The Promise
Page 81
Sal did not like me and look after me just because Vinnie died and he felt that was his duty. He cared about me. Genuinely. The same with Gina.
Seeing as he was a crime boss and she was his spouse, the smart thing to do after Vinnie died would have been to extricate myself from their lives to the point it was just about Christmas cards, eventually losing their address and stopping even that.
But I was me. Frankie.
And apparently, even when I should, I didn’t bail.
This thought would have made me smile, but I didn’t smile because I was worried about Gina.
“Something’s wrong?” I asked cautiously.
“Yeah, amata, somethin’s wrong. She’s got a lotta love for her Frankie. She hears her girl has moved to Indy but comes home to Chicago frequently and she doesn’t get a call? She doesn’t get an offer to meet for coffee? Her girl doesn’t come over and sit at our table?”
Shit.
I drew in a deep breath and shared quietly, “Sal, honey, you probably know, but I’m seeing Benny Bianchi.”
“I know, cara, and good for you. Good for him. It’s about time that boy pulled his head outta his ass.”
I blinked at the road.
Sal kept going.
“Now he’s shoved it right back in. He finally got you where he’s been wantin’ you and where are you? In Indy. He’s in Chicago. Amata, what is that?”
“I had a job to take in Indy, Sal.”
“And he’s got a pizzeria that makes more money than Tiffany’s, Francesca.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, slowing for a stoplight.
I heard him expel an exasperated breath, then explain like I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, “It isn’t like you gotta work.”
Oh. That was what it meant.
“That’s not the kind of woman I am, Sal.”
“Benny got his head outta his ass…again…he’d have words with you and make you that kind of woman.”
I reminded myself he was a mob boss—a mob boss who loved me, but a mob boss who very likely did a variety of pretty scary things to people who pissed him off.
Therefore, I didn’t turn my full attitude on him when I said, “Love you, Sal. You know it. And no disrespect. But the fifties were a really long time ago.”
“I’ll give you that, Frankie, but you couldn’t get a job in Chicago?”
“This isn’t a job, Sal, it’s a career. And you don’t jack people around like that or you’ll find your career gets real short real fast,” I informed him as the light turned green and I hit the gas.
He was silent as I shifted to second, then into third and moved toward the next light, hoping it would stay green.
Finally, Sal spoke again.
“Benny and you, this mean not-so-good things for my Gina?”
I knew what he meant. He knew Ben detested him. Ben might not detest Gina, but Gina came with Sal so he had nothing to do with her by extension. Me with Benny—a Benny who might not demand that I keep his house while he’s out making pizzas, but still was a man who was all man, not to mention Italian American man—meant that he could very well, by extension, demand I had nothing to do with either of them.
Sal was asking for Gina.
But Sal loved me, so Sal was also asking for Sal.
I thought that was sweet and it was precisely why they hadn’t fallen off my Christmas list in eight years.
“We haven’t really worked that out yet,” I said to Sal.
“I see,” Sal murmured.
“Though, I will say, I’ll be at your table again, but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that Benny won’t be with me. You know you and Gina mean the world to me, but Ben and I are working this out long-distance, and when we have time together, it’s been all about taking that time to be together. That means I lost track. But next time I’m up, I’ll make certain to take some time with you and Gina.”
I approached my turn and hit my turn signal as Sal replied, “That’d make Gina happy, amata.”
His voice said that would make Sal happy too.
Another five years on my Christmas list.
At least.
“Okay, Sal. Tell her I said ‘hey’ and I miss her.”
“Will do, Frankie. Addio, mia bella.”
“Ciao, Sal.”
I hit the button on my Bluetooth to disconnect and tried to decide if I should share that call with Benny.
I was driving through The Brendal by the time I decided I would, but maybe I’d do it Monday.
Or on the phone on Tuesday.
I was swinging into my spot next to Ben’s Explorer, again feeling happy at the same time perplexed as I saw my other guest spot taken up by a shiny blue Chrysler sedan with Illinois plates, when my cell rang again.
I was seconds away from Benny, however, so I decided the call could wait.
The caller obviously decided the same thing because my phone only rang twice before it stopped ringing.
I was out of my Z and fighting back the urge to skip (or run) to my front door when the door opened and Ben prowled out.
Tee, jeans, running shoes.
Top-to-toe yummy.
I decided on running but didn’t get that first stride in because the look on Ben’s hard face stopped me. If that didn’t do it, him lifting a hand palm toward me did.
I met him on the sidewalk at the end of the path to my door.
“Called you just as you hit your space,” he announced and immediately kept announcing, “Five minutes ago, you got company.”
I looked back at the car in my guest spot that I’d never seen before, then up at Benny and I heard it.
“Frankie!”
Loud. Jovial. Nothing ever got him down because he wouldn’t let it.
I knew that voice.
Enzo Concetti, Senior.
My father.
“Shit,” I whispered, not tearing my eyes from Benny.
“Your dad,” Ben confirmed what I already knew. “I wanted to slam the door in his face but couldn’t. Decided to call but you showed.”
“Fuck,” I got out before Dad descended.
Regardless of the fact I had a purse and computer bag, which would make any embrace awkward, he wrapped his arms around my waist, picked me up, and shook me.
“My baby girl!” he shouted.
I couldn’t move my hands so I just looked down at him and greeted, “Hey, Dad.”
“Heya, gorgeous.” He grinned up at me, then dropped me to my heels, let me go, turned, and clapped Ben hard on the shoulder, leaving his hand there and squeezing. “Girl, you scored yourself the good Bianchi.”
