She winked and stood up. “I’ll let you rest.”
“Okay. I love you, mi amor,” he said, looking at her expectantly. She smiled, swooped down to kiss him, and left the room.
Then there was quiet…finally.
—
Francesca needed to get away from Tony. He looked as if he was just waiting for her to say it—to say “I love you.” It was unnerving. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Somehow admitting it out loud scared her to death. It validated the fact that he could do real damage when he left. Even though she’d gotten closure with Rodrigo, in the back of her mind she was still worried and scared. She couldn’t help it. She had spent too many years living in fear of falling in love. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she needed this man. Where she was closed off like a vault, he was open. He let his emotions pour out of his body: anger, jealousy, worry, love. All of it was out there, consequences be damned. But the truth was that even if she didn’t—or couldn’t—verbalize her own feelings, her heart was already on the line.
She paced around the house. What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to just tell him how she felt.
She called her father in Brazil. They hadn’t spoken in a couple of days, but he’d sounded better the last time they talked. Clearly Mauricio was recovering from his stroke, but Francesca still worried about him. So long as she gave him good news about the Academy, nothing else seemed to matter to the old man.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?”
“The last few times we’ve spoken you’ve sounded different. Happier. Today, not so much. What’s going on?”
She let out a breath. She’d never really had a conversation with her father about feelings or love. He was a good man and he loved her, but he wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of man. “Oh, Pai, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m messed up in the head or something.”
Her father chuckled. “You’re not messed up in the head. What’s going on over there? Is it the Academy? Do I need to fly up?”
“No, no. It’s not the Academy.”
“Then what is it?”
She groaned inwardly and threw herself down on the couch. “Pai, there’s this guy….”
For the next half hour, Francesca spoke with her father about Tony and how she was scared of what would happen if he left her. She was completely honest, and her father listened and probed but never gave an opinion until she was finished.
“Francesca, when your mother died part of me died too. It was pain like I never felt before.”
“You see? I never want to feel—”
“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “Even though the pain is still there, the good memories overshadow everything. I wouldn’t trade my good times with her for anything. I would rather feel that pain than never have known the kind of love I shared with your mother. Francesca, don’t let fear hold you back. No one can predict the future. Don’t close yourself off because of the what-ifs, because you’ll never let in the good things. Put him out of his misery and tell the poor boy you love him already. And for God’s sake, let him love you back.”
Her eyes watered, and she was about to reply. But when he added, “And give me lots of grandbabies,” she chuckled. Then he told her he loved her and they ended their call.
Chapter 13
Francesca walked upstairs to check on her patient. She opened the door to see Tony looking a little green as he tried to sit up. She was about to ask how he was feeling when there was a bang at the front door. “Antonio! Antonio Juan de la Cruz Marino! Antonio, hijo!” Both Tony and Francesca turned their heads toward the voice. Francesca’s brow furrowed, and Tony groaned.
“Who’s that?” she asked. The banging on the door was louder this time.
Tony groaned again and tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed to get up. “That loud screeching noise is my mother,” he said as Francesca shoved him back down.
“I got it. Stay here.”
He said something she couldn’t understand, but it sounded very much like “brace yourself.”
Francesca wished she had worn something a little nicer. She hated feeling unsure of herself, and dressing in her stilettos and designer business suits, with her face perfectly made up, made her feel self-assured.
Francesca unlocked the door, but before she had the chance to fully open it, three women came barreling in. The oldest of the three pushed her aside and walked straight upstairs toward Tony’s room. Francesca barely got a glimpse of her—that must be Tony’s mother. The other two were slower and stopped to speak with Francesca.
“Hi there.” A younger version of the hellcat who had just rushed by greeted her. Francesca immediately recognized her as one of the women photographed with Tony. “I’m Isabella Marino, Tony’s sister.”
“Hi. I’m Francesca Silva,” she said, extending her hand.
“Francesca?” they both said quizzically. Clearly, they were waiting for more information.
“Uh, yeah. I work at the Academy. I’m his boss, actually.”
The younger of the two women indiscreetly looked her up and down. “Boss?”
“Yeah, I…uh…Tony’s sick. He has the flu.”
The two women didn’t say anything for an uncomfortable second. Since she was still holding the door open, she closed it and then turned to look at the women again.
“Sorry, I’m Sofia,” said the younger one. “Another sister. I’ve heard a lot about you—it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“So, what’s the matter with his phone? We were down in Key West on vacation, and when he didn’t answer his phone Mom got worried and assumed something was going on and made us rush over here.” Sofia said the sentence in one long quick breath, then leaned in close to Francesca. “You cannot even begin to comprehend what it’s like to be in a car with my mother when she’s worried about her baby.”
“Baby?” Francesca laughed. “He has the flu. Wait! Key West? That’s a long drive, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. That’s four hours of praying to every Catholic saint for Tony,” Isabella said, holding out four fingers. “We drove four damn hours to check on Mama’s little boy. Her hijo.”
Just then the older woman came down the stairs gesticulating and talking loudly to no one in particular. “Ay, mi niño!” She headed for the kitchen, and the women followed.
