Mrs Mariano: Part 1

by L Neil

  My stomach flurries in excitement. I have almost forgotten why I came here.

  “Frank,” I breathe, “I need to talk to you.”

  But he is still too close, too distracting. I know that Sam thinks I should get in quickly, give Frank an explanation for calling my ex's mother but suddenly, I don’t think I can do this, not right now. I hadn’t even come up with a good enough excuse for it.

  His deep, husky voice whispers, “What is it?”

  His long white, linen shirt makes a faint scratching noise as he lifts his arm to tentatively reach for me.

  There is something else that’s bugging me anyway. Maybe I could take the opportunity to fix another problem.

  Before he touches me, I say, “I don’t want guards following me around anymore.”

  He snaps out of it so quickly, coming around to stand before me. Leaning his head down, his eyes scan my face, concerned. “What has happened?” He asks.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. I can’t dob on Dominic, for Alex’s sake but I still have a reason to not want to be followed everywhere all the time, damn it.

  He’s still watching me closely, trying to figure it out.

  “It’s just…unnecessary,” I point out, “and I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not unnecessary,” he argues, coolly dismissing me.

  “Yes, it is – Briggs isn’t a threat anymore and Manny doesn’t think there’s anyone else to be worried about. There’s no one else after Jimmy.”

  “You are married to me now. You know who I am, the risk you took by becoming my wife.”

  He paces. “I have many friends, sure. But I have as many enemies, if not more. I wouldn’t know where to begin if I were to list them for you.”

  I think about asking, “Well, what was the point in me marrying you?” but decide I'd better not.

  He grabs my hands with both of his and implores me, “Please, baby, it’s too dangerous. You cannot ask this of me.”

  I imagine spending every day for the rest of my life going through the same tiring charades with Dominic. “Frank,” I choke, “I can’t do this.”

  “How about we…compromise?” He offers calmly. He is afraid to push me too far, but I know he won’t bend too far on this.

  “I’m listening.”

  He takes a deep breath and thinks it through before he proposes, “Dominic will scope out any house, any store, any place you visit before you enter. And when he deems it safe, he will allow you in and he will wait outside.”

  I consider it for a moment. It’s pretty much what happens now anyway. Dominic obviously hasn’t been doing his job properly. Then again, I haven’t exactly been letting him.

  “How about…we do that, except for when I’m with someone like Manny, or my friends?”

  He drops my hands. “Will your brother or your friends know how to protect you from someone with a gun?” He seethes. “Or even a knife?”

  I clench my jaw, stopping myself from saying whichever words are threatening to spout out. Thunder crashes outside and the room is illuminated from the lightening.

  Jerry Vale begins to sing Mala Femmina and Frank sags in defeat. “Baby, I don’t want to fight.” He pulls me into a hug and rasps, “Okay, okay. You win. I will tell Dominic to cool it.”

  He lifts one of his hands to trace it along the side of my face and then begins to sway us to the music.

  CHAPTER 13

  Propeller

  During the next two weeks, I couldn’t seem to find a way to discuss the whole “Luke” situation with Frank. He seemed too distracted and hadn’t been home all too much, either. As someone who is supposedly mostly retired, I don’t really understand why. Then again, there is a lot about my husband that I still don’t know.

  Each day, I visited the apartment. The furniture was delivered over the first few days and I spent the past week shopping for décor, linen, basic toiletries and drinking glasses etc, for just in case we were to spend the night.

  To add the finishing touch, I headed east to the airpark where Frank used to work as a pilot when it was a small, operating airport and the brick wall that divides the entry way to the main room now has a large vintage plane propeller mounted on it. Much better than a television, in my opinion. Especially considering he doesn’t watch TV.

  I attended band prac and we wrote a new song together. As expected, the guys asked a tonne of questions about Frank and I had somehow managed to avoid giving too much away. They think I’m such a badass with Dominic and Marty following me around everywhere. They have no idea how annoying and overbearing it is.

  Manny and Silvia had me over for lunch the other day. Dominic didn’t give me as much space during this visit. At one point, he even picked Isabella up and looked to me, expecting some kind of protest. I mentally shrugged it off and continued to talk to my brother and sister-in-law.

  Whether I like it or not, he is Isabella’s grandfather. And come to think of it, I’m glad that she has someone like Dominic to protect her as fiercely as her own parents.

  When he did leave us for a moment, I told Silvia that I didn’t realise her father worked for Frank. She said, “Everyone works for Frank in some way,” and I suppose she had a point.

  When I went to Molly’s for lunch, Dominic did his sweep of the café and then let me go in by myself. Stacey watched him walk away from the store and without saying a word to me, she disappeared through the doors behind her. I thought perhaps she had a note to hand to me but then when she returned, Eddie stepped out too, wearing his work coveralls and a very concerned face.

