Chapter 16
FRANKIE
The women are in high spirits, but their joviality doesn’t touch me.
The piano bar inside the restaurant is beautiful, with wide windows that must overlook the rolling hills of Napa during the daytime.
A wall with etched glass partitions divides us from the men, but I can still make out clouds of smoke swirling on the other side as the men puff their cigars.
I can’t see them completely thanks to the design in the glass, but I can tell Dante is in there.
I’d recognize the set to those shoulders anywhere.
He’s standing and tense, flaming my fear over what they’re all discussing right now.
I should be at Dante’s side, not sitting back while he makes decisions that affect the entire Bellanti family—and business—with zero input from me. He’s schmoozing with the mob. The very idea terrifies me.
The Frisco wife sits down at the piano and plunks a few keys.
Everyone except me is at least a little tipsy by now, and a few of the women start egging her on to play a song.
In return, Mrs. Frisco grins and starts picking out notes.
It only takes a few bars for everyone to realize she’s playing some pop song from the 80’s. Maybe the B-52s.
Her technique is flawless, and some of the women gather around the piano and start to choppily sing along.
They’re all wasted, so the words being sung are mostly wrong, but no one cares.
I notice that no one is more animated or friendly than Jessica herself, touching shoulders, throwing her head back in a carefree laugh, acting like she’s the life of the party.
I refuse to stand here and watch, so I head over to the window to brood.
A moment later, Charlie comes to my side and slips an arm around my shoulder.
“I should be in the smoking room,” I tell her. “I know the real reason this dinner happened is going on in there right now. Without me.”
I can feel my blood pressure spiking.
Charlie gives me a squeeze. “You’d never be allowed in on it. Trust me. It’s just…how it is. Nothing we can do about it.”
Clamping my jaw, I don’t respond. Anything I could say would only sound hateful, and probably make Charlie feel like I’m judging her for the life she’s chosen.
We turn back around to watch the shenanigans going on around the piano.
“Jessica sure knows how to make friends with mob wives,” I whisper, watching her ingratiate herself with them like a pro.
“Maybe she is a good fit for Marco,” Charlie whispers back.
I make a harumph of irritation. I know—I just know—that Jessica is waiting for her chance to pounce.
And if Marco isn’t careful, there’s going to be a second pregnancy in the Bellanti family soon…
Or maybe she’ll just use my morning sickness as an excuse to take more control over the winery’s operations.
I heard her bragging at dinner about how she was going to be leading the helicopter tours—she’s sure to claw her way in further as soon as she can.
And then there’ll be no hope of ever getting rid of her.
Just then, the double doors open and the men file in, bringing a thick fug of rich cigar smoke with them.
I’m instantly queasy, but I try to ignore it and look like I’m having a good time as Dante makes his way to me.
He’s smiling, his posture more relaxed. It’s clear that whatever business was supposed to take place tonight is now over and that the evening is beginning to wind down.
I want to ask Dante what happened, but I don’t get the chance before more commotion takes place at the piano.
The Frisco woman’s husband takes a seat beside her on the bench and whispers in her ear, drawing a loud laugh out of her as she shakes her head. He cajoles her with a bit of soft encouragement, the group of women joining in, and soon enough, Mrs. Frisco agrees.
“Fine! I guess since we warmed up with “Rock Lobster,” I might as well put my voice to use,” she says. “I suppose we could try something a little more…fitting for the occasion.”
It strikes me as a bit of an act, something she and her husband must have rehearsed or at least discussed.
A round of light applause goes around, along with a few whistles and catcalls.
When the waitstaff suddenly enter the room, setting out chairs in a semi-circle around the piano for everyone to sit in, it’s clear this whole thing was a planned part of the night all along.
Mr. Frisco strikes a dramatic chord, and his wife takes a deep breath. When she starts to sing, her voice strong and melodious, the opening notes stun me a little. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I recognize the aria. It’s in Italian, from Don Giovanni. And it is breathtaking.
It’s also a song I’d hoped to never hear again.
“In what abysses of terror, into what dangers,
Your reckless path pursuing,
Have guilt and folly brought you!
The wrath of heaven will surely overwhelm you,
It is swift to destroy.
The lightning flash of retribution impending,
It will soon be upon you!
Eternal ruin at last will be thy doom. Wretched Elvira!
What a tempest within thee, thy heart divideth!
Ah, why is there this longing? These pangs of sorrow?
Cruel heart, thou hast betrayed me,
Grief unending upon me he cast.
Pity yet lingers, I’ll not upbraid you,
Never can I forget the past, the happy past.
When my wrongs arise before me,
Thoughts of vengeance stir in my breast,
But the love that at first he bore me,
Binds my heart to him at last.”
It’s Elvira who’s singing—Elvira who loves the murderous Don Giovanni, despite his evil ways. The last time I heard this, I was with Rico in Italy, at the Roman Arena di Verona. It had been the most romantic night of my life then. The next day, he’d proposed.
The lyrics, the story, the memory…they slam into me, instantly overpowering me. Tears sting my eyes and start spilling down my cheeks. Dante tries to pull me close, but my stomach lurches at the scent of smoke still clinging to him.
I have to get out of here.
