Chapter 15
FRANKIE
“I’d like to go to my father’s house, please. You can just drop me off, and I’ll call when I’m ready to leave.”
Donovan opens the car door for me. “Apologies, Mrs. Bellanti,” he says kindly, if a little uncomfortably. “I’m not allowed to leave you anywhere.”
I go still, reluctant to get into the back seat now. “You don’t have to wait for me. Really. I might be there all day, and it’s only a few minutes from here.”
He smiles in that practiced, yet genuinely warm way. “I’m happy to wait as long as it takes, Mrs. Bellanti. It is my job.”
“But—” I pull in a breath. I know this isn’t his fault, but I can’t help feeling pissed about it. A little sick over the whole thing, actually. My husband has apparently forbidden me to go anywhere—even right here in town, to see my own fucking family—without a chaperone.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Donovan repeats. “Would you like to revise your itinerary?”
With a sigh, I tell him no, and that I understand. “And I appreciate that you’re looking out for me,” I add, slipping into the back seat. He seems relieved that I’m not kicking up a fuss.
But the whole drive to the Abbott compound, I feel the invisible chains around me. Isn’t the joke supposed to be that the husband wears the ball and chain? Because I’m finding that to be completely ass backwards in my case. Dante has made me his prisoner. I hate it.
I was already tense about visiting my homestead today.
Seeing Livvie is my purpose, but I’m still uncertain about how I’ll feel if I run into our father.
I haven’t forgiven him by a long shot for forcing me into this marriage.
So far, nothing good has come out of it for me except a couple unexpectedly hot orgasms and a shopping spree—both of which I certainly didn’t need a marriage certificate to obtain.
The grounds are quiet as we arrive. The lawn appears recently mown and the flowerbeds lining the house are neatly planted and weeded.
Curious about the landscape refresh, I enter the house to find Livvie and immediately notice that a few of Charlie’s paintings have been professionally framed and hung in the entry hall.
The living room sports new, expensive-looking furniture and the hardwood floors are polished and gleaming. The house looks remarkably clean.
“Hey, Frankie.”
My father walks down the hall toward me, a beer in his hand. He’s actually smiling. I return the smile hesitantly because I’m very confused about all the sudden changes around here.
“Looking good in here, Dad. New furniture?”
He takes a swig from his bottle. I wince, wishing I could tear it from his hand.
“You should take a look around the vineyard. The winery is doing better than ever under your new husband. Things have really started to turn around for us.”
My jaw clenches. It’s been, like, a few days since the wedding.
There’s no way in hell the winery could have turned around so fast—Dad’s clearly lying.
A little window dressing can’t change the fact that the vines will need years to fully bounce back, that the tasting room needs to be completely overhauled, that the Abbott name and reputation have been sullied all over Napa.
But no matter. I’m not here for him.
“That’s great, Dad. I guess my arranged marriage is really working out for you. Congratulations. Now where’s Livvie?” I demand, less than politely.
His eyes grow a little cold. “Your sister’s in the barn. She could probably use your help with her chores.”
Just like that, I’m reduced from the adult woman who apparently saved his ass to the teenager trapped under his thumb.
He walks away, the sound of his boots loud on the floor.
A minute later, the door to his office shuts and I’m certain I hear a faint click of the lock.
I wonder what he’s hiding behind that closed door.
I go to the mudroom, hang up my purse, and slip out of my shoes.
My old riding boots are neatly lined up on the rubber tray, just like old times.
Nostalgia pangs through me as I sit down to put them on.
The shafts are a bit stiff, but my feet easily slide into them.
They’re familiar and comfortable and remind me of when my sisters and I used to race each other to see who could get their boots on first before heading out to do chores—last one done had to muck out the stalls.
I’d really missed the camaraderie while I was in Italy.
Walking the cobbled path to the barn, I hear Livvie’s voice from the run-down round pen out back.
I find her there working with a large black horse on a lead, circling her in a high-stepped trot.
Our family has bred Friesian horses for as long as I can remember.
They’re gorgeous and agile, wonderful for both riding and light farmwork.
At one point, our herd was yet another asset to the Abbott name—one that slowly began dwindling long before I’d gone to Italy.
I’m almost afraid to look in the barn and see what’s left.