  He was worried about me and I told him that there was no need to be. However, he didn’t seem very convinced.

  He asked how married life was treating me – in other words, how Frank was treating me. I told him that I hadn’t seen too much of my husband lately, actually. But when I did see him, everything was fine. What I didn’t tell him was that whenever we were together, we didn’t do much talking.

  One evening, I came back from the apartment as Frank finished his dinner. He got up, moved his dishes away, locked the doors and told me to sit on the edge of the table. I was just in time for dessert.

  Most nights, he came home after I had already gone to bed. Those nights, he would wake me with his lips and seeking fingers.

  The one night that I came home late – after band prac – it was my turn to wake him.

  I had never liked to go down on anyone before, but Frank is such a giver and I needed to show how much I appreciate him.

  He held me so tightly afterwards and grated, “You are more than I ever dreamed of…” and I found myself wanting to do it again.

  So yes, married life was fine.

  Apparently, Eddie goes to Molly’s every lunch break. He assures me that it’s not just because of me. I couldn’t help but smile. He is just too sweet.

  I am on my way there now, knowing that he will be having lunch there again today, probably hiding out the back, as usual. And it turns out that I am right.

  When he and Stacey reappear, he gives me another look of concern, but I smile and say, “I’m here for a chocolate éclair and a caramel milkshake.”

  Stacey’s nervous burst of laughter helps lighten the mood and Eddie’s own smile starts to sneak across his face. But then he says, “Sam wants to meet. He didn’t say what for.”

  We sit at a table while Stacey packages my lunch and prepares my milkshake. We both know that we can’t sit here long because although Dominic has given me space, he could return at any minute to pass on a message or something.

  “Where does he want to meet? When?” I ask, trying to sound cool.

  Surely there is nothing else Frank has done that I need to know about. I have sort of forgiven his visit to Luke. In a way, I decided it was for the best that I didn’t stick around anyhow. Luke was obviously no good for me.

  And perhaps I’m a fool and I should be more concerned but, as jealous as Frank is, I can’t see him hurting me or anyone that I
care about.

  “He wants to…go out,” Eddie says, confused. “Like, spend a night on the town. All three of us.”

  I return his puzzled look with my own, “Okay…umm…Frank will never be okay with that. I just…I don’t think I can.”

  “He said that whenever you have a free night, call Stacey and she can send us a message.”

  “Eddie,” I say, “you don’t have to do anything that Sam says, you know. I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place.”

  “I know,” he says, coyly looking down at the table, “but I want to.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. If I were single and not married to the most dangerous man in New Orleans, then I would think that he has a crush on me.

  But then maybe I’m wrong – maybe he likes Sam. Do I ask him about it? Would it offend him to ask him if he were gay?

  I should at least warn him about Sam again.

  “I think you should sit this one out. Eddie, I mean it. It’s not safe.”

  “Then why do you speak to him, meet with him? At least if I’m around, you’ll be safer.”

  I open my mouth to protest and although I didn’t get to say anything, I had unintentionally offended him anyway.

  He lowers the brows above his black eyes and says, “You think I can’t protect you?”

  “Eddie, no, it’s not that.” It’s that I can’t protect him. But saying that probably won’t be helpful either.

  Stacey places my lunch on the table. It’s in a bag and takeaway cup – she also knows I can’t stay.

  “I have to go,” I tell Eddie.

  He’s not upset anymore. In fact, he’s back to being worried for me.

  “Okay. But remember that you can contact me at any time. And please, if you do meet with him, I need to be there too. I know that you can’t have your guard around with you. At least if I’m there, you’ll be safer.”

  He has a point.

  “Okay. I’ll let you know.”

  He catches my arm gently as I stand to leave. “You’re not lying to me again, are you?”

  I smile, “No.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Damn it.

  ✽✽✽

  We got him. I can’t fucking believe it.

  It took all my restraint, all my self-control, to tear myself away from the bastard but I must go. I have a date with Helena tonight, my beautiful bride.

  I need to straighten up, wash my hands, maybe change my shirt – yes, one glance at my white button-up shows me that I did, in fact, stain it. Ah, not to worry – there are plenty more where that came from.

  I reach the top of the basement stairs and lock the door behind me.

  My men look to me in question – what now?

  I tell them, “No one is to go down there. I will deal with him later.” The fucker can wait in the soundproof basement for as long as I deem appropriate. A quick death is not in his cards, no.

  When I reach the apartment building, I shut off the car engine and Dominic jogs over to me. The need to throttle him is strong – he should be up there, protecting Helena, not down here on the sidewalk.