Francesca had no clue what Tony’s mother was saying. She wore white capri pants and a cardigan, and her eyes were like Tony’s, dark and mesmerizing. She opened the freezer and looked around, then slammed it closed.
“Mom,” Sofia called out, but the woman didn’t reply. Instead she took out the leftover quarter chicken from Francesca’s soup, which she had wrapped carefully and frozen.
“Mom!” Sofia and Isabella repeated.
“Que?”
“English, Mom.”
“What?” the woman repeated in English. This time she turned around, a knife in one hand, the chicken in the other, and for the first time saw Francesca.
“Mom, this is Francesca Silva,” Sofia said.
“Antonio’s boss,” Isabella clarified with a smirk.
“Boss?” the woman asked. “Why you here? He get in trouble with work?”
“Um…no. I own the Academy where he trains. I’m staying here while he gets ready for his next fight.”
“Hmmm.” The woman made a noise before turning around and taking more ingredients out of the pantry and refrigerator. “Casi se muere Antonio. Que clase de jefa es esa que no llama a la madre cuando su pobre niño se está muriendo?”
“Mom! Tony isn’t dying. You need to relax. Francesca says it’s just the flu.”
“The flu?” The woman slammed the pot on the stove. “Eso no es el flu.”
“Mom, speak English—you’re being rude!” Isabella said.
“It’s fine,” Francesca said.
“You don’t look American.” Tony’s mother glared at her. “Are ju one of those Hispanic women that d
on’t embrace Espanish culture?” She was waving the knife around.
“No, Mrs. Marino, I’m not. I’m Brazilian.”
“Oh, then what’s the big deal? You understand what I say in Spanish.” The woman turned and continued muttering things in her language.
“Actually, no, I don’t. I speak Portuguese, not Spanish. But I do understand some words every now and again. It’s—”
“Mom, you’re being rude,” Isabella said again. She seemed to be braver then her sister.
“I not be rude. I make shicken soup for my Antonio. He will be better by tomorrow. Ms. Brasil shoulda called me and told me my baby sick.”
“Oh. Um…” Francesca wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. The man was in his mid-thirties, a professional cage fighter, and weighed 230 pounds; it hadn’t even occurred to her to call his mother. But that gave her an idea that she figured would help her get on his mother’s good side. Francesca pulled out a container from the refrigerator and opened it. “I made Tony chicken soup earlier.” She heard a small gasp from behind her. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Tony’s sisters giving her a pitying look that made her question her decision to mention the soup. Why was this woman making her so nervous? Why did members of the Marino family have this effect on her? She took a deep breath and continued, “He loved it. We can just reheat it and that way you don’t have to go through all the trouble.”
She heard one of the women behind her mumble something that sounded like “bad choice of words.”
Francesca immediately knew she’d said the wrong thing, because the woman moved a step closer, still brandishing the knife.
“Trouble? No. My son is no trouble.” The woman slammed the knife on the counter and yanked the container from Francesca’s hand. She lifted the lid, smelled it, and made a face. “Is bad. So very bad. Yuck.” She turned and poured the contents into the sink.
Both sisters yelled at once, “Mom!”
Francesca was heartbroken, and more intimidated than she’d ever felt in her entire life. In the last few minutes she’d come to realize that nothing she could do would ever be good enough for Mrs. Marino’s little boy.
Tony shuffled down the stairs and plopped himself onto the couch. “What’s going on? Sick guy here, trying to sleep.”
“Hi, Antonio,” Isabella said, walking over and giving him a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him. Sofia did the same.
“Mom’s being rude to your frien—boss.” Tony’s brow furrowed as Isabel spoke. “She threw away the soup Francesca made you and said it was yucky.”
“Fuuuck.” Tony looked up. “Mom?”
“No bad words!” she yelled at Tony. “She strong woman. She boss of strong men. She can handle it, right? Ju no cook good. I cook good. I take care of my boy. Ju soup smelled…” Instead of saying the words she squinted her eyes, pinched her nose, and stuck out her tongue. “I not trying to hurt your feeling. It’s truth.”
“Mami! Por favor,” Tony pleaded.
“Yeah, Mom, please. Stop that,” Isabella echoed.
Francesca didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Your mother’s right. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little truth.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, since it seems like you’ll be taken care of, I guess I’m going to go take a shower. It’s been a long day.”
“Shower? Here?” His mother crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is jour boss taking a shower at jour home, hijo?”
“My boss?” He laughed. “Well, I guess she is that too. She’s also my girlfriend.”
His mother’s eyes widened before they narrowed to slits.
“Um…Mrs. Marino, these are the instructions for the medicines the doctor recommended he take so he can feel better. I’ll just write down the times he last took them,” Francesca said nervously.
The woman’s facial expression seemed to soften somewhat. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but it wasn’t quite a scowl either. “Ju buy him medicine and make him take it?”
Francesca looked up from where she had been writing. “Uh, yeah. It was no big deal, Mrs. Marino.”
“Ju his girlfriend?”
Francesca nodded.
“Why ju no visit me before?”
“Mom, you’ve been out of town most of the times she’s been in Miami,” Tony answered.