Livvie doesn’t notice me and I don’t want to disturb her, so I lean my arms on the fence and just enjoy the sun and the sight of my sister doing something she loves.
She’s always had an easy, natural way with horses, and they respond to her much differently than they do to me or Charlie or our dad.
While we all loved to ride growing up, Charlie and I never had the ingrained passion for all things horse that Livvie does.
She’s so at ease right now, so focused. I envy the peacefulness on her face, her stance, and as I watch I’m reminded once again how glad I am to have taken a bullet for her by marrying Dante.
Even if it is fucking miserable.
She redirects the horse into a slow canter, a gait that isn’t easy for this particular breed.
But the gelding glides into it with a graceful rebound step that makes him look like a rocking horse.
Finally, she orders him to a walk, and when he stops he turns to face her.
She notices me then and waves eagerly. The horse tosses his head, his impressively long black mane billowing with the movement.
“Did you come to ride with me? That’s where I’m headed next!”
Smiling, I say, “I didn’t, but I will—even though I’m rusty. It should be lots of fun seeing me on a horse again.”
“You’ll be fine,” Livvie says. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“Not for me it isn’t,” I tell her with a laugh. “This is going to be a challenge.”
Not to mention painful. I haven’t ridden in three years, and going that long without means that my legs, ass, and thighs will be aching tomorrow. You don’t realize how many muscles you use to ride a horse until you don’t do it for a while.
I open the gate for her and she brings the horse through. I pet his nose.
“Who is this?” I ask. “I don’t recognize his face. Is he new?”
“He’s sort of new. He’s a four-year-old. Dad bought him right after you left for Italy. He needs to go through some more dressage training, but he’s had enough that I can start showing him. Well, maybe.”
Her voice trails off sadly. There’s clearly more to that story, but I don’t prod. We reach the side barn doors and Livvie puts her hand over mine on the door handle.
“Wait. It’s, um, not the same as when you left.
I’ve been trying to keep up, but I’m not really handy when things break and there’s only so much maintenance I know how to do.
Plus, almost all of the horses are gone.
” My stomach drops. Livvie smiles, looking suddenly perky though the shadow of sadness is clear in her eyes.
“But don’t worry, Ytse is still here. I tied him in the woods out back when the buyer was here.
Dad forgot about him, and never said a word when he mysteriously reappeared in his stall. ”
“Oh, Livvie.” I squeeze her hand. “I’m so sorry. Thank you.”
I imagine her leading my gelding Ytse into the woods in the dark of morning and waiting it out as the horse buyer made a sweep of our barns, then skirting him back in when the coast was clear.
Our father was probably too drunk to notice.
I grew up riding Ytse. He’s old now, and I can’t explain how it feels to know my sister preserved him for me.
“He’ll be happy to see you,” she says.
She opens the doors and leads her horse in.
I follow, pausing in the aisle to take it all in.
Livvie wasn’t kidding. These barns were once stately, in perfect condition.
Like the horses, this building had been a jewel in the Abbott crown.
Now it’s all sagging and hanging boards, broken gates, exposed wires, and cobwebs.
Livvie hoses off the horse’s legs, gives him a quick rubdown, and then puts him in his stall.
It’s perfectly clean, a new rubber mat peeking from the fresh bedding.
All the stalls on this side are the same.
Tidy, cared for. But the opposite side and other aisle are in complete disrepair.
We once housed twenty-two prized Friesians in here.
Now it’s barely livable for the few left.
Just then, a long, shaggy black head pops over a stall door as a horse nickers at me.
“Ytse!” I coo, going over to him to rub his nose. “Hi, baby. How’s my sweet boy?”
“Come change your clothes,” Livvie’s voice calls from the tack room.
Pulling away from my sweet old gelding, I go to the tack room and find it completely spotless.
Saddles, bridles, halters, and gear hang in perfect order on the walls.
Livvie holds up my old riding pants and a sweater.
We each kept a tote of riding clothes in the barn so we could change on a whim and go riding.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not sure my skinny jeans and silk top are appropriate for the trail.
I grab my tote and head into the restroom to see if I can still fit into my jodhpurs. They’re a little tight, but I manage.
Livvie changed in the tack room and is already getting Ytse ready for me when I come out.
He paws at straw in the aisle but stands quietly for his saddle.
