good-morning notwithstanding, it’s the best day I’ve had since it happened.”

“You good with Pop?”

“Yeah, Benny.”

“Good.”

She was silent a moment before she asked, “You done being a hotheaded, protective, Italian guy?”

“I’m never done with that.”

At that, he felt her body melt against his and she whispered, “Ben,” but said no more.

He wasn’t done talking. Not with her body partly under his, her eyes on his, her hair all over his bed.

He had something to say.

So he said it.

“I wanna kiss you.”

Her body tensed, and not the bad way. The fucking good one. But she said nothing.

“You got until Monday,” he informed her.

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, and fuck, he wanted to kiss her even more.

Instead, carefully, gently, he rolled, taking her with him and pulling her up so he was, again, on his back on the pillows and she was tucked to his side, head to his chest.

Once he got her in place, it was Frankie who snaked her arm around his gut.

Progress. Fucking finally.

He aimed his eyes at the TV but said, “You wanna wear somethin’ nice for Vi and her girls, I’ll take you to your place in the morning.”

“Thanks, Benny,” she said softly, pressing closer to him.

He slid his fingers from her hip up her side, over her shoulder blade, and into her hair. Once there, he used his thumb to curl a lock around his finger again and again.

He felt her sigh and he knew it was half a sigh.

He also knew she was giving him more, but she was still holding back.

For now, he’d give her that play.

She had until Monday.



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