by Kelly Wood
“I’m in Vegas for an interview with Frank Donato at the Magari, Mrs. Thomas.” I focused on the work aspect of our trip since Gray’s parents were still in dark about our upcoming nuptials.
“My, my, I still find it so out of place.”
“What’s out of place?” I quickly checked my dress for spots or twists. Seeing I was in the clear, I looked around me. Everything looked fine to me.
“Women in the workplace.”
A time machine must have turned the clock back fifty years. The differences between Gray’s and my childhoods were very obvious when we came here to visit. It was never blatant rudeness, but always little jabs here and there, like this one. I came from a working family. Most of the women worked, my sister Peyton was the exception as a stay-at-home mom.
Gray had always kept our time in Vegas to short one or two-day stops. In the past, I had never understood why. At moments like this, I realized that I owed Gray a big, fat thank you for keeping me away. I reined in my righteousness and responded with sugar in my voice.
“I minored in Feminism, Mrs. Thomas. I think women in the workplace may be considered progress.” I smiled sweetly.
“Mother, I hope you are speaking kindly to my fiancée,” Gray said. He stepped in to save me. He was great at not leaving me alone with his mother for long. Three sets of eyes shot my way when Gray said ‘fiancée,’ but nobody commented on it. Yet. The tension built at the table. I braced myself for the fallout.
“Oh, leave her alone, Mary Francis,” Gray’s father Michael said, patting her shoulder with his hand. I sipped my wine, needing the movement as a distraction. Michael winked at me, acknowledging his role in covering the moment.
“You’re working for Frank Donato? My, my, girl, you better keep your head about you!” Uncle Bob broke into a whooping laugh so loud that everyone in the dining room stopped talking and turned to stare at our table.
Bob leaned forward and slapped my back as the laughter continued. I spit my red wine across the table all over Mrs. Thomas. The only sounds to be heard were Uncle Bob’s braying like a coyote and my choking as a bit of the wine trickled down my throat. A nervous laugh bubbled inside of me as I stared at Mary Francis. She held her arms out with disgust. Blotches of red wine covered her white dress. Bob grabbed my wrist, shaking my arm back and forth with his laughter. The wine in my glass sloshed over each side, in turn, covering the white tablecloth, too.
I caught Gray trying to hide a smile behind his hand. His other hand was rubbing my back, trying to help me stop choking. My body was still being jerked back and forth.
At the sight of the spilled wine, Uncle Bob let go of me, clutched his stomach and laughed even louder. I stared at him wide-eyed, wondering how a little man could be so loud. Bob’s chair tipped back and fell over from his uncontrollable laughter. I couldn’t help but join in the laughter. The man was infectious. The sight was so out of place in the formal dining room that I couldn’t contain my glee.
I felt the sting of Mary Francis’s glare but didn't dare to look up at her until I regained control of myself.
“Bob, enough. You sound like a barnyard animal,” Michael said.
I laughed at that. Bob did sound like a donkey. His laugh was obnoxious. It just made me laugh harder. I clutched my sides as I guffawed with him, each of us egging the other on. Bob could barely right his chair and sit back down from his braying. My sides ached, and I needed a breath, but I couldn’t calm myself.
Gray’s mother got up from the table and stormed off. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself, but I made the mistake of looking over at Uncle Bob. We both started up again. Gray hid his chuckles behind his hand.
“Get it out of your systems before Mother gets back,” Gray said. He kept a straight face, but I could see the laughter in his eyes.
“Regan, it’s hard to shock Mary Francis, but I think you accomplished that tonight,” Michael said. Now that Mary Francis was away from the table, Michael was openly chuckling. “Sometimes, she needs a little shock to the system to loosen her up a bit.”
“I’m...sor...sorry. I truly am,” I said, although I struggled to get the words out.
“No worries, Regan. We all know Bob’s laugh can shock the habit off a nun,” Michael said.
“Regan, my girl, I like you,” Bob said as he slapped my back again.
Once we had all calmed down, the staff swept in and cleared and reset our table at record speed. Mary Francis rejoined us wearing a new dress.
“Mother, you look lovely,” Gray said, his tone subdued again.
