His Dirty Promises

by Fiona Murphy

  “I couldn’t believe him when he said it. If he finds a woman who matches him, then all the drama of love isn’t necessary. What the hell?”

  “He’s nuts. It’s also classic Enzo. He’s always been focused on pluses and minuses. I’m sure it’s what made him such a good soldier. Enzo can be a machine, operating on thought rather than emotion. How is the way he’s now looking for a wife any different than how he looks for a company to invest in?”

  “You know this is going to be a complete fucking disaster, right?”

  “No doubt. But it’s like he said not even a week ago: as family, we do what we can to mitigate the mistakes and are there for him when he screws up. We make sure his prenup is so air-fucking-tight the bitch regrets ever meeting him when she screws him over. When it’s over we keep our mouths shut on we told you so, and we’ll likely end up in the ring with him to work out his anger.”

  Che winces as he cups his cheek in memory of a blow landing from Enzo in one of their many sparring encounters in a ring. “It’s a good thing you put on more muscle. You’re going to need to get in the ring with him more. I have a family to go home to.”

  “Fuck you, his hands are made out of concrete. I’ll get in there as many times as you do.”

  His sigh is heavy. “Is there anything you think I could say to get him to rethink this?”

  “With Enzo?” I give him a look, he knows Enzo as well as I do. “No. You could try turning Alicia loose on him. She probably won’t get him change his mind, but maybe he’ll slow his roll long enough for the chick he settles on to rethink things until he meets the right one.”

  “I’ll consider it. You want to come by for dinner tonight?”

  “No thanks, the drive back is killer. I’m going to wrap up soon, another twenty minutes or so then I’ll call it a week.”

  “All right. But Sunday, you’re coming out. We’ll grill some steaks, you’ll play with Matteo, hang out with Alicia and Bethany.” It’s not an invitation.

  “Yeah, okay. Sunday, I’ll be there.” I’m not going to argue with him.

  I check the time; it’s only a little after five thirty. Damn, things have changed. It doesn’t matter it’s Friday, before Che fell for Alicia, at five thirty he’d only just be digging into work. Hell, even I wasn’t ready to call it a day until around six thirty or seven. With Alicia not working, he’s out the door earlier every day. I don’t resent it all, I’m happy for him.

  I can understand Enzo’s motivation, even if I think he’s nuts for how he’s going about it. The idea of having someone at home waiting for you, a kid who’s so damn adorable your heart swells until it scares you when that baby smiles at you with happiness. Yeah, as I sat there listening in shock to Enzo lay out his plan to find a wife, I understood why. Watching Alicia and Che together over the last few years, I’ve felt moments of envy for what they have.

  Pushing away from my desk, I’m done. I shut down for the day. As I have for the last three days, I push thoughts of Bethany away. Sunday will come soon enough. I wonder if it will look odd if I don’t offer to drive her to Che’s? The idea of spending an hour in a car with her there and back amounts to torture. Maybe she’ll want to drive herself. I hope so.

  ***

  Bethany

  I’m standing in front of the refrigerator wondering what in the world I want to eat. This should be easy, I’m starving, only nothing interests me. Nothing much has interested me over the last few days, stupid Dante Sabatini and his stupid dimples and big brown eyes and his stupid, stupid washboard abs.

  Would he at least text me to thank me for the suit and shirt? I’ve missed his texts. I’ve missed him. It’s crazy to miss him after only a few days, but those late-night phone calls... I’ve never been so honest with someone, never had honesty returned. I also might miss his snappy comebacks and fighting with him.

  Lord, I’m such a freak. All I was supposed to do was go in and put the suit and shirt in his bedroom. But nope, I wandered around his place for over an hour. I maybe climbed onto his bed and buried my face in his pillow, but only if it doesn’t sound as stalkerish as it felt when I realized what I was doing. It was pathetic the way I ran out of the condo to pick up the insanely priced suit and shirt when Claudine called to tell me they were ready. Good lord, seven thousand dollars? Most expensive cup of coffee ever. And one of the many reasons I’m not calling out for delivery, no matter how badly I don’t want to cook.

