The Promise by Kristen Ashley
“Babe—” he started, but she was on a roll and she wasn’t ready to quit.
“And she’s my sister and that scene played out in front of your folks who don’t get that. They’ve been together for decades and they have been because they know what’s important. And they made Carm, who’s been tied to her man for twelve years and wouldn’t even think about lookin’ at another guy. Hell, the four years she was with him before they got married, she wouldn’t do it.”
Benny was just disturbed at hearing her talk about his sister and her man and the time they’d been together, and how at the beginning of that time Frankie was not a part of their lives.
But she wasn’t done.
“She’ll never grow out of that shit. She’ll never wake up. She brought her shit to your door, it got ugly, but in six months or two years or whenever she fucks up again, she will not hesitate to do it again. Who does that?”
“Francesc—”
“My family,” she answered her own question. “They do that shit. Cat’s almost as bad but in her own unique way. And right now, Enzo has two women who both say they’re pregnant with his kid. They live in two different states and he’s currently shacked up with another woman who luckily isn’t knocked up…yet. And he’s only twenty-eight.”
“Can I talk?” he asked when she fell momentarily silent.
“What’s there to say?” she asked back. “That was embarrassing.”
His brows drew together. “How was that embarrassing?”
“Ben” —she threw a hand out— “that happened in your house, in front of you, your folks. She even called Asheeka a bitch and she’s never even met Asheeka.”
“Yeah, that happened and she did that. She did. Nat. That doesn’t reflect on you.”
“She’s blood.”
“And Vinnie’s my blood. Does him bein’ in the mob reflect on me? My family?” he returned and knew he scored when she clamped her mouth shut. “No. I think we all learned the hard way not to take that on or pile that shit on someone who doesn’t deserve it.” He gave her a careful squeeze. “So don’t take that on.”
She turned her head to the side.
“Francesca” —he drew her closer— “do not take that shit on.”
She kept her gaze aimed to the side.
“Baby, put your arms around me and look at me.”
She remained unmoving.
“Francesca, cara, put your arms around me and look at me.”
He watched and felt her heave a sigh, and being Frankie, she didn’t do what she was told. But at least she lifted both hands, rested them on his chest, and gave him her eyes. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was something.
“Do not take that shit on,” he whispered.
He saw it again, something moving over her face, shifting in her eyes. This was bigger, weighty. He thought she was going to say something, give it to him, explain it, and he felt her body tensing as if she was going to share the weight, let it go.
But she relaxed and said, “I’m hungry.”
Benny had to admit, he was disappointed. But she’d opened up before closing down and he felt it wise at that juncture to take what she gave freely and not push for more.
So he asked, “You good?”
“Yes,” she lied immediately.
“You aren’t,” he replied. “But you are full of shit.”
Fire danced in her eyes as they started to narrow.
That made him feel better.
“We’ll talk more when we don’t have a house full of people,” he told her.
“An alternate and slightly more enjoyable plan than talking about my family or anything you might want to talk about when you don’t have a house full of people, you tear my fingernails out by their roots.”
He grinned and pulled her as close as he felt safe. “You do know you just get it over with, give in to it, let me in, you could get to the good parts.”
He knew she was done when she shut it down. “I’m too hungry to have this conversation.”
“Too hungry, maybe. Too chicken, definitely.”
Her eyes narrowed again, right to squinty, and Benny had to bite back laughter.
Fuck, as hard as she could be, she was easy.
“I’m not chicken. I’m hungry.”
“Total chicken.”
“Am not.”
“Absolutely are.”
Her eyes went to slits. “You make clucking noises, I’m kicking you in the shin.”
He let himself smile as he asked, “You gonna suck it up and talk to me later?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Chicken,” he teased.
“Am not!” she snapped, getting louder, and that was when he let himself laugh, he just did it silently.
When he quit laughing, he reminded her of something he told her the night before, “Cal, Vi, and the girls’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Shit. Right,” she muttered.
“Right then. Plan,” he stated, and she focused on him. “You got today with Ma and Pop. You got tomorrow with Cal and his girls. Monday, you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go out to dinner. Neutral ground for you. Change of scenery. We’ll talk where you’ll feel safe.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Are you talking a date?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
She stiffened more. “Ben—”
He dipped his face to hers and he was straight-up serious when he said, “Honest to God, all I’ve done to you, what you know you mean to me, do you think in a million years I’d make anything tough on you?”
She closed her eyes.
“I wouldn’t,” he answered his own question.
She opened her eyes.
“I get you’re scared and I know why. But if I didn’t have somethin’ to offer that I’m gonna bust my balls to make good, somethin’ I know in my gut you want, same as me, this would be goin’ a whole lot differently. I haven’t earned it, baby. I don’t even fuckin’ deserve it. But I gotta ask you to trust me anyway.”
“Okay,” she whispered, straight up, right there, no hesitation.
Jesus. That felt good.
He couldn’t let that feeling settle.