“Thank you. I was lucky the Pro Shop keeps an array of clothes available.”
I have never called my mom anything but, well, Mom. Never mother unless I am joking around with her. A mom is what she is. I can always picture her barefoot in the kitchen, covered in flour and rolling out fresh dough for chicken and noodles. Or cutting up apples to make a pie just because it sounded good. Store-bought is not in her vocabulary. If wine had been spilled on my mom’s shirt, she would have laughed with us and kept on wearing the shirt. She was a roll-with-the-punches kind of gal.
“Mother, please don’t hold it against my fiancée. Let’s all have a wonderful time tonight,” Gray said.
“Did you say fiancée?” Mary Francis shrieked. Her tone more abrasive than nails on a chalkboard. I grimaced. I’d never heard her raise her voice before. I didn’t know whether to be proud that I had gotten her to do it or to be mortified that the thought of me as a daughter-in-law was what broke her.
“Yes,” Gray said. He draped his arm over my shoulders. I leaned into him.
“But...but...she’s from a...farm,” Mary Francis said.
I stifled a laugh at her use of the word “farm” like it was a four-letter word. Well, you know, that kind of four-letter word. It was fascinating to watch her perfectly crafted veneer crack. Emotions flew across her face. Disgust, disbelief, outrage, and anger fluttered across her features before she was able to put her mask back on. She may have controlled herself here, but I knew a blow up would be coming Gray’s way later, in private.
Gray nudged my leg with his foot. I pulled back and kicked him, but my plan was ruined when Uncle Bob yelped and reached for his leg. I took this moment to excuse myself to let Gray handle his mother. I could hear her comment that I wasn’t anybody important. Gray gave a flippant “who cares.” I turned back to watch them for a moment and laughed. Gray may fight as hard as he could not to be like his family, but he and his mother used the same hand gestures when arguing.
I headed to the ladies’ room to freshen up and let everyone absorb the bombshell that Gray had dropped. We hadn’t set a date, but the plan was to marry out here since it was so convenient in Vegas. We just needed to decide on when and where, and to let my family know so they could fly out.
I didn’t hold it against him in the slightest that he used the information to disarm his family. I just wish I’d had some warning that he was going to drop the bomb tonight. I could’ve taken more pleasure in his mother’s reaction.
The women’s lounge was larger than my first apartment in Chicago. And my second. I picked one of the private vanity areas and sat down to wait. I washed my hands and freshened up my lips. I took off my shoes and stretched my feet. The heels were causing a bit of pain, but nothing major. I checked my make-up one more time, sang the ABCs, put everything back in my purse and exited the restroom.
“You’re good for him,” Bob said. I jumped back in alarm. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door. Bob leaned against the wall next to the door to the restroom.
“Thank you, I think. You scared the crap out me,” I said. My hand covered my heart, trying to keep it inside of the chest.
“Sorry. I just wanted a moment alone with you. And a moment away from them. My sister is a real piece of work.” Bob hooked my arm through his and started to escort me back to the dining area. “You are everything Gray needs. He takes life too seriously, you aren’t afraid to let loose and la
ugh. He needs that.”
Gray took life too seriously? He and I joked around together almost constantly. The only time he was serious was with his family.
“Gray and I do have fun together,” I said tentatively. Bob may have come across as the polar opposite from his sister, but I didn’t want to risk being fooled. I’d been burned by this group before.
“You need to watch yourself over at the Magari. Has Gray told you?” Bob asked.
“Yes, he has. I find it hard to wrap my mind around.”
“You may find it difficult, but it’s true. Those men are dangerous. Watch yourself.”
“And what about Mr. Thomas?” I asked.
“He is just as dangerous, but lucky for you, he would do anything to protect Gray. That means protecting you, too.” Bob patted my hand with his. “If you ever need anything, I’m your guy. Just call me.”
Your guy? Bob emphasized the words giving me a flashback to Chicago. Gray and I were caught up in an escort ring and needed more information on the players involved. At the time, Gray had said he had ‘a guy.’ Whoever it was came through, delivering background and insight. Bob slipped a piece of paper into my hand discreetly. I made a fist, hiding the evidence inside.
“I think I liked the loud Bob better,” I said.