Whispering to Dante, I excuse myself without an explanation and beeline for the door. Out in the front foyer of the restaurant, I find Donovan along with a handful of other men—clearly all bodyguards—who snap to attention as I make my way over.
Donovan rushes to my side.
“Mrs. Bellanti?”
“Please take me home now. I’m not feeling well.”
He glances around, hesitating.
“Fucking take me home or I’m calling an Uber!” I snarl, swiping at the mascara leaking from the corners of my eyes.
“It’s okay, Donovan. We’re leaving.” Dante appears behind me and ushers me toward the exit.
When we get to the Escalade, I block his hand before he can grab the door handle.
“I’m leaving. You and your rank cigar ass are not.”
I fling the door open and climb inside. When Dante moves to get in with me, I block him, throwing out a hand.
“I mean it! Dante, I swear to God, I will puke on you. You fucking reek. Ride with one of your brothers.”
His brows drop. “You’re serious?”
“As a fucking heart attack.”
He opens his mouth to argue but clearly thinks better of it, and with a nod to Donovan, he closes the door for me and steps back onto the curb.
I’m grateful for the quiet on the ride home.
I keep the windows cracked to let the cool night air circulate, and Donovan says nothing as he drives.
After a heartfelt apology for biting his head off back at the restaurant, which he graciously accepts, I let out a deep sigh and let my head fall back on the headrest.
At least I found out Jessica hadn’t been sucking my husband’s cock that day. Thank heaven for small victories, right? Otherwise…the rest of the night seems like a total wash.
I’m in bed with my back to the bedroom door and the covers pulled up to my chin when Dante finally comes home later that night. I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep, but he pads softly across the floor and goes directly into the bathroom.
The shower runs for a while, then turns off.
My body is tense while I listen to him moving around on the other side of the bathroom door.
I’m on edge. Anger has been churning inside me for hours now.
I can’t stop thinking about the mob men and what happened in the humidor. What it might mean for our future.
Dante comes out of the bathroom and stands at the foot of the bed. Keeping my eyes closed, I hope that he’ll give up on me and just go to sleep.
“I know you’re not asleep. And I know you’re pissed. Look at me, Frankie.”
Fuck.
With a sharp exhale, I roll to a sitting position and stare him down. He’s toweling his hair dry, standing there stark naked. And yes, he looks good enough to eat. Bastard.
“You missed your calling as a detective, Bellanti,” I spit out at him.
He doesn’t bat an eye as he tosses his towel onto a chair. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Then don’t fight me,” I snap.
“Francesca, there are things going on that you don’t understand. That you can’t—”
“No, Dante. There are things going on that I don’t know about. There’s a difference. You’re making shady deals in literally smoky back rooms with shady mob people. I understand that much. Now I need to know why.”
His eyes shift to the side, his head tilting, and he looks like he’s actually considering it.
But then, “I don’t want to worry you with—”
With a frustrated groan, I whip the covers over my head and roll onto my side again, back facing him. Undeterred, he slips under the sheet to sidle up behind me, wrapping me in his arms.
I try to stay frozen still as Dante gathers me against him, the warmth of his growing erection pressing into my ass. He threads his fingers through my hair, drawing tingles over my scalp. It’s hard to be mad when he’s tantalizing me like this, but I’m determined not to waver.
“I didn’t make any deals with them,” he says, speaking softly into my hair. “I swear. But know this. I’d make a deal with God, the devil, and his sister to keep you and this baby safe.”
He kisses the back of my neck, trailing his lips to my shoulder as his hand moves to the front of my stomach and tenderly cups my belly. “You and this kid are what matter most to me. I love you, even when you don’t love me back.”
I think about the song the Frisco woman sang tonight, about Elvira—a woman doomed to love an evil man.
I think of the evil things my father did to my mother, to me and my sisters, and was still trying to do.
An equally evil person killed Dante’s father.
But…Dante isn’t evil. Sometimes he doesn’t do good things, but he’s still far from the evil I’ve experienced in my life.
Turning in his arms, I stare into his eyes.
“I do love you,” I tell him. “It makes me so mad sometimes, but I do. Please don’t doubt that.”
Dipping his head, he pulls me close, as tightly as he can, and kisses me deeply.
The hem of my shortie nightgown is already slid up, and I lift it to my waist as I throw a leg over his hip and start grinding slowly over his cock.
He groans as I move faster, moaning softly in his ear, until finally I can’t wait any longer.
I reach down, tug my panties to the side, and draw him into my wetness. He gives a few thrusts, making me gasp, and then I shift, rolling on top of him, spreading my knees wide so he fills me to the hilt. Leaning forward, I drop my lips onto his, our bodies pressed chest to chest.
“Say it,” he demands, pulling back to watch me ride him.
“I love you.”
I’m out of breath already, my hands going for his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his abs—anything I can hold on to while I toss and sway over him, desperate to get myself off.
“Again,” he says, grabbing my hips to steady me, grinding me even faster against him.
“Fuck.” I can barely keep my eyes open from the building pleasure. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I moan out.
“Don’t stop.”
So I don’t…until our breathing runs together and he’s spilling inside me and I’m clenching around him, hot tears in my eyes, giving myself up completely as I’m swept up in his love.