CHAPTER THIRTEEN
francesca
Paddy joked with his brother as he heaved the catered dishes onto the counter and retrieved the dishware. However, alarm bells were already ringing after the comment about Conall not liking food in the apartment. Still, I couldn’t say it was a surprise.
Everything about Conall was orderly, and I couldn’t imagine he would like things like popcorn on the sofa while watching a movie. He would have an aneurysm when I broke out the air popper. I huffed a small laugh, and he gave me a look. Yeah, he’d probably have a coronary. We were going to have some fights about socks on the floor. He was wound a little tight.
That kiss, though. I wanted to be angry about it. Angry about the whole thing, but I couldn’t muster an ounce of regret about the kiss. All along, I had known that the chemistry was there between Conall and me. Now, it had been confirmed. We were going to burn hotter than the sun. Still — I wasn’t going to make this easy. Maybe I could enjoy a few perks … right?
When I had been talking with Theo earlier while Conall was off with his lawyer, she was about to storm over to pick me up. Even after I reassured her that I was okay from the attack at the hospital, she was still beside herself. Theo came across as wild, impulsive, and a little insane, but she was the kindest and most loyal person I had ever met. She had thrown herself into the breach for me. Theo covered up a crime for me for years, moved into a shithole, and stonewalled my brother and hers. I would do anything for her.
“Your brother is going to be furious. You know that, right?”
she said. “But he’s going to have a harder time deciding which to be more mad about — the attack at the hospital or Conall telling you that he is going to marry you. Angelo should have been the one to do that,”
she reasoned.
Wait until she found out Conall went ahead with the whole wedding without Angelo (or her). If I had to bet, she would be even angrier than Angelo that she missed the wedding. Theo had a few passions in life: her friends and fashion. She always loved an opportunity to dress up, and missing my wedding wouldn’t go over well.
“Italian, huh?”
Brody opened another chafing dish, revealing a dish of eggplant parmigiana. “Are you honoring your bride?”
“He’s got to find out what she likes,”
Paddy quipped. “And Frankie is Italian. Can’t be all Irish like us.”
He winked. “If you were my sister, you’d be content with pizza and Lucky Charms.”
“I do enjoy Italian,”
I said. “And pizza. Lucky Charms, not as much.”
“Good. Do you know how much sugar is in those?”
Conall wrinkled his nose in disgust. “His body is a temple.”
Paddy rolled his eyes. “Our dear brother doesn’t believe in letting processed foods desecrate all…”
he waved a hand toward Conall’s torso, “that.”
“The body’s a temple, huh?”
I asked, swirling my wine and smirking at Conall. “I bet you’ve never even had a Twinkie.”
The brothers burst into laughter. Conall, predictably, didn’t. His expression barely shifted, although I thought I caught the corner of his mouth wanting to twitch. I was sure of it.
“Twinkies, beer, candy bars—anything that brings joy,”
Paddy teased. “None of it is allowed. It’s all chicken breasts and broccoli for our Conall.”
“Gross. That’s the taste of sadness.”
I didn’t truly mean it, but I enjoyed how affronted he looked.
“And whiskey,”
Brody added, raising his glass.
Conall sighed, slicing into his eggplant parmigiana with the precision of a surgeon. “I drink whiskey because it’s not full of sugar, unlike whatever you two are putting in your bodies.”
He pointed at his plate. “And look. I’m eating something other than the taste of sadness.”
“Ah, don’t listen to him, Frankie. Beer is good for you. You’ll loosen him up,”
Paddy said with a wink. “Maybe get him to try… I don’t know, a slice of cake someday. Baby steps.”
Dinner with Conall’s brothers was a normal part of an otherwise surreal day. They were loud, boisterous, and entirely unlike their older brother, whose stiff demeanor seemed only to harden as the night progressed. I had grown up with brothers, so I wasn’t put off. Angelo and Remo were similar to Brody and Paddy — equal parts easygoing and rambunctious. Our dinners were always lighthearted and enjoyable once our parents were out of the picture.
I leaned back in my chair, letting their laughter fill the space. For a moment, I could almost forget why I was here—almost. The truth was that I didn’t belong in this room, at this table, or in this life. The rings on my finger felt surreal. I wanted to be home with my best friend in our rundown apartment that we were paying for ourselves with our own money.
Theo and I had worked hard for the tiny hole in the wall. We liked it there, even though the shower dripped and Mr. Lewis next door cooked cabbage every Thursday. I wondered bleakly if Theo would stay there without me.
Conall’s hand landed on my knee, startling me. Meeting his gaze, I could see the question that practically screamed from his pores, but I shook my head. I couldn’t find the words to explain, and he wouldn’t hear them anyway. The man had gotten what he’d wanted. Why would he care that I would have preferred to keep the small life I’d carved out for myself?
My chest tightened as the realization settled over me once again, heavy and suffocating. My things were still back in my apartment—my favorite leggings, books, and the little trinkets I had collected over the years—pieces of a life that now felt so distant. I didn’t want to be here, trapped in a marriage I hadn’t chosen, with a man involved in the mob. I had tried to carve out my niche away from that world. It was stupid of me.
What lingered most for me was how deeply my mother hated this life. Her bitterness towards Angelo, Remo, and me had festered like an open wound. My father had been cruel to her, though he hadn’t beaten her as in Conall’s case. Only once had I seen my father strike her. He’d slapped her across the face. She had been spitting venom at him. Whatever it was, it had found its mark. I knew he was an evil man, but the person with the power hadn’t been him in that relationship. Her words cut us all to ribbons—every day.
Funny that my father was such a shit human being. For fuck’s sake, he sold human beings. Treated them like cattle, but it was my mother in the end who wielded her words so effectively that she’d cut my father off at the knees. I always wondered if she’d been in on the trafficking. I wrinkled my nose — if she approved. She was such a bitch that she probably did.
My parents had a marriage rooted in hatred and mutual dislike. There was no other model for me during my childhood but theirs. As I grew older, I came to realize that healthy relationships existed. I understood that my mother and father were broken beyond repair, but I feared being locked into a similar situation where I would feel trapped.
I wondered if she had sat at a similar table and discovered that there was no way out. If she had realized that the life