He somehow got her where he wanted her; he had to press his advantage.
So he asked, “Monday?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
Thank fuck.
He knew he’d be pushing it to kiss her, as bad as he wanted that mouth.
It killed, but he didn’t kiss her.
He still gave himself a taste of her by dipping his head further and touching his lips to hers.
He lifted it and said, “Pancakes.”
She relaxed in his arms and nodded.
He let her loose only to bend and lift her in his arms.
Then he took her downstairs so she could have pancakes.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, while Theresa was in the kitchen doing dishes, Frankie was lying flat out on the couch, her mass of hair spread on the armrest where her head was resting, smiling huge at something Vinnie said to be funny.
He’d been right. She didn’t make his pop work for it. Not even for a second. And she did this two seconds after Benny had put her on that couch and she asked his pop if he minded getting her a “cup of joe,” like she did the same the day before and the day before that.
His father had grinned, openly showing his relief, then shocked the shit out of him and his ma by getting it for her.
It was while Frankie was smiling at Vinnie Senior that Asheeka made a move to leave.
Benny waited until the good-byes were said, hand squeezes were given to Frankie, hugs to Vinnie, then he stood and murmured, “Walk you out.”
Frankie gave him a look.
Asheeka gave Frankie a look before she moved her look to Benny.
But Benny held her eyes, and with nothing for it, she moved to the door, him following, her calling her good-bye to Theresa on her way out.
He walke
“Sales are good,” he noted, eyes on her truck.
“I’m not complaining,” she replied, feet firm on the sidewalk.
He moved his gaze to her. “Got anything for me to go on in there?” he asked straight up. He had no time to beat around the bush, no inclination, and no skills with that shit.
She crossed her arms on her chest and studied him.
He read her as quiet, a little shy, but not dumb.
With what she said next, he’d learn he was right about the last, and she could get beyond the first two.
“You do know with that question, you’re askin’ me to break the sacred sister trust.”
“I know.”
“Don’t know you, but she’s my girl.”
“Know that too.”
She fell into studying him again.
He didn’t have time for that either.
“You don’t know me so I’ll tell you. I get I’m puttin’ you on the spot, and I mean no offense when I also tell you I don’t give a fuck because the reason I’m doin’ it is important.”
She didn’t study him after that.
She said, “You know that commercial where the guy wakes up in half a bed, eats outta half a bowl of cereal, and sits on half a couch?”
He heard her. He got her. He lifted his chin to communicate that and tell her to get on with it.
She got on with it. “That’s our Frankie. Livin’ half a life. Doin’ it by choice. Now, way I see it, before, it was penance. Punishing herself for somethin’ that was not her fault. You all pullin’ out the stops to say she needs to let that go, I still see Frankie goin’ to sleep in half a bed and watchin’ her shows on half a couch.”
Yeah.
He heard her. He got her. And what she said made him uneasy.
“Why?” he asked.
“I read you right with the way you’re positionin’ yourself to be in her life, that’s the part you gotta figure out, sort it out, then show me you can fill her full of life. I’ll tell you, you do that, you’ll have my gratitude ’cause I’ve known her years and she can fake it real good. But you watch. You listen. She laughs half a laugh, even as she’s tryin’ to convince you it comes full. And every breath she takes is half a breath. Nobody can live like that, half breathing. And no person like Frankie Concetti should.”
Benny felt his mouth get tight as his eyes moved to his house.
He then felt Asheeka get close and his gaze went back to her.
“It’s not your brother,” she said quietly. “She’ll use that as a shield to hold you back.” She shook her head. “It’s not him, though. It’s deeper. It’s why she chose him when, no offense, but the woman you and I know could have had more.” She held his gaze and whispered, “Think about that.”
She said nothing more and moved to the driver’s side of her vehicle.
Ben watched her pull out and his eyes remained on the road long after she was gone.
But his mind was on Frankie.
And his thoughts were troubled.
Because, suddenly, he couldn’t figure out if back in the day, when she was with Vinnie, if she was electric.
Or if she was desperate.
And he wondered, even back then, if every breath she took was half a breath.
By the time he made a move to his house, he had no answers.
All he knew was he had to find them.
* * * * *
Hours later, when everyone was long gone, Benny rested his back against pillows shoved up on the headboard of his bed, Frankie doing the same beside him. After thirty minutes of watching television, which was after ten minutes of Frankie bickering with him about why he was stretched out beside her and not downstairs on the couch, she declared, “I need you to take me home tomorrow.”
He turned eyes from the TV to her. “Why?”
“’Cause your ma brought me loungewear. I’m meeting Vi’s girls. I need better than loungewear.”
He turned his eyes back to the TV. “I think they know you were shot so I’d guess they won’t expect you in a ball gown.”
“I don’t want a ball gown. I don’t even own a ball gown. I want a nice dress.”
“I think they know you were shot,” he repeated to the TV. “So I’d guess they won’t expect you to be in a nice dress.”
