by Sam Mariano
Slowly exhaling, Francesca shakes her head, looking down at her pancakes. She isn’t eating anymore, but she hasn’t pushed her plate away. “That was an insane thing to do, Salvatore.”
I shrug. “How else would I ever know?”
“And what did he say?”
“Wasn’t him. Wasn’t his crew. It was a skeleton crew hired, all of them believing they worked for Delmonico, because we all know if an operation like this was going down under your brother’s command, he’d be the guy handling it.”
She nods her agreement, but she’s lost in thought. Maybe I shouldn’t weigh her down with all this shit.
“Anyway, Adrian said he’d help me out and if he stumbled across any information, he’d toss it my way. He found some information about Tito, the guy we think actually was behind what happened to Willow. I’ve got people looking into it now, but so far he hasn’t turned up. The new information hasn’t helped. But Adrian’s still keeping his ear to the ground in case he hears anything.”
Now she pushes her plate to the center of the table, anxiously running her hands over her face. “Sal, just because Mateo says he’s not involved doesn’t mean it’s true. My brother lies.”
“I know that. I believe him on this, though.”
She shakes her head, almost like she wants to argue with me—which she shouldn’t. Obviously she doesn’t want me at odds with her brother. “Getting Adrian involved is exactly something he would do to throw you off his scent. If Adrian helps you, he can easily convince you it’s someone else, even if it wasn’t. Oh, my god.”
“No, Francesca, it’s fine. I wasn’t sharing this to freak you out. It wasn’t Mateo.”
“No, it was his fucking henchman,” she says sharply. “This is exactly the kind of thing he does.”
Since she’s ready to go on an anti-Mateo tirade, I reach across the table and grab her hand, giving it a reassuring rub. “I know, Francesca. But it wasn’t him. I paid attention when I told him, plus it just doesn’t make sense. That’s why I went to him to begin with. My dad’s the one who has a problem with Mateo, not the other way around. Why would Mateo strike out like that, when he wants peace? Not to mention, he has a daughter. I don’t think he’d just randomly go after my dad’s teenage daughter to start a fight he doesn’t even want.”
“I hope you’re right,” she says, shaking her head.
“I am. It wasn’t your brother. He only acts with intent. This would’ve been a foolish thing to do, and your brother isn’t foolish.”
“God. Is your sister okay? Do you know where she was kept? Is it possible Delmonico went rogue? Is there anything in it for him? He reports back to Dante more than Mateo. Even Mateo prefers to delegate that shit. Could Dante want Mateo thrown under the bus? Dante gets control of the family if anyone ever kills Mateo.”
I have to frown at this. I can’t say I considered that. I immediately discarded the idea that Delmonico would’ve acted without Mateo’s permission, on the basis that Mateo would never fucking tolerate something like that. If there was a coup though, and Dante wanted Mateo taken out, baiting my dad—who already hates him—would be a damn good first step.
“Huh.” Still frowning, I look up at Francesca. “You know, I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?” Her eyes are alight with interest. She is way more into this than I expected. Maybe there’s a bit of Morelli blood in her veins, after all. “I mean, safely. Obviously don’t stick your nose into anything, but you could bring it to Adrian. He’ll look into it on his own. If there’s a threat to Mateo and you’re the one who helps uncover it, my brother will feel indebted to you.”
Ah, now I see why she’s so excited. Suddenly I’m smiling, grabbing my orange juice for another drink. “That would solve half our problem, wouldn’t it?”
“It might,” she says brightly. “Like you said, my brother wants things to be civil between you. Find a traitor in his midst and earn yourself some brownie points.”
It wouldn’t do a damn thing to solve the bigger problem—my father—but she looks so damn excited, I can’t bring myself to point it out.
Chapter Twelve
As happy as I wanna be to be back in Chicago, saying goodbye to Francesca is the worst part of my day. I got spoiled with over 24 hours of nonstop Francesca. I already want to see her later, so I suggest a late dinner, but she says no. Since she disappeared yesterday, she has to show up for dinner tonight so as not to arouse suspicion. She’s right; I just don’t want her to be. I don’t want it to be early afternoon and already know the soonest I’ll see her again is tomorrow night.
I’m not in the best mood when I finish my rounds and head home to see my dad.
To make matters worse, he’s taking forever coming to pick shit up. I just want to go home and kick back. I need to get in touch with Adrian, too. I should text Francesca and ask if he’s at dinner tonight. I hate to text him when he’s with Mateo, on the off chance he’d notice.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Ma’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She moves around the kitchen, wiping down the already clean counters.
“Nah, I’m just here to drop off some envelopes then I’m gonna get out of here.”
“I got a girl I want you to meet,” she tells me. “Nice girl. You remember Mary from church? Her daughter’s single now.”
“I don’t want to meet any girls, Ma.”
“But she’s a nice girl. Pretty, too. Beautiful smile. A dental hygienist. She won’t be single for long, I’ll tell you that much.”
Jesus Christ, what is taking so long?
“She’s good with kids, too. I guess Mary said the moms always ask for her special when they bring in little ones because she’s so good with them.”
I couldn’t give fewer fucks about Mary the dental hygienist. “I don’t want to meet Mary, Ma.”