  The alert goes off for the elevator from Cesare’s office. I close the refrigerator as I go tense. Pulling out my cell phone, I check my ringer. It’s loud enough I’ll hear it but not annoying. I’m staring at it, grumbling stomach ignored as I wait for the text I hope will come. I give up hope, then the doorbell rings, scaring the shit out of me.

  I drop my phone with a wince-inducing clatter. I snatch it up off the floor; oh thank god, no cracks or even a scratch. With a shrug at what I’m wearing, I head for the door. I’m in silky lounge pants again, this time in pink, and a tight, thin white shirt, no bra. He deserves it. I look down to see my nipples are hard at the thought of him. Seriously? I run to my bedroom. There’s a looser thin black T-shirt on a chair. Putting it on, I move fast to the door.

  I open the door. Dante has only just turned toward his door. He’s dressed in loose gray sweats and a tight white T-shirt that makes his caramel skin glow. And holy crap, he has a tattoo sleeve down one arm. What? It’s a riot of color, roses, lilies, tulips, daisies, sunflowers, intertwined with green leaves that run down to a few inches before his wrist. I always thought tattoos weren’t sexy, I hereby stand corrected, I want to trace the tattoo with my tongue. Stop it. “Hi, did you want something?”

  He turns. “Was I interrupting something?”

  “Nope, I didn’t want you yelling at me for what I was wearing. What’s up?”

  Dang him, his eyes are roaming over me and fuck, I’m wet. “I told you it was unnecessary for you to replace the suit.”

  “I told you I pay my dues. You’re welcome.” It’s not easy to keep my eyes off his chest. I can see the bottom of another tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, and I can’t stop wondering what it is.

  His dimples are lethal to all thought of wanting him being a bad idea. I mean, it’s completely normal—it would be weirder to be so close to someone as ridiculously gorgeous as Dante Sabatini and not want him. For once, I’m completely normal when it comes to a guy. “Thank you.” Oh dear lord, my stomach growls loud. He chuckles. “I feel as though I owe you. Dinner? I haven’t eaten either. I was going to order something in.”

  Deep breath, don’t faint. “Sure.” Okay, sounds way too breathy.

  “Or we could go out.”

  “No, I’m starving. I don’t want to get dressed, delivery sounds good. Pizza or Chinese, I’m not picky.” I’m now worried my stomach is going to eat itself I’m so hungry.

  Dante leads the way back into his place. “I’m not a fan of Chinese, too much salt, way too many carbs.”

  In his kitchen he pulls out a stack of menus. I’m expecting small places, but holy crap, this place was written up in the Tribune last week. “You get delivery from these places?”

  He shrugs. “Even if I’m not in their restaurants they like saying I eat from them.”

  “I’m so hungry I almost don’t even care.” There’s too much choice, everything looks good. Then one place catches my eye. “Barbeque? There was a barbeque hole-in-the-wall right off campus so good I ate there twice a week. I miss it. Ooh, hot links.”

  He laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

  Dante Sabatini is bad for me, he indulges me with anything I even kind of show interest in. We order half the menu. Smoked turkey, how can I not try it? Turkey is healthy. Banana pudding is not, but the turkey evens it all out.

  Once he’s done ordering, he calls down to the front desk to let them know the delivery is coming. “Thirty to forty-five minutes, think you can wait?”

  “I guess.” I give a little sigh as I look around the kitchen.r />
  Opening the refrigerator, he pokes around inside. “I can do a caprese salad.”

  “Yes, please.”

  I slide onto the barstool as I watch him. Of course he has homemade mozzarella in his fridge. “What are you doing home so early? Where’s Enzo?”

  His sigh is heavy. “He’s on a date with a woman he’s hoping will become his wife within the next few months. So you know, keep your Saturdays open for a while.”

  “And that’s bad?” His whole body is tight with tension. It definitely sounds bad.

  He pushes the small salad across the counter to me. “Enzo’s thirty-eighth birthday is in three months. He plans on getting married before then. This is only the second time he’s even met the woman. Yet he’s already sure she’ll be the one. If he cared for the woman it would be great, but he doesn’t want to care. He wants kids, the wife is secondary. If he grows to care about her, great; if not then he keeps the kids and she gets a payout.”