“Do you have pressing matters to attend to tomorrow before they get here?” she asked.
“Nope,” he answered, feeling her attitude beginning to fill the room and fighting back a smile.
“So you aren’t making pizza for the governor?” she went on.
“Not that I know of,” he replied.
“Then it isn’t that your schedule is full that you can’t take me to my apartment to get a nice dress.”
He didn’t turn his eyes to her on that. He turned his whole torso to her and got her gaze when he did.
“You own a dress that won’t make my dick get hard?”
Her eyes got squinty, but her mouth stayed closed.
“Can I take that as a no?” he pushed.
“FYI, women don’t like it when men talk like that, Benny Bianchi.”
“Bullshit, Francesca Concetti. They fuckin’ love that shit.”
“Wrong,” she snapped.
“After our talk on Monday, when you come to your senses, I’ll give you more of that when I’m in the position to test the results of my theory.”
She straightened on her pillows. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“When I’ve come to my senses,” she stated.
“Yep,” he replied.
“Do you try to piss me off?” she asked, and he grinned.
“You haven’t got that?”
“Why?” Her voice was pitching higher.
“You pissed is cute. It’s hot. And, just sayin’, it makes me hard.”
“Are you hard right now?”
“Be my pleasure, you wanna check.”
Abruptly, she leaned forward, pulled a pillow from behind her, swung it around, and slapped it against his chest.
Then she found it no longer in her hands and her body no longer up on pillows but on its back down the bed, her side pinned by his front and his face in hers.
“Do not move like that,” he growled, and she stared up at him, eyes wide, as he did.
“Benny.”
“I’m all for a pillow fight in three weeks when your stitches have dissolved, you don’t wake dazed and fightin’ pain, and I don’t have a heart attack every time you do somethin’ jerky or abrupt.”
“Ben—”
“You need to see to yourself, Francesca. You don’t, like I just demonstrated, I will.”
He watched it pass through her eyes. That good something he was getting meant he’d said or done something she liked, but she wasn’t going to give it to him straight out, and he felt her body relax against his.
“You got me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“You hurt yourself just now?” he pressed.
“No, Ben. It’s actually been a good day,” she told him.
“You woke rough,” he told her.
“I know. It was weird. But I rallied faster.”
“It worried me.”
He watched her entire face soften to a look that made beauty indescribable before she said, “Nat’s brand of good-morning notwithstanding, it’s the best day I’ve had since it happened.”
“You good with Pop?”
“Yeah, Benny.”
“Good.”
She was silent a moment before she asked, “You done being a hotheaded, protective, Italian guy?”
“I’m never done with that.”
At that, he felt her body melt against his and she whispered, “Ben,” but said no more.
He wasn’t done talking. Not with her body partly under his, her eyes on his, her hair all over his bed.
He had something to say.
So he said it.
<
Her body tensed, and not the bad way. The fucking good one. But she said nothing.
“You got until Monday,” he informed her.
She drew her lower lip between her teeth, and fuck, he wanted to kiss her even more.
Instead, carefully, gently, he rolled, taking her with him and pulling her up so he was, again, on his back on the pillows and she was tucked to his side, head to his chest.
Once he got her in place, it was Frankie who snaked her arm around his gut.
Progress. Fucking finally.
He aimed his eyes at the TV but said, “You wanna wear somethin’ nice for Vi and her girls, I’ll take you to your place in the morning.”
“Thanks, Benny,” she said softly, pressing closer to him.
He slid his fingers from her hip up her side, over her shoulder blade, and into her hair. Once there, he used his thumb to curl a lock around his finger again and again.
He felt her sigh and he knew it was half a sigh.
He also knew she was giving him more, but she was still holding back.
For now, he’d give her that play.
She had until Monday.
Chapter Five
Drawer in the Bathroom
I stood at the door of my own apartment while Benny inserted the key.
At least he shoved open the door and stepped back for me to go in first.
“Thanks,” I snapped.
He grinned.
I rolled my eyes, walked into my apartment, and instantly felt weird.
I’d moved into that place six months after Vinnie died, leaving the semi-deluxe condo Vinnie put us in when he started to make decent money with Sal. Sal told me he’d cover the rent on my old place, but I said no because I thought that was weird. Anyway, it would pinch, but I could afford it on my own.
The real reason I left the condo was because I couldn’t be in our place anymore. It had memories of Vinnie everywhere. Sometimes I could swear even the smell of him would hit me, making it all come back, pain so immense I couldn’t breathe.
I was so desperate to get out I’d signed the lease on the first place I looked at. It wasn’t a great place, but it was in a good neighborhood. You walked into the dining area from the corridor. Kitchen off to the side. Living room off the dining area. A balcony off that with views of the city. Down a hall, two bedrooms, both with balconies to that view. Guest bath in the hall. The master had a bath and walk-in closet. A big utility closet for a washer and dryer, and storage in the hall.