Chapter 16
FRANKIE
The parking lot at Bella Notte is full when we arrive. Donovan circles the lot a few times and then tells me he’ll park in the fire lane so he can keep an eye on the restaurant while I’m in there. Apparently the possibility of a parking ticket isn’t any kind of threat to the Bellantis’ driver.
I called Charlie on the way over to ask her to meet me here for dinner. I have no idea what to do with the information I just stumbled onto, but there’s no way I can carry this alone. My father is a…a what?
A murderer? An accessory to murder? A criminal mastermind?
I can’t prove any of that, of course, or even ascertain that he was directly involved in Enzo Bellanti’s death.
But he did spill that the accident wasn’t an accident at all, and he claims to know who arranged the fatal details.
Someone in my father’s close circle dirtied their hands to kill a man.
Fear razors down my spine and I’m not sure I can get out of the car.
“Sorry for keeping you out all day.” I stumble over the words as Donovan comes around to open the rear door for me. He frowns at the distress I’m doing a shitty job at hiding.
“I’m happy to be of service, Mrs. Bellanti.”
“I’ll, um, just have a quick bite with my sister and—”
“Madam, please.” He lightly touches my wrist. “Take all the time you’d like, and enjoy your evening. It’s no trouble at all.”
Glancing into his kind eyes, I nod. “Thanks, Donovan.”
I wonder what he’s seen, what he’s heard in his time with the Bellantis. It would probably make the information I’m carrying look like child’s play. What’s worse? Being exposed to such heinous behavior for the first time, or being exposed so often that you finally become immune?
I’ll never let myself become that person. Charlie’s husband is involved in things she knows enough to stay out of, but even so, I hope the exposure by proxy doesn’t harden her to these things, either. We simply cannot turn out like our father.
Once I’m inside, I remember I’m not really dressed for this place in my jeans and blouse, my sneakers and no socks. But the hostess gives me the most welcoming smile anyway, as if I’m dressed to the nines and have a reservation.
“Mrs. Bellanti! How very nice to see you again.”
I can’t place her beaming face, so if we’ve met, I have no recollection of it. She seems to know me, though. “Um, thank you.”
“May I offer you a table this evening?” she asks.
“Actually, yes. I need a private booth. Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
She scrunches her nose in a cute little way. “You never need to call, Mrs. Bellanti. Your family’s table is always available to you.”
Family table? Okay. I guess it’s just another perk of being a Bellanti. Who am I to argue? Especially when I need to sit down and have a damn drink. I follow the woman to the back, but don’t get far before a couple I don’t recognize calls out to me.
“Nice to see you this evening, Mrs. Bellanti.”
“Such a pretty blouse!”
I smile and nod, walk a couple feet, and get stopped again. I recognize this couple, at least. They were the ones who scowled and turned their noses up at me when I met Dante here. I’m receiving a much warmer reception now, however.
“Oh, Francesca. Marriage is looking good on you!” the woman simpers.
“Please give your husband our regards,” her husband adds. “The Hartwells.”
Stunned by the about-face, I just nod again.
At this point, I’m aware that a lot of people in the dining area are staring at me, just like last time—but their attitudes are markedly different this go-round. Apparently being Dante’s wife means I’m suddenly worth their time.
The hostess seats me and I order a bottle of rosé, along with two fingers of whiskey neat.
“And two place settings, please. I’ll order now, too.”
“Of course.”
Without even consulting a menu, I order a carb fest of Italian comfort food classics: pasta carbonara, lasagna, fried ravioli, garlic knots, and two desserts, which I request to be brought out along with the meal—tiramisu and profiteroles.
I need all the sugar and starch I can stand to help process what I’d overheard.
A waiter returns to pour the wine just as Charlie shows up and slides into the booth.
“Hey, you,” she says, setting her purse on the seat and sipping her wine.
I’m so relieved to see her that tears sting my eyes. She takes one look at me and her forehead creases.
“What’s wrong, Frankie?”
It’s impossible to speak with how upset I am, so I drain half my glass first, clearing my throat after I set it down. “Before I get into all that, we need to talk about Livvie. One of us has to take her. She cannot stay home alone with Dad. Not anymore. So either I take her or you do.”
“Okay, I’ll talk it over with—”
“No. There’s no time for that. Like, this has to happen tonight.”
Charlie scoots closer and swallows hard. “What did he do?”
“You sure you really want to know?”
I polish off my wine and reach for the bottle for a refill. She puts her hand over mine.
“Listen,” she says quietly. “My husband is off on some mysterious work trip for an ‘indeterminate amount of time.’ His words, not mine. But you know Livvie won’t leave her horses longer than one night, so why don’t I just move back into the house for now?