  I stop chewing, afraid I’ll choke on the soft mozzarella and sweet tomato covered in tangy balsamic vinaigrette. Then, slowly, I breathe deep. It takes a minute to finish chewing then swallowing. “What the hell?”

  Running a hand through his hair, he leans against the counter. “My thought exactly.”

  “His wife is secondary? The mother of his kids, as in more than one, is just some brood mare?”

  “Enzo was especially close to our father. For years he said he wouldn’t marry, refusing to allow a woman to put him through what our father went through. I guess he changed his mind after Matteo. He wants the kids, but he still doesn’t want the wife.”

  “What happened with your mom and dad?” I blurt the words out, and I wince when I realize what I said. “Never mind—”

  Another hand goes through his hair before he sighs. “It’s okay, I understand the question. After my mother got pregnant with me my father got a vasectomy against my mother’s wishes. He was a prosecutor in the district attorney’s office. He did okay, but he was paying for Catholic school tuition, a big house in Lakeview and my mom never met a dress she didn’t like. She had a real estate license she used casually to sell a few houses when her credit card bills came due. Dad felt three kids were enough, all he could afford. Then there was the fact my mom liked babies. When we got old enough to not be so cute anymore or easily managed she lost interest. Cooking, cleaning, rearing, all of it fell to my father.”

  I shake my head. Sounds nuts to me. Dante nods in response. “None of those things mattered to my mother. She felt my father taking away the choice of another child was him taking her voice away in their marriage. The love she felt for him became twisted. By the time I was old enough to know what was going on my mom was already spending nights, sometimes weekends, away with one boyfriend or another. A few times she swore she was leaving him only to come home a few days later. My father refused to let her go; on and on he said she was the love his life, he couldn’t live without her.

  “The last time, though, was different.” He shakes his head. His eyes are down but I know he’s only seeing the past, gone from the present. “No one knew my father tried a case improperly and was fired for it. Dad loved his job only slightly less than he loved my mom and us kids. What he did was a part of who he was. His boss allowed Dad to resign rather than actually fire him. We noticed Dad hanging around the house; he said he took vacation time. My mom came home, and this time she came with a truck. Before, she had never done more than pack a suitcase. The boyfriend was a rich guy, completely loaded. He was going to take care of the divorce and her, and if Dad didn’t let her go quietly, she’d take us kids too. Dad put us to bed. Then he took his gun and went after my mom.”

  “Jesus.” I exhale the word. Holy motherfucking crap. The doorbell goes off. I’m glad I have a few seconds to myself as I try to compute the horror of it all.

  “Still hungry? You didn’t lose your appetite?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I get the curiosity. Even though most of the time I think I understand why, without ever excusing what he did, there are still times when it keeps me up at night wondering how the hell he went from kind, gentle, going on and on about how a woman’s feelings were to be treated as softly as her body from anger, or a fist. He not only said it, he lived it, he rarely ever raised his voice in anger to us kids or my mom. When I heard them screaming at each other I knew something was wrong. I just never knew how wrong.” He begins pulling out box after box from the large paper bag. “Come on, help me with this, I’ll never be able to eat half of it.”

  “Yay, they gave us pickles.” Okay, I’m two octaves higher than normal trying to pretend like I’m not still completely freaked out from what Dante told me. Deep breath take it down a notch. “I hope they’re sour, I love sour pickles.” I snag a few pickles, yes, sour. I grab a few plates from the cupboard. We load our plates up, me with plenty of brisket, hot links, turkey, pickles, a small spoonful of beans, a few pieces of bread, and a large cup of barbeque sauce.

  “You don’t like coleslaw or macaroni salad?” He offers me the small containers.

  I shake my head. “I hate mayonnaise salads. I don’t mind it on a sandwich or hamburger, but I think it’s icky. I also don’t like potato salad.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? I hate it too.” He grabs a pitcher from the refrigerator. “Sweet tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He pours a glass then hands it to me. I take it with my plate over to the long worn wooden table. I’m trying to focus on my food, not on how he sits down right in front of me. We don’t talk as we eat, both focusing on our food. It isn’t until Dante gets up for seconds he says anything, asking me if I want something else.