Seeing as he was a crime boss and she was his spouse, the smart thing to do after Vinnie died would have been to extricate myself from their lives to the point it was just about Christmas cards, eventually losing their address and stopping even that.
But I was me. Frankie.
And apparently, even when I should, I didn’t bail.
This thought would have made me smile, but I didn’t smile because I was worried about Gina.
“Something’s wrong?” I asked cautiously.
“Yeah, amata, somethin’s wrong. She’s got a lotta love for her Frankie. She hears her girl has moved to Indy but comes home to Chicago frequently and she doesn’t get a call? She doesn’t get an offer to meet for coffee? Her girl doesn’t come over and sit at our table?”
Shit.
I drew in a deep breath and shared quietly, “Sal, honey, you probably know, but I’m seeing Benny Bianchi.”
“I know, cara, and good for you. Good for him. It’s about time that boy pulled his head outta his ass.”
I blinked at the road.
Sal kept going.
“Now he’s shoved it right back in. He finally got you where he’s been wantin’ you and where are you? In Indy. He’s in Chicago. Amata, what is that?”
“I had a job to take in Indy, Sal.”
“And he’s got a pizzeria that makes more money than Tiffany’s, Francesca.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, slowing for a stoplight.
I heard him expel an exasperated breath, then explain like I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, “It isn’t like you gotta work.”
Oh. That was what it meant.
“That’s not the kind of woman I am, Sal.”
“Benny got his head outta his ass…again…he’d have words with you and make you that kind of woman.”
I reminded myself he was a mob boss—a mob boss who loved me, but a mob boss who very likely did a variety of pretty scary things to people who pissed him off.
Therefore, I didn’t turn my full attitude on him when I said, “Love you, Sal. You know it. And no disrespect. But the fifties were a really long time ago.”
“I’ll give you that, Frankie, but you couldn’t get a job in Chicago?”
“This isn’t a job, Sal, it’s a career. And you don’t jack people around like that or you’ll find your career gets real short real fast,” I informed him as the light turned green and I hit the gas.
He was silent as I shifted to second, then into third and moved toward the next light, hoping it would stay green.
Finally, Sal spoke again.
“Benny and you, this mean not-so-good things for my Gina?”
I knew what he meant. He knew Ben detested him. Ben might not detest Gina, but Gina came with Sal so he had nothing to do with her by extension. Me with Benny—a Benny who might not demand that I keep his house while he’s out making pizzas, but still was a man who was all man, not to mention Italian American man—meant that he could very well, by extension, demand I had nothing to do with either of them.
Sal was asking for Gina.
But Sal loved me, so Sal was also asking for Sal.
I thought that was sweet and it was precisely why they hadn’t fallen off my Christmas list in eight years.
“We haven’t really worked that out yet,” I said to Sal.
“I see,” Sal murmured.
“Though, I will say, I’ll be at your table again, but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that Benny won’t be with me. You know you and Gina mean the world to me, but Ben and I are working this out long-distance, and when we have time together, it’s been all about taking that time to be together. That means I lost track. But next time I’m up, I’ll make certain to take some time with you and Gina.”
I approached my turn and hit my turn signal as Sal replied, “That’d make Gina happy, amata.”
His voice said that would make Sal happy too.
Another five years on my Christmas list.
At least.
“Okay, Sal. Tell her I said ‘hey’ and I miss her.”
“Will do, Frankie. Addio, mia bella.”
“Ciao, Sal.”
I hit the button on my Bluetooth to disconnect and tried to decide if I should share that call with Benny.
I was driving through The Brendal by the time I decided I would, but maybe I’d do it Monday.
Or on the phone on Tuesday.
I was swinging into my spot next to Ben’s Explorer, again feeling happy at the same time perplexed as I saw my other guest spot taken up by a shiny blue Chrysler sedan with Illinois plates, when my cell rang again.
I was seconds away from Benny, however, so I decided the call could wait.
The caller obviously decided the same thing because my phone only rang twice before it stopped ringing.
I was out of my Z and fighting back the urge to skip (or run) to my front door when the door opened and Ben prowled out.
Tee, jeans, running shoes.
Top-to-toe yummy.
I decided on running but didn’t get that first stride in because the look on Ben’s hard face stopped me. If that didn’t do it, him lifting a hand palm toward me did.
I met him on the sidewalk at the end of the path to my door.
“Called you just as you hit your space,” he announced and immediately kept announcing, “Five minutes ago, you got company.”
I looked back at the car in my guest spot that I’d never seen before, then up at Benny and I heard it.
“Frankie!”
Loud. Jovial. Nothing ever got him down because he wouldn’t let it.
I knew that voice.
Enzo Concetti, Senior.
My father.
“Shit,” I whispered, not tearing my eyes from Benny.
“Your dad,” Ben confirmed what I already knew. “I wanted to slam the door in his face but couldn’t. Decided to call but you showed.”
“Fuck,” I got out before Dad descended.
Regardless of the fact I had a purse and computer bag, which would make any embrace awkward, he wrapped his arms around my waist, picked me up, and shook me.
“My baby girl!” he shouted.
I couldn’t move my hands so I just looked down at him and greeted, “Hey, Dad.”
“Heya, gorgeous.” He grinned up at me, then dropped me to my heels, let me go, turned, and clapped Ben hard on the shoulder, leaving his hand there and squeezing. “Girl, you scored yourself the good Bianchi.”
