It was time to put my plan in motion so I did.

“Your family blamed me. They turned their back on me. I loved you all. That hurt. Things have changed. I get that. But they changed while I was recovering from getting shot, Ben. You need to get that. I’ll be cool with Theresa. I’ll sit down with Vinnie Senior. And after I get through that, you and me’ll talk. But you gotta cut me some slack. This isn’t easy on you. Think how it feels for me.”

He leaned closer and didn’t look or sound peeved at all when he asked, “Was that hard?”

It was.

Absolutely.

And as time went on, it would get harder until it eventually killed. But I’d lived through bad. I could live through worse.

Or, at least, I hoped so.

“Uh, yeah, Benny. That was hard. That’s the point.”

He bent in, leaning onto a hand in the bed on the opposite side of me as he took my hand in his free one, lifting it to hold it to his tight upper abs.

There it was. It happened right away. My hand on Benny’s tight abs that I’d never really get to explore. It got worse.

“You got nothin’ but good comin’ your way, Frankie, I can promise you that,” he said softly.

He was wrong. I never had nothing but good coming my way. If I got good, I lost it. That was my life. I’d learned to live with it. I didn’t like it, but I had no choice.

I didn’t share that. If he hadn’t figured that out for himself, I wasn’t going to enlighten him.

He squeezed my hand and pressed it tighter to his abs. “You open yourself up, you could find it’ll be the best you ever had.”

I didn’t know what he was promising, but I had a feeling it had a variety of nuances. I also had a feeling he was right—about all of those nuances.

The problem was, he should find the best he’d ever have, and he couldn’t get that from me.

“Can we stop talking now?” I requested.

His eyes got soft, but his lips said, “Yeah. About that. I’m gonna go get you some coffeecake, but before that, I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go down.”

I had a feeling I knew what “this” was, and, admittedly, I was grateful he had a plan. This would likely come as an order, which would be annoying, but I needed to be prepared and I’d take whatever I could get.

“When she gets here, I’ll bring Ma up. She’ll do what she’s gotta do and I’ll be here with you in the beginning. Then I gotta get to the restaurant. Got paperwork to do and Pop’s takin’ my back at nights while you’re here. He does things his way. I do things my way. Obviously I like my way better. He fucks up my kitchen, I’ll deal. He fucks up my system in the office, that will not go good. So I gotta see to shit. Ma will stay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

This was a good plan, the best part being I’d get a break from Benny during it. I’d take dealing with Theresa over Benny any day.

“Gotcha. But just sayin’, if you need to be at the restaurant at night, I’ll be good here alone.”

“You’ll be here alone and schemin’. So that shit’s not gonna happen.”

To preserve the precarious mellow mood I had going, I decided not to reply.

“So, you’re down with that plan?” he pressed.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Then yes, I’m down with that plan.”

He smiled at me.

I allowed myself a nanosecond to long for a life where I could be lying in a sweet nightie in Benny Bianchi’s bed with him sitting close, holding my hand against his taut abs, smiling at me, and what I would be free to do in that pleasant happenstance, before I shut that shit down.

“Bring the remote with my cake,” I ordered.

“Back to spicy,” he muttered, still smiling.

He liked spicy. If I was playing it smart, I wouldn’t give him spicy.

But I was Francesca Angelica Concetti. That just wasn’t in me.

“I was under the impression I’m here to finish recuperating, Benny. I can’t do that if you starve me to death.”

I felt those tight abs shaking with his silent laughter and I liked that feeling a whole lot. Too much.

Dangerously much.

Then he gave my hand a squeeze, let it go, and pushed up from the bed, muttering, “At your service.”

I should have let it go, I really should have. But I didn’t because it was just…not…me.

“I will note at this juncture that if I was in my own apartment, which doesn’t have steps and is a lot smaller, I could get my own coffeecake.”

“You’re right,” he replied, not looking at me and walking toward the door. “But you probably wouldn’t have coffeecake.”

“No, I would have Gina makin’ me ciabatta toast with homemade ciabatta, which, incidentally, she’d deliver to me in bed without the hassle.”

“Then lucky you’re here,” he returned, walking through the door. “Entenmann’s cheese coffeecake with crumble is better, even than Gina’s ciabatta.”

There it was. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Because he was right.

***

I lay in Benny’s bed, eyes glued to the TV, plate in my hand with a slice of coffeecake the size of which, coupled with last night’s dinner, proved irrefutably that Ben didn’t intend to starve me.

I did this as Benny took a shower.

I was good, resting, eating, a fresh cup o’ joe sitting on the nightstand and a huge slice of fresh Entenmann’s in hand, but I was wishing for pain. Pain would take my mind off Benny in the shower.

Fortunately, the shower turned off.

Unfortunately, this conjured images of Ben standing at his sink in nothing but a towel, running his hands through his hair.

I was reconsidering Asheeka’s offer of her brothers and their brothers coming to my rescue when Ben, with excellent timing, exited the bathroom.

Looking his way, I found I was right. He gelled as a necessary afterthought to tame all that thick, unruly hair. It was wet and an attempt had been made, just not a very good one, which left it wet, messy, and hot. This meant it would dry messy and hot.

He was wearing another white tee but different jeans—more faded and there was a worn white patch that was nearly threadbare at his crotch.

My mouth got dry.

The doorbell rang.

Theresa was there.

My mouth suddenly filled with saliva.