  “More tea and another piece of bread, please and thank you.”

  The pitcher is brought to the table, where he refills my glass then his. “I’m glad you picked this restaurant. It’s been over a year since I had barbeque. I can’t think why it’s been so long.”

  “Probably because the sides are horrendous. It’s not easy to come up with a healthy side. I love this, but I’ll be feeling guilty for a few days. Although this turkey is better than I thought it would, it’s nice and moist.”

  “You know you’re taking this home, right? I don’t usually eat leftovers.”

  “I don’t want the sides. I’m only eating the beans because all meat with a lot of pickles isn’t a balanced meal.”

  His chuckle tickles my tummy. “A spoonful of beans makes it all better?”

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Along with banana pudding counts as a fruit.”

  He laughs. “Are you hinting you’re ready for dessert?”

  “Ding, ding, ding, two points for Gryffindor.”

  Shaking his head, he takes my plate and his into the kitchen. “I’m not Gryffindor. I’m Hufflepuff.”

  “Me too! And you say it with pride. I’m impressed. No one ever wants to think of themselves as anything but Gryffindor. Ravenclaw is like the only acceptable alternative.”

  An eyebrow goes up. “Do you have a wand?”

  “Okay, if I had a wand I would never let you play with it, and you totally deep down would want to. I do not have a wand. I do have a robe because those things are comfy as fuck, and a scarf I knitted with my own two hands. I used to love knitting but I haven’t done it in a while. All these people in class assumed I was going to knit them stuff for free.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I love the way his brown eyes go wide, the better to drown in them. “Yes, I couldn’t believe it at first. It’s how I ended up knitting half a dozen scarves for free. Eventually I got better at saying no or demanding the money upfront for the yarn. After the tenth time I got called a bitch for not wanting to knit something for free, I stopped bringing my knitting to class. It was good for when I got fidgety. I could do it without even looking. It was also a way I made money on the side. I had an online store where I sold everything from scarves to hats to doggy sweate
rs which I started making for Grover.

  “I’m sad Grover loves Alicia and Cesare more now. For like five minutes I wondered if I could ask for him to live with me, but he adores Cesare. And I think deep down Cesare likes him too. I don’t want to make anyone sad.”

  “Grover is rather attached to Che. Have you considered getting a new dog now that you have a home and a place where one is allowed?”

  I hesitate for two seconds. “Not yet. I’m not going to live here long, maybe six or seven months. It’s not a good idea to bring an animal into a home if you’re going to move soon, animals hate change.”

  “Why are you going to move? Che was clear, the condo is your home now.” He’s loud and his eyes are wide.

  I shrug; I wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. “It’s not my home. It’s Cesare’s and Alicia’s. I don’t feel comfortable enough to even put my feet on the sofa. Once I find a job and have an idea of what I can afford, I’ll look for somewhere of my own. I might even have enough to put a down payment on a condo. Minus the ridiculous cost of your suit.”

  He shakes his head. “I know for a fact Alicia told you to redo the condo to fit your tastes.”

  “Don’t get loud with me. I would have to spend a fortune to turn it into somewhere I would feel comfortable. In the back of my mind I would always be waiting for Alicia and Cesare to take it back. It’s not crazy for me to want to make my own home on my own terms.” I’m trying to enjoy my creamy sweet pudding, only it’s hard when Dante is getting loud.

  “It’s crazy to turn down over ten thousand square feet in one of the best buildings in the city for some eight hundred square foot walk-up without a doorman in a sketch area for your pride.” He’s yelling now.

  “You are not loud you’re yelling, stop it, you are ruining my dessert time.”

  He sighs, then takes a deep breath as he runs his hand through his hair. I’m such a weirdo for getting turned on by his passionate response. What would he be like in bed? I mean other than the skill, what would he look like, his hair mussed, his eyes sleepy? “Bethany?” Our eyes meet for a split second. Oh shit, he knows, he fucking knows what I’m thinking. “Eat your dessert.”