My sister is so in her element that I let her tack him up instead of stepping in, and soon we’re mounted and heading down a familiar trail through the back of the property.
The sun is warm, birds are singing, and soft clouds roll across the sky. I could almost forget what my life has turned into and forget that I’m not Frankie Abbott anymore. The one who used to do this with her sisters nearly every day.
Livvie half swivels in the saddle to look back at me. Her horse is antsy and prancing sideways as if ready to run, but she’s making it easy on me by holding him back and keeping our pace to a slow amble. She knows full well I won’t be able to keep up with my tender ass.
“Let’s ride to Delores’s for fruit cups. Just like old times.”
“Sounds good!”
We make our way through the vines and take the winding trail to the Alvarez property to visit with Delores while we have a snack and let the horses rest. Afternoon is well upon us by the time we leave and have a leisurely ride back.
Livvie is nonstop chatter about the horses, her senior year of high school, cute boys, and the colleges she’s been looking into.
When she finally stops talking to come up for air, I take the opportunity to casually bring up her new horse. “You were saying something earlier about showing him in dressage. Isn’t the yearly pre-qualifier coming up?”
Charlie and Livvie showed their horses religiously in the state pre-qualifiers and then worked their way into bigger events. Me? I just went for the snacks.
Livvie kicks her feet from the stirrups and lets them hang, swinging them gently back and forth. “Yeah, it is, but I won’t be going.”
“Too busy?” I prod teasingly. “I didn’t know you had such a robust social life now.”
“Ha ha.”
Her entire countenance changes and an uneasy feeling creeps up on me. “Come on, Liv. Tell me what’s going on.”
I nudge my horse to catch up with hers and pull up so we’re side by side. She shrugs and looks straight ahead. “Dad sold the truck and trailer a few months ago, so I wouldn’t be able to get there. But even if he hadn’t, I…can’t really afford the entry fee this year.”
My heart sinks at the realization that my baby sister has been left to bear the brunt of our father’s mistakes ever since Charlie and I left home. Guilt claws at me.
“Livvie, I am so sorry that I haven’t been around.”
We’re back at the barn now and she dismounts gracefully. “Don’t be. You left to help the family. And I’m happy for you. Besides, I can take care of myself. And Charlie always helps out when things get really bad.”
“Good. But now that I’m back, you can come to me, too. I’m always here for you.”
Once I’m off my horse, I pull her in for a hug, silently vowing to make my father pay for his mistakes.
I leave Livvie to her work (there’s always more work for her to do, it seems) and head back to the house.
I’d be happy to help her, but the sun is starting to sink and I want to be home before dinner so I don’t ruffle Dante’s feathers.
He left a brand-new cell phone by my coffee cup this morning and I’m surprised he hasn’t called a hundred times already.
In the mudroom, I pull off my boots, only to find that one of my socks is damp and muddy.
Inspecting my boot, I find the leather around the bottom of the heel is starting to separate from the sole.
Lovely. And now my sock is too gross to put my tennis shoes back on.
Barefoot, I pad down the hall to Livvie’s room to borrow a fresh pair of socks. I know she won’t mind.
En route, I overhear my father’s voice filtering from behind his office door. The sound of his raw, harsh laughter stops me in my tracks. What the hell is he so jolly about?
“Sure thing, Phil,” he’s saying. “Just put me down for five grand on number two-one-two. Yeah…perfect. And five hundred on one-one-eight.”
I can’t believe it. That motherfucker is still gambling. He lost it all, from the family vineyard to his own flesh and blood, and yet he’s learned nothing. Blood boiling, I’m about to bust my way in and confront him with a few choice words when—
“Bellanti? Yeah, why? You need a car tampered with, too? Ha! …sure, I know the guy. I can recommend his services. But it’s gonna cost you.”
Bellanti? A car? He’s talking about Dante’s father.
His death wasn’t an accident.
My scalp tingles, my muscles freezing even as something inside screams at me to get out before my father finds me eavesdropping here in the hallway. Covering my mouth with my hand, I tiptoe back the way I came. Screw the socks.
Heart pounding, almost dizzy with adrenaline and the force of my pulse, I carry my shoes out to the waiting car, still barefoot, barely aware of Donovan opening the door for me as I slip into the back seat and try not to vomit.
Enzo Bellanti was murdered.
And my father was somehow involved.