“Everyone always does.”
Chapter Seven
Frank June 1988
The flash of a camera blinded Franky as he took a drag off his cigarette, enjoying the burn in his throat before exhaling. Franky blinked a few times until his sight returned. He lifted his shoulder in a shrug, stretching the muscle and then relaxing it. He wanted to swing his arm around and give it a good stretch to loosen it up but feared the shirt would rip at the seams. His old man had about pulled his shoulder out of the socket last night in his drunken rage. That was the last good move the bastard got in. Franky looked down at his right hand. His knuckles were torn up, swollen and bruised from his father’s teeth. Franky stretched his hand open, extending all of his fingers before relaxing it again. Pain shot through his knuckles, but the pain was worth it. Who was he kidding, using the word father? The only thing the drunk had taught him was how to take a beating, smoke cigarettes and drink cheap beer. Not that he’d be doing any of those things for a long time. Right now, dear old Dad was laid up in the hospital with six broken bones. Hell would freeze over before he ever got close to Franky or his mother again if Franky had something to say about it.
His mother had begged him to stop hitting his dad, but the rage had taken over. A giant couldn’t have pulled him off. The man had hit his mother for the last time. Only the cops at the door had stopped him from killing his father last night. Thankfully, they were on Mr. Bianchi’s payroll. The two uniforms had looked the other way and not arrested Franky.
Franky’s eyes burned, and his breath hitched. He fought against the rush of emotion. How the hell could he feel anything for the old guy? But, it was there. Not feelings of love itself for his old man, but feelings of loss for not having a real father. He glanced over at Guy, Sal, and Tony. The three of them hovered around their father, laughing and joking. Pride flashed in Bianchi’s eyes as he looked back at his sons. Jealousy flushed through Franky’s body, replacing the feelings of loss. Those punks didn’t even know how good they had it. Franky took another drag.
“Hey, DW, wait by the car. Pops doesn’t want to stay for the whole show,” Sal Bianchi yelled back to Frank.
Franky raised his arm in acknowledgment but didn’t reply to Sal. Sal was a thug through and through. He thought he was invincible because of who his old man was. Antonio Bianchi spent more time cleaning up Sal’s messes than managing the family. Just last week, Antonio had called Franky in to clean up a mess for Sal. Sal had taken it upon himself to tune up Tammy, a hooker who hadn’t been paying her fees. The moron had tried to fix a problem that wasn’t a problem. Tammy’s sister had taken ill, so she had split town for a few days to take care of her. She’d paid up to date the minute she’d returned, but Sal didn’t get the message. He was trying to show Antonio how valuable he was at handling family business and had ended up costing Antonio two weeks of work from Tammy. Franky had brought in the doctor and cleaned her up. He’d spent two days there helping her recover from her wounds. Her voice would never be the same. Sal had choked her until she passed out, which was probably a blessing for her since she didn’t feel the other blows coming. Sal had left her black and blue. Moron. If he weren’t Antonio’s oldest, Franky would shoot him himself, but it’d be a death sentence to Franky. Nobody touched a Bianchi.
Franky walked around the car, intending to pull it into a parking spot, but a limo blocked his way. He leaned against the passenger door to wait. He wasn’t in a hurry anyway. He had a solid hour before Antonio would want to sneak out of the show. Antonio never stayed anywhere for the length of time he promised. He called it an insurance policy. If everyone knew where and when he would be, his permanent residence would be six feet under.
The driver of the limo walked around and opened the back door. Garrett Costa stepped out. He straightened his tux and then reached his hand back to help his wife out of the limo. Franky shivered at the sight of Costa. He found Mr. Costa to be one of the scariest men he had ever met. Even scarier than Antonio. Not that he’d ever say that to Antonio. Or near Antonio. Antonio was like a bulldog, even more than his short, squat, muscled stature showed. You knew Antonio could do damage and inflict fear and pain. Antonio’s power was raw. Mr. Costa was the complete opposite of Antonio, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. People saw Costa and let their guard down. He was poised and polished, so those around him took for granted what was underneath. One day others would see what Franky could now.