That would be easier than running her back and forth every day. ”
My throat is dry, despite the wine. I nod. “Okay. For now.”
“You’re scaring me, Frankie. You weren’t even this upset when you found out about your surprise wedding.”
I give a humorless smile. “This is just a tad worse than that.”
Our food shows up before I get a chance to elaborate. My sister sits back frowning as the waiters set down the dishes, top off our wine, grate us some fresh parmesan, and finally leave.
“Were you expecting someone else? Perhaps an entire army?” my sisters asks. “This is a lot of food.”
Twirling spaghetti around my fork, I wave off her sarcasm. “Just shut up and eat.”
Hesitantly, she picks up her fork and stabs a ravioli. I sample each of the dishes, but my heart’s not really in it. Finally, Charlie sets her fork down with a clank and stares at me. I pause mid-bite. She gives me an eye roll when I gesture to her empty plate.
“That lasagna isn’t going to eat itself.”
“Frankie, come on. You’ve got me so worried about what’s going on that I can’t eat, okay? Whatever it is, just spill it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” I wipe my mouth and grasp the stem of my wineglass.
Glancing around first to make sure no one is listening in, I lower my voice to a whisper.
“I overheard Dad talking to one of his bookies. He said that…that he knew the name of the person who tampered with Enzo Bellanti’s car.
It had to be what caused the accident that night, right? ”
We lock eyes. Charlie’s face goes white. “I don’t know. Maybe Dad was just gossiping.”
“No. He recommended the guy’s ‘services,’ Char. What does that sound like to you?”
She lets out a breath, shaking her head. “Are you absolutely sure you heard what you think you did?”
“Yes!” The word snaps out of me. “I was standing right outside his office door. I heard every single word loud and clear.”
“Okay, okay. I believe you. This is just a lot. I mean Dad is no angel, but…how involved is he in this?”
“No idea.” I shrug and drink more wine, though my stomach is in knots and pretty close to rejecting everything I just ate.
“You’re right. Liv shouldn’t be alone with him. We’ll figure something out.”
“Here’s another question. Should I tell Dante?”
Her brow furrows. “Of course you should. You’re tied to him now.”
Scowling, I whine, “But I hate him. Why should I help him?”
My sister tries to hide a tiny smile, which I know is her amusement over my brattiness. “I know you’re having a hard time, but like it or not, you’re a Bellanti. That means your loyalty is to them. Dante’s successes are yours, too, and his failures…well, those are all his own.
“But the better he does, the better you—and all of us Abbotts—will do. And if Dad’s involved in something shady, do you really think it’s up to you to protect him from the consequences, Frankie? I wouldn’t. He deserves whatever payback comes his way.”
I have to admit, I’ve had the same thought. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” she says.
She dips a garlic knot in marinara and then stuffs the entire thing into her mouth, shooting me a wink. We used to stress eat together. We called it bonding.
By the time we get to the desserts, we’ve shifted from brooding and stressed to overstuffed and stressed, but I’m somewhat relieved to have shared my burdens.
Pushing the tiramisu away, Charlie says, “Here’s the thing. This information you have now? It’s the leverage you were missing before. So use it.”
“I’m not following,” I say. “Use it for what?”
“To renegotiate the terms of your relationship with Dante,” she says. “You want a financial cut of their winery? A job? Something to secure Livvie’s future? This is how you’re going to get it.”
I mull her words over in my mind as I finish my dessert and my wine, but something about all of this is still nagging me. “How does that make me any better than Dad? I’m trading information about someone’s death for my personal gain.”
I don’t want to be that person.
“You are nothing like Dad,” Charlie says. “Look at it this way. He’s left nothing for Livvie. Nada. If you can get something out of this for her, then you’ve done a good thing.”
Despite all the food, I suddenly feel deflated. “I don’t know. I hate this.”
My sister reaches over and takes my hand. “I know that it’s not easy, Frankie. You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Better me than Livvie, right?”
“Right. And you can bet your ass I’m going to do a lot of listening and probably a little snooping while I’m at Dad’s house. Speaking of which, I should head out so I can pack a bag and get over there.”
She opens her purse and takes out a credit card, but I stop her.
“I’m sure the Bellantis have a tab. Just get to Livvie. Love you guys.”
“Love you too. Mwah.”
I’m sad to see her go, but glad to know she’ll be at Livvie’s side for the time being. If our father has been up to this nonsense since we’ve been out of the house, what else has he done? He’s put our whole family at risk.
My stomach churns.
I know the Bellantis are involved in underhanded things—it’s no secret that it’s made them very rich. The whole reason I married Dante was to save my family from financial ruin.
But how far am I willing to go to protect what’s mine?
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to find out.