Ben’s eyes came to me. “You’re good,” he said quietly.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled disbelievingly.

“You think I’d let anything harm you?”

Oh God. More dangerous territory.

A man, any man, said that to a woman, he dug his way in there, straight into your heart. A man who looked like Ben said it, that hole he was digging went deep. A man who looked like Ben said it and meant it, he got in so deep, he’d never get out.

“Ben—”

“You think she would, even before you took a hit?”

I didn’t reply.

“You’re good, cara,” he whispered, then moved to the door.

I hastily set my plate aside and took a sip of coffee.

After putting the mug back on the nightstand, I didn’t know what to do with my hands or eyes.

I didn’t figure it out before Benny appeared in the door again.

He came through and on his heels came Theresa.

Later, I would process the fact that Ben positioned himself in the room halfway between me and his mother. I would also process the fact that he did this as a show of support for both of us. He took no sides. What he was saying was, if this started to turn bad, he was in the position to deal, for either one of us.

It was a good thing for a son to do. It was a good thing for a woman’s man to do.

At that moment, though, I only had eyes for Theresa, who looked unsure of herself, and that look cut straight to the bone.

Theresa Bianchi had a husband, four children, three grandchildren, and ran the front of a very busy, very popular restaurant for forty years. She wasn’t unsure about anything. There was not an occasion when she didn’t know what to do.

Except one like this one.

She stopped three feet in the room and I watched as she struggled with how to place her body, what to do with her hands. She even visibly struggled with holding my gaze.

Watching it and unable to stand it, I blurted, “Thanks for the magazines.”

Her head twitched and her body got tight.

“And the coffeecake.” I threw out a hand to the nightstand.

Her eyes went there.

“There’s leftover,” I said, explaining the remaining cake quickly, “because Ben cut a slice for Refrigerator Perry, not a woman who’s been subsisting on IVs, then Jell-O, making her stomach the size of a golf ball.”

“You did all right with the pie last night, cara,” Benny put in, and I looked at him.

He was grinning, happy, relieved, and his eyes on me were proud.

He was a man who could easily take a girl’s breath away.

Standing there, looking at me like that, he’d never been more breathtaking.

“It was a Bianchi pie,” I returned and said no more for that said it all.

Ben’s grin got bigger.

Theresa made a noise and we both looked back to her.

She was fighting tears and I knew she’d win just because that was who she was, so I shut up and gave her time.

I was right. She won.

And when she did it, she lifted her chin slightly, took two more steps into the room, and declared, “That coffeecake was for sweet tooth snackin’. Not breakfast.” She looked to her son. “You didn’t make Frankie bacon and eggs?”

“She asked for coffeecake,” Benny replied.

“Tomorrow she gets bacon and eggs,” Theresa decreed.

“Tomorrow she gets what she got today, which is whatever the fuck she wants,” Benny shot back, and this was killing me because I liked his words, but more, I liked watching his banter with his mom.

I missed it and it hurt to have it back because I wasn’t going to be able to keep it.

Theresa crossed her arms on her chest and set her expression straight to severe.

“I am uncertain why you, your father, and your brother feel the need to include the f-word in every other sentence.”

At this point, Ben looked at me. “And there it is, tesorina—a woman askin’ a man ‘why’ when the answer doesn’t mean shit.”

I couldn’t hold it back.

I grinned at him.

The instant I did, I wished I’d held it back because his face changed in a way I wanted to remember for the rest of my life.

“The s-word is not much better, Benito Bianchi,” his mother snapped, but Benny didn’t look from me.

Instead, he came at me, bent in, grabbed me behind my head, and pulled me gently to him until I felt his lips on my hair.

He let me back and I tipped my head to catch his eyes.

“I’ll get to the restaurant so I can be back quick,” he said quietly.

“All right,” I agreed.

He gave me a smile and his hand cupping the back of my head gave me a squeeze before he let me go, straightened, and strode to the door.

“Are we done talking?” his mother asked his back.

“Yep,” he answered his mother by way of the hall.

She turned an exasperated look to me.

I grinned at her too and, again, wished I’d held it back.

Because her face took on a look I wanted to remember for the rest of my life.

“Later, Ma!” Benny yelled and, thankfully, the spell was broken.

“’Bye, Benny!” she shouted back, then looked at me. “Now, Frankie, is there anything I can get you before I call your doctor to make your checkup appointment?”

I shouldn’t have done it.

But I did it.

I looked into her eyes and, again, I smiled.

***

On his way home from the restaurant, Benny’s cell rang.

He leaned forward, pulled it out of his pocket, checked the screen, and took the call.

“Yo,” he greeted.

“She at your place?” Cal asked, and Benny shook his head at the windshield.

“Yep.”

“She spittin’ fire?” Cal went on.

“Occasionally.”

“Recuperating,” Cal guessed as to the reason it was only occasionally.

“Yep.”

“You’ll get it when she heals.”

He fucking hoped so. “Yep.”

“Vi wants a visit and the girls wanna meet her,” Cal told him.

Ben’s cousin’s woman had two daughters, Kate and Keira. Gorgeous. Sweet. Just like Violet. So Benny was not surprised by this request. He also wasn’t surprised by the fact that it wasn’t exactly voiced as a request. That was Cal.

“She just got through the reunion with Ma. Pop’s chompin’ at the bit. And she’s still got considerable pain, cugino. Doesn’t get ’round too good. Give us a few days.”