Costa’s wife stepped out of the limo. She was a princess if Franky had ever seen one. Beautiful and spiteful. He had heard stories about her tantrums. She got what she wanted, when she wanted it, and no one was stopping her. Franky found her annoying. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Breaking things to get Daddy’s attention seemed pointless. If you wanted something, go out and get it, don’t cry and stomp your foot. But, it seemed to work for Mrs. Costa. From the rumors, she always got what she wanted.
Franky dropped his cigarette, but before he could look down to stomp it out with the toe of his boot, the woman exiting the limo behind Mrs. Costa caught his attention. She was beautiful. More than beautiful. A goddess. The most enchanting woman Franky’d ever seen. Well, girl, he thought. She looked a year or two younger than his nineteen years. Franky wanted her. He stood statue still, watching her pause to talk to the Costas. She must have felt his stare because she looked his way. Their eyes locked. Franky stopped breathing when she sent a tentative smile his way. Heat flushed Franky’s face, causing him to blush like a school girl. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. His gaze locked on hers. Color rose in her cheeks as she looked away and headed for the theater. She never looked back again.
Franky changed his mind about moving the car and stayed where he was, hoping to see the beauty again. Thoughts of her flooded his mind as he waited for Antonio. He paced the length of the car, deep in thought. How could he meet her? He needed to see her again. Oh, what was the point? What would she think of a lowly driver? She exited a limo while he was the guy always holding the door. And, he always would be if he didn’t step up and show Antonio he was worth keeping around. She was the beauty to his beast. Their worlds would only ever collide when she needed a lift somewhere. What was he thinking? He wasn’t good enough for her.
She was the kind of girl that you changed for. One you changed who you were to be with forever. The kind that made you dream of a house with kids and a dog. The kind of girl that made you want to come home at night. Franky’s mother used to be that kind of girl before his father broke her spirit. Now, even Franky didn’t want to come home at night. Seeing his mother cower in the corner was heartbreaking.
“Let’s go.”
Franky snapped his head up at the sound of Antonio’s voice.
He usually had to wait longer until Antonio was ready to sneak out. Franky wondered if something had spooked him.
“Excuse me? Antonio?” Garrett Costa came up behind Antonio. Frank had his hand on the pistol tucked into the back of his pants but paused before pulling it out. He took a step forward, placing his body between Antonio and Costa. Garrett Costa may not seem threatening now, in his expensive tuxedo, but the wolf in sheep’s clothing image fluttered through his head. Franky kept his hand on the gun, just in case.
“Do you mind if I have a moment of your time?” Costa asked Antonio, his voice smooth.
“Ya, ya, of course. You find the show as boring as me?” Antonio asked. Antonio’s voice sounded like he chewed on gravel compared to Costa’s.
Costa covered a grimace of dislike with a smooth smile while motioning Antonio to the side, away from Franky. Franky stepped back and leaned against the car casually but kept his eyes locked on the men and his hand on the butt of his gun. His muscles were tensed to spring into action, if needed. The families had been known to turn on one another in the past. The power shifts used to happen frequently, but since Antonio and Costa had taken over, the power had seemed more secure. Franky had heard enough about the past and had read enough in the newspapers to stay alert.
Costa looked completely at ease while Antonio had his guard up. The bulldog analogy still applied. Antonio’s hackles were raised, but Franky could see them slowly going down. As the conversation went on, Antonio’s body language slowly shifted. He took a step closer to Costa, squaring his shoulders to him instead of being turned away, preparing to bolt. Costa’s body never changed or shifted. He could have been discussing the weather, the show they had just left, or planning a massacre. The man always looked at ease and in control. It must be why he was able to gain control of the family at such a young age, barely pushing thirty years. He was definitely someone to pay attention to.
Franky studied Costa, taking in his body language and facial expressions. Franky felt that he could learn a lot from the man, even from a distance. Franky recognized the looks he got from strangers passing him on the street. Franky exuded danger. His face always reflected that of a boxer going in for the knockout punch. Fearless. Determined. Scary. He had used it to his advantage in the past, but now realized the benefits of blending in more. He didn’t plan on being just the muscle for Antonio. He wanted a piece of the pie, and he was smart enough to know that he needed to grow into what the boss was looking for in a partner.