“No, not Mary. Her daughter, Lila.”
“Nope, don’t want to meet her, either.” Before she can further argue the case of the new daughter-in-law she’s clearly eyeing up, I quickly ask, “Did you ever find your old recipe book with the peanut butter cake I like? I’ve been craving one.”
Adequately distracted, she launches into the boring-ass story of where she found her misplaced recipe book and how it ended up there. She promises to make me a cake for dessert on Sunday, but honestly now I’m just thinking about Francesca’s cupcakes. I don’t know if it’s the cupcakes I actually like or just the delivery system, but all of a sudden I need to talk to her. Tugging my phone out of my pocket, I shoot off a text to ask how her day’s going.
Since she texts me on a separate phone that she keeps hidden, her responses are rarely prompt. If it’s dead at the bakery, sometimes she’ll sneak in the back and send a few, but mostly she keeps me waiting around like an asshole. That shouldn’t make me smile, but it does.
God, I miss her. How do I miss her so much? I only spent one full day with her. I wonder how impossible it would be to get two full days. Or would that be worse? Would I then desire three?
Fuck.
I can’t stand not being able to take what I want. I have her, and yet I don’t. It’s fucking infuriating.
Dad finally deigns to grace us with his presence. I’m in sort of a shitty mood, thinking about all I have to do, all I want to do and can’t, and now I’m aggravated that Ma’s trying to set me up with some random woman when I have a great one she would love, if only she didn’t know her last name.
“Here ya go,” I say, pushing off the counter and handing the envelopes off to him.
“All square?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Ma pipes in, “I told Salvatore about Lila, but he doesn’t want to meet her. You need to talk to your son about the joys of marriage and family.”
Yeah fucking right. He’s the last man on earth who can lecture anyone about appreciating their family.
Since he already knows that, he barely glances at her in acknowledgement. His gaze lingers on me, a knowing sort of smugness on his fac
e. I will not participate in that bullshit. If he thinks I’m even remotely amused by his lifetime membership to the Asshole Cheaters of America Club, he is profoundly confused.
I head over to Ma, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Ma, but I can handle my own love life, all right?”
“You’re not leaving already?” she asks, like we didn’t just go over this. “Well, hang on. I made some sub sandwiches, let me send a couple home with you.”
Now Dad speaks up. “From what I hear, Sal’s already got himself a girl.”
My blood freezes in my veins. Thank God I’m facing Ma and not him, because she’s not suspicious of me, and she’d never rat me out even if she knew. Her face lights up though, and that makes me feel bad. Passing a hand over my mouth, I get my shit together and turn back to dad with a questioning frown.
“Isn’t that right?” he asks, as if innocently, raising a bushy eyebrow. “That’s what I hear, anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask levelly. “And where did you hear that?”
“Perino saw you two out in New York yesterday.”
Ma gasps, apparently thinking out-of-town trips indicate a level of seriousness that could potentially lead to grandkids. “New York?”
Motherfucker.
“What’s her name?” Ma demands, so happy she could burst. She swats my arm with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is why you don’t want to meet Lila. That’s a good reason; you should’ve just told me that.”
“It’s nothing serious,” I say, not having to feign my look of irritation. “It’s just a casual thing. No one new—Vivian, from a long time ago. Please don’t get carried away, Ma. It’s nothing to get excited about. We’re barely more than friends.”
“Well, I don’t have any friends who take me on romantic trips to New York,” she says, all smug and knowing.
I sigh. I glare at Dad. He smirks.
“Think you can keep your old man in the dark, but I know, see? I actually remember Vivian,” he remarks. “Nice rack on that one.”
Grimacing, I shake my head. “Dad… no.”
He shrugs, like what do I expect? “She was the one who posted all the pictures with her tits out for everyone to see.”
“Okay, I’m leaving.”
“Antonio, you’re disgusting,” Ma tells him, shaking her head disapprovingly. “That could be the mother of our grandchildren you’re talking about.”
“It isn’t.” God. I give Ma one more kiss, then I’m forced to linger long enough for her to grab two foil-wrapped subs out of the fridge so I don’t starve.
“You should bring Vivian around for dinner this weekend,” Ma tells me, following after me as I head for the front door. “I’d love to meet her.”
“She won’t be in town. She likes to travel, and just so happens she has a trip this weekend. But again, this isn’t a serious thing, definitely not serious enough to bring her home.”
Her face drawn with concern, Ma grabs my free hand, pressing it between both of hers. “I worry about you, Salvatore. You’re not getting any younger, and you need to find yourself a good girl.”
Before I met Francesca, this would’ve made me roll my eyes. I needed to find myself a good girl like I needed an extra hole in my head, but it turns out good girls are, in fact, pretty fucking awesome.
God, I wish I could bring her home to meet Ma. I don’t need the approval of my family to have a relationship with her, obviously, but more for Ma’s benefit than anything. Being raised in the family she was brought up in, Francesca would be able to fit right in. Ma’s always been deeply traditional—that’s why she won’t leave my dad, even though she should’ve many, many years ago. Francesca’s everything Ma would love in a daughter-in-law. She’s kind, funny, smart, and brought up in a frankly sexist family. If she has to have a business, Ma would approve of it being a bakery.