  I remind myself very quickly that it would be my stubborn wife’s doing. Still, I cannot keep my rage at bay, not completely. “Tell me you at least tried to do your job,” I snap at him, giving him pause.

  He swallows and knows better than to answer me.

  He joins me in the elevator which I had arranged to be fixed after the first time Helena came by. It was an unforgivable failure on my part that she had to walk up five flights of stairs that first day because the old shaft was out of order. How could I have been so careless and not investigated beforehand?

  The cage makes a screeching noise as it opens onto the fifth floor.

  I half expect Helena to greet me – surely, she could hear my arrival. Each step I take towards the closed apartment door, my unease deepens. If anything has happened to her, I will mete out every possible form of punishment upon Dominic, no matter how persuasive she would have been to make him leave her. He was supposed to stay outside of the apartment doors, at the very least, damn it!

  He opens the black, newly painted doors for me – without the need for a key! – and as I step inside, I realise that music is playing. Quite loudly too.

  The groove-rock song blasts and the knot in my chest dissolves. She couldn’t hear the elevator, that is all. My anxiety must have been so fierce that I failed to hear the music sooner.

  I round the brick wall and when I am inside apartment finally, my eyes narrow onto the most intriguing creature that has surely ever lived.

  I motion for Dominic to leave and he obliges. Then, I return my attention to her.

  She has a glass of red in her hand and she sways as a man sings, persuading her to “Burn brightly.” For someone who is usually a shy dancer, her hips are fluid as she dances to the rhythm of the drums.

  Her long, golden hair is curled at the ends and she is wearing a remarkably short black dress with long sleeves. The nails on her petite hands match her toes, painted a crimson red.

  My eyes greedily rake up her smooth, shapely legs that are pale in contrast against the black dress.

  I know that I should be inspecting the apartment, but I cannot, for the life of me, tear my gaze away. It is so rare to watch her without her knowledge and she is...mesmerising.

  I know that I will forever remember the sight of her like this, in this space, her silhouette dancing under the dim, warm lights.

  It’s black outside the large, paned windows, meaning anyone out there tonight who is looking our way could probably see her. A part of me wants to shut it all down – the thought of another ogling her instantly makes me jealous, protective. But this... it would be a crime to end it.

  Drawing near one of the columns, she reaches out with her free hand. She slides it across the surface as she spins halfway around it, halting when she realises that I am here.

  My breath hitches. The hunter is spotted by his prey.

  But she doesn’t shy away as I had expected. Instead, a mischievous grin slowly appears in her radiant face, making my body react so ardently, I cannot seem to be able to move to her.

  That’s ok, her eyes tell me, I’ll come to you.

  Halfway over, however, she snaps out if it. She presses her fingertips to her phone screen on the nearby side table, shutting the music off from whatever speakers she had installed and says, “So? What do you think?” Raising her arms, she presents her work to me.

  Her short attention span is maddening.

  The reddish-purple wine stain on her lips indicates that she has had her fill of alcohol. Her giddiness is crushingly sweet however and I decide that I can ravish her after she has shown me around.

  Remembering to reply, I murmur, “I think you should lock the doors behind you in future.”

  Ignoring my comment, she places her glass on the wooden surface of the oak coffee table and then saunters towards me again. Grabbing my hand, she leads me to the kitchen area.

  The tall black cabinets are a great fit against the brick wall and the matching island counter looks sturdy enough to fuck her on.

  I watch as she proudly shows me the bar fridge built into it. She doesn’t seem to notice that my eyes are all over her legs, begging her to lean forward just that little bit more so that I can peer at that sweet junction between her legs, beneath her short dress.

  I know that Wendy did not purchase this dress for her. It must have belonged to her already. I wonder who else has admired her in it?

  She’s peering at me again, expecting a response. I grunt in approval, not trusting myself to form a coherent sentence and she shows me to the dining set near the windows. The black provincial, cross back chairs match the industrial theme and the oak dining table also appears to be suitably sturdy.

  When she returns me to the space between the four pillars, my eyes catch sight of a three-blade propeller that has been mounted to the featured brick wall. My h
eart stops in my chest.

  Cara Mia!

  I spin to find her seated on one of the brown chesterfield sofas, the glass of wine back in her hand and her focus no longer on me.

  “We can’t sell this place,” I say, throat tight. I look around properly this time and take in the whole design – from the black geometrical pendants suspended from the high wooden beams in the ceiling, to the sleek kitchen with its sophisticated and minimalistic theme. From the masculine lounge to the painting of the window frames and panes - the dark paint that she was covered in the other day.