Kristen Ashley - The Promise

At least he got her to agree to important holidays spent together.

It was something.

And with Frankie, he’d take it.

Then again, with Frankie, he’d take anything.

***

“I hate this,” Frankie whispered into his chest.

“Yeah, baby,” Benny whispered into the top of her hair.

He felt her draw in a deep breath and let it go. After that, she tipped her head back to look at him.

“You’ll call me when you get home?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Benny.”

She lifted up in her heels and pressed her mouth to his.

He slanted his head, took it, and took his time doing it. He memorized her taste, the smell of her, the feel of her in his arms. Only when he had it etched deep so it could keep him going for weeks of being away from her did he let her go.

She gave him a squeeze, a smile she didn’t mean, and pulled out of his arms.

She bent and got her computer bag from the sidewalk where she’d dropped it, and Ben stood in front of her house and watched her walk to her Z.

She waved before she got in.

She waved as she reversed out.

And she waved as she drove away.

Ben watched her, doing it the whole time smiling.

And he watched until her car disappeared.

He moved only to walk down the sidewalk to look around her unit, then he stood there, eyes on the straight Indiana street that led to corn country one way and right into the heart of a city the other.

He did this no longer smiling.

And he thought this shit had to end—Frankie leaving him or him leaving Frankie. He was done with it three months ago.

But he knew it couldn’t end. She was good at what she did, she liked her job, and he loved her. He couldn’t fuck that for her.

So he had to be patient and wait for her to get to the time when she felt she could come to him and end this long-distance thing.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

And he didn’t.

Ben slammed the door on his truck and moved to the trailer that was removed from the noise and activity of the construction site.

He went up the two steps, pounded the side of his fist on the door twice, and heard a woman call, “Come in!”

He went in and saw a narrow space that was surprisingly tidy. Plans tacked to walls. Filing cabinets. A drafting board. A desk with a computer and phone that was covered in papers with a very pretty, dark-haired woman behind it wearing a dark blue polo with McCandless Construction stitched in white over her heart.

Her head lifted, her attractive face holding an expression that was not unwelcoming, but it was distracted.

Until she caught sight of him.

That was when Catarina Concetti Lugar declared, “We are not doin’ this.”

Not a good start.

Benny ignored that and walked further into the office, deciding to try to get them on track, even as he didn’t hold much hope he’d succeed, and he did this by greeting, “Hey, Cat.”

She did not greet him back. She ordered, “Ben, I’m at work. Just go.”

He shook his head and told her, “Your sister is worried about you. It’s her birthday tomorrow. She’s comin’ up tonight, I’ve been makin’ calls—calls you haven’t returned—so I thought I’d extend the invitation face-to-face. I’d like you and Art to come to the pizzeria for Frankie’s birthday party tomorrow night. More, it would make Frankie happy you were there.”

“I ignored your calls because me and Art aren’t gettin’ anywhere near that pizzeria,” she retorted.

And now it was getting worse.

“You wanna explain that to me?” he invited.

“Not really,” she refused.

“Do it anyway,” he ordered, holding her eyes.

She stared at him before she looked out the window, huffed out an annoyed breath, and gave him back her eyes. “My sister was shot,” she announced.

“I know. I was the one who carried her through the forest after that shit happened.”

“Yeah, I know. Frankie, up in the shit of another Bianchi,” she fired back.

Ben felt his skin start to itch, pissed that another of the Concettis brought that shit up. At the same time, he was wondering how in the fuck they couldn’t get their heads out of their asses and see why their sister would want to be part of a good, decent, loving family. Even so, she wasn’t the kind of woman to go about getting that with how they thought she was doing it. They had to know her better than that.

Then again, since they had their heads up their asses, and when they didn’t, they were all about themselves, he shouldn’t be surprised.

When he got control and spoke, he had to force his mouth to move but, in doing that, not to yell.

“I’m not feelin’ a lot of love for explainin’ anything to you, seein’ as your sister was in a hospital bed for a week and a half and you didn’t even call. Then she was recuperating at my house and you didn’t come ’round. But Francesca is worried about you. It’s her birthday. I want her to quit worryin’ and have what’s important to her on her special day. Not sure I agree with what’s important to her, seein’ as the majority of you Concettis treat her like shit, but it is so I’m here.”

Her face started to get red, even as ice formed in her gaze as he spoke, and she didn’t hesitate to reply when he was done.

“Concettis treat her like shit?” she asked. “How ’bout the Bianchis?”

“You spoke to your sister, you’d know that’s done and we’re all movin’ on.”

“Yeah, you’re here and word is she’s in your bed. I know how you’re movin’ on.”

“Known me decades, Cat. Honest to God, do you think I’m gonna sink low enough to field that one?” Ben clipped.

She glared at him, not like Nat, much like Frankie, except a lot less cute because he didn’t love her, and more, he’d never really liked her.

“You know,” she started, “your big sister’s boyfriend gets whacked in a mob war, then she gets shot, then it’s all over everywhere that her dead boyfriend’s brother is up in her shit and then it’s everywhere they get hooked up, a girl’s gotta make a decision. She continues to get caught up in that ridiculous drama that ain’t real healthy, or she cuts herself off and tries to make a decent life. Me and Art talked about it a lot. He’s tight with his folks, his brothers. He didn’t get it. Why I wanted to cut ties. Until Frankie got shot and you were involved. Frankie involved with another Bianchi. Then he got it. Totally messed up. Totally unhealthy.”