“Ju said your name is Francesca?” Francesca nodded, and the woman stepped closer and held her hand out. “Thank ju for helping my baby. Please, call me Ana Caridad Concepción de la Cruz Marino.”
Before she realized what she was saying, Francesca blurted out, “Holy fuck, that whole thing?”
She heard laughter behind her. “Watch jour language, joung lady! My friends call me Annie.”
Francesca met the woman’s extended hand. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”
The woman nodded and went back to preparing the soup.
As Francesca headed upstairs, Tony followed behind her. “That was intense,” she whispered to him.
“My mom’s a little intense. But she means well.”
“I can’t believe you told her I’m your girlfriend.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know…it’s so fast. Meeting the parents?”
“Are you outta your mind? I’ve chased after you for months, and we’ve been together on and off for months. It’s long overdue. Plus I don’t plan on letting you go, so everyone needs to get used to seeing you around. You came to Miami to be with me, so you were bound to meet them at some point.”
She laughed. “I came to Miami to check on the training. I came to put you back in your place.”
He laughed. “Is that the only reason? Because I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
She let out a big breath and decided to give this emotion thing a try. “No. No, it’s not the only reason.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to continue. “I missed you when you were here without me, and I guess I’m glad I finally got to meet your family. It’s just a little scary, that’s all.”
He chuckled. “Was that so hard? It’s like pulling teeth with you.” He winked. “I’ll be downstairs. Going to try to get rid of my family.”
He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stick up all over the place and making him utterly adorable. He still looked a little pasty, and she could tell he was still not feeling well. Also, he looked unsure, which was unlike Tony. It made him seem more human. More endearing. “By the way, I am really sorry about my mother. That was very rude of her.” He took her hand, led her into his room, and shut the door behind them.
“It’s okay. I understand.” She was leaning against the armoire, and he was standing in front of her playing with the string on his gym shorts. She shoved his shoulder playfully, causing him to look up and meet her gaze. “You coulda told me the soup was yucky.” Francesca pinched her nose, mimicking his mother.
“It wasn’t yucky. It was…good.” His eyes darted to a spot above her head.
She put her hands on her waist and stood up straight. “You’re totally lying right now. You hated my soup.”
“Okay, fine. The soup was awful, mi amor. I mean, really…not for human consumption.” She shoved him again, and he caught her wrist in his. “But you were so sweet and cute, I didn’t have the heart to tell you.” He brought the palm of her hand to his lips and kissed it before heading back downstairs to deal with his family.
—
“What’s with Brazil, brother dearest?” Sofia asked from the couch while Isabel and their mother were in the kitchen. “Did you tell her already?” Growing up, he had been closest to her. Isabella was like another mother, and really, so were his other sisters, but not Sofia. She was the rebel of the family, the youngest girl, and the only one who seemed to understand him—most of the time. He knew exactly what she meant.
“Yes, she knows I love her,” he admitted, sitting on the edge of the couch. “She’s got some issues to resolve, so I can’t push her much.”
>
“Boss?” she asked.
“Sort of, I guess. She owns Worth the Fight Academy together with Slade. She’s the one who brought me in and gave me a chance. Be nice to her. She’s important.”
“You’re in love with her, and she’s the only person other than your family who still believes in you. Yeah, I’d say she’s important.” Sofia quickly changed the subject. “How about the other part of our conversation, retiring? Any thoughts on that?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it. I think this next fight will be the last one.”
“And you’re good with that?”
“Yeah. I really think I am.” He scratched his beard. “Not sure how Francesca will take it. I sort of mentioned it once, but we’ve never really discussed it. She did sign me up to fight. If I’m not fighting, maybe there’s no point in me sticking around, ya know?”
“You’re so blind sometimes. That woman just put up with Mom and made you soup. You said she was feisty and strong, but she completely stepped down in respect for Mom and because she likely knows how important family is for you. She will not be mad about you retiring. Trust me.” Sofia put her feet on the couch, making herself comfortable. “I’m glad you have someone in that small town who feels the same way we do. I worry about you. You’ve been on a downhill spiral for a while now; if it really is your last fight, you need to end your career on a high note so you don’t have any regrets later. I hope you’re taking your training seriously and are well prepared.”
He leaned his head back against the cushion. His career had taken a dip in the past few years. He used to be able to take punks out in the first round. Now it took him longer—much longer. He knew it was time to stop fighting. But he also agreed with Sofia that he should end his fighting career with a win.
His mother walked in with a big bowl of soup, and Sofia moved over to make room for her. Tony sat up and grabbed the bowl and ate a spoonful. Now that was soup. He closed his eyes and took a moment to savor the familiar flavors. His mother felt his forehead and then went around the room tidying up.
She began to talk fast in Spanish, chiding him for not calling her as soon as he felt ill, and inquiring about Francesca and why she hadn’t called her either. She told him he needed a woman to take good care of him. Tony just sighed and rolled his eyes. He was used to her extreme mothering. She was all up in her kids’ business and gave her opinions freely and without hesitation. There was a good heart in there somewhere; you just had to ignore the overtly aggressive pampering.
Below the Belt Page 24