Just not the Morelli family bakery.
Even that Francesca doesn’t shorten her name. Ma has a weird pet peeve about nicknames. She says your mother goes to all the trouble of picking you out a beautiful name, and people have to go and ruin it by hacking it up with a shortened version. She’d love that Francesca doesn’t go by Franny or Frankie or any shortened version—just Francesca. Elegant, like she is.
Ma would love her. I’m surprised by how much I want that, since it’s never meant a damn thing to me before. I’ve never been even remotely tempted to bring a girl home, and now here I am.
It’s impossible, though. Unless Dad ever lets go of his beef with her brother, it’s impossible. He won’t, because Mateo’s a disrespectful upstart who stands for everything he hates, but if he’d just let it go, I could make everyone happy. Ma could finally see I found a good girl to bring home. Francesca wouldn’t have to long for family connections—she could make connections in mine. It’s the craziest fucking thing I can imagine, but without having even slept with her, I’m ready to bring her home to meet my family.
Except, you know, there’s the off-chance if I did, my dad might start plotting against her. I can just see him being pissed off that she’s even sitting at his dinner table. Morelli scum, he’d call her. He’d be an asshole to her. Then everybody would abruptly stop liking her, because I’d be the one lacking respect as I took Francesca’s side against my own father. Then I’d have to watch him like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t plotting anything, and if he was, I might not find out until it was too late.
It’s too big a risk.
Goddammit.
Why does this have to be so fucking difficult?
Chapter Thirteen
Normally a man sitting alone at a bar staring down into his drink is a man with a lot on his mind, and tonight is no exception. Tonight I am that man, watching the scotch swirl in my smudged glass, wondering how the hell I’m going to move the mountains I need to move to clear my way to a life with Francesca. I’m going to have a life with her, I just don’t know how.
I always thought “when you know, you know” was utter bullshit, but if I’m not in love, then I’ve lost my damn mind. Actually, it might be both things.
I glance over as a man drops onto the stool beside me—pitch-black hair, blue eyes, square-jawed motherfucker. Nice of this asshole to show half an hour after he was supposed to be here.
“You’re late,” I inform him, unkindly.
Unconcerned with wasting my time, he says, “I’m sure you found a way to pass the time.”
“I hope you cheat on Willow one of these days so I can fucking kill you,” I mutter, taking a sip of my scotch.
His dark eyebrows draw together and he scowls at me. “That’s not very nice.”
“I strike you as a nice guy?”
“Well, no.” Glancing away from me, he signals the bartender and orders himself some whiskey. As the bartender turns away to fill his glass, Ethan adds, “I hate to break your heart, but that’s not going to happen. You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you.” Reaching into the bag he discarded on the ground, he adds, “Speaking of, here you go.”
I glance at the folder he slides across the bar top, but I don’t open it. I glance over at this motherfucker, watching him thank the bartender, smiling like a Boy Scout.
Once the bartender walks away his smile falls, and he faces me again. “Turns out you were right about the husband being a sketchy asshole and lying about his income, just wrong about the reason. He’s been saying he’s working more than he actually is. Can you guess why?”
I roll my eyes. “Cheating piece of shit?”
“Bingo.” Ethan nods, grabbing his whiskey and tipping it back.
“Should’ve given him pointers on how to be a slimy asshole. Oh wait, you got caught, too.”
Glaring at me, Ethan asks, “Is there a reason you have such a hard-on for me tonight?”
Ethan makes me think of my dad, and unluckily for Ethan, tonight my dad really pisses me off. He’s the single biggest obstacle in the way of me having Francesca. “I just don’t l
ike assholes like you. Or you, period.”
“Well, I don’t like being generalized as the kind of asshole you’re painting me as right now. I’m good to your sister. I’m doing this shit for you, even though you know I don’t like it. I don’t know what more you want from me.”
“Have you ever fallen in love fast?” I throw back the rest of my scotch, signaling the bartender.
Frowning like he doesn’t understand the question, or probably more specifically why I’m asking it, he says, “No, not really. I’m not the ‘fall hard and fast’ type.”
“You didn’t fall for Willow right away?”
“Definitely not. Regardless of what you want to believe about me, I didn’t want to have feelings for your sister. I was trying to be a good guy; it just snuck up on me.”
“What about the other one, the wife?”
“My ex-wife? No, I didn’t fall in love fast then, either. Why?”
The bartender approaches and even though I should probably stop, I order myself another. I’ve been drinking fast while I waited for Ethan to show, so I’m already feeling it.
“Is that why you’re in such a shitty mood?” Ethan finally asks, once the bartender has walked away again. “You meet a woman or something?”
“Something like that.”
“She doesn’t like you?”
“No, she likes me, she just… she shouldn’t. I shouldn’t like her. It was a bad idea to meet her, but now it’s done and I have to figure out how the hell it’s going to work.”
“Is she married?”
Scowling thunderously, I say, “No, she’s not fuckin’ married. Why would you say that?”
“You’re coming down hard on the cheaters of the world tonight, I thought maybe…”