She flipped her hand in the air and didn’t shut up, she kept on yapping.

“Art and me got marriage counseling so we’d quit fightin’ all the freakin’ time. Art and me found out in marriage counseling that it might be a good idea not to drink so freakin’ much. Art and me quit the booze, and now Art and me are in a good place so we’re tryin’ to make a baby. We got a good thing goin’, had it goin’ for a while. We don’t want anything to fuck that up. More, we bring a kid into this world, we don’t want that kid to be involved in fucked-up shit.”

Benny couldn’t believe his ears.

“You quit the booze?” he asked.

“Yep. We’ve been dry now for nearly a year.”

“Congratulations, Cat,” he murmured.

“Yeah, hold a party for that,” she returned.

“Cat—”

She shook her head and lifted a hand to him, palm his way. “No. My sister got shot. Before that, her boyfriend was in the mob. Now, after years of watchin’ the Bianchis like she was on the verge of beggin’ you to adopt her, she went from one to the other to get her in.”

“That’s not what she’s doin’,” Ben said, his voice tight.

“No?” she asked, sarcasm easy to read. “She’s gorgeous. I know it. She’s sweet. She’s funny. I see why you want a piece of that. Totally. I love her to bits, my big sis. Only one who gave a shit about me my…entire…life. Until I met Art. But she’s messed up, Benny. Took me a while, but I finally woke my ass up and saw I needed to get out of the crazy that was my family draggin’ me down. I love her. I know the way you’re lookin’ at me you don’t believe that, but I love her. That doesn’t mean she’s any good for me. It was a hard decision to make, but I gotta look out for me. And you can take this as my good turn to you: you need to get outta that shit before she chews you up and spits you out like Ninette chews up every man who even looks at her.”

“Your sister is not Ninette,” Ben bit out.

“Who lives with one brother and then hooks up with the other one?” she retorted, shaking her head. “No one does that.”

“Vinnie died seven years ago.”

“He’s still your brother.”

“He quit bein’ my brother when he joined the mob.”

At that, she snapped her mouth shut.

Yeah.

She got him.

“Life sucks, Cat, for everyone, not just you,” he told her something she should know. “Shit happens and you make decisions that can make it suck even more. From what you’re sayin’, I see you took a look at your life and decided to make good changes. But what you’re doin’, slammin’ the door on Frankie, means you won’t see she’s doin’ the same thing. Makin’ good changes to her life. And you didn’t ask, but what she did when she got shot was crazy. Crazy-stupid and crazy-brave. She helped save a woman’s life. You got a screw loose if you’d turn your back on a woman who’d take a bullet to do somethin’ like that. But I know it’s loose ’cause she’s had your back your entire life. Took you as you came, made no judgments when you were three steps away from bein’ a full-blown drunk, a mean one half the time, and she never shut the door in your face.”

He saw by her expression that he’d scored with that one, but he still took a step back, shaking his head and lifting, then dropping his hands.

“That’s your decision; it’s your life. I came by, we had our words. I leave, you continue your life. I’m happy for you. You’re tryin’ to make a good one for the family you wanna build. But that doesn’t mean what you’re sayin’ isn’t complete bullshit. The thing is, you sit there knowin’ it. You cast judgment for the decisions Francesca has made in her life, sittin’ there knowin’ you let your sister lie in a hospital bed with a hole in her without showin’ your face and givin’ some love. And still, you did that to her, Frankie calls you because she’s worried about you. What’s that say about her, Cat? And more, you can take this as my good turn to you: what’s it say about you?”

He knew he scored another point when the red went out of her face and it got pale.

He also didn’t give a fuck. He was done.

“Dinner’s at seven,” he ground out. “You’re there, you’re welcome. You’re not, I do not share blood with you so I do not have to put up with your shit. You don’t show, Frankie won’t cut ties. But seein’ as I’m in love with her and she’ll be the mother of my kids one day, you’ll have to work to get me to let you in our door, because, straight-up, Cat, I don’t need my woman or my kids around that kind of fucked-up shit.”

He left it at that, turned, and walked out, deciding he wouldn’t share this visit with Frankie. Cat and Art showed the next night, then he’d get the goodness of her gratitude that he went out of his way to get her sister back. If not, she didn’t need to know.

And anyway, he didn’t need to give more headspace to Cat, seeing as not fun as that visit was, the next one he was going to make he knew was going to be a fuckuva lot worse.

***

Ben looked around the huge-ass house Gina was leading him through, thinking that she’d had the whole fucking place redecorated since the last time he’d been there.

Since he lost track of when that was, he shouldn’t be surprised. It was more than eight years. It was more like fifteen.

She now had marble floors. Acres of them.

Things must be good in the mob business. He’d never be able to give Frankie acres of marble floors. That said, she’d never want them, and if she did, she’d work to get them for herself.

“It really is nice, you showin’, Benny,” Gina murmured, and he looked at her.

She held some weight, not much, but she no longer had the slender, built figure she’d had a couple of decades ago. That didn’t mean she wasn’t dressed well, she was. She’d always dressed well. Slightly over-the-top with jewelry and bright colors, but she wasn’t the stereotypical mob wife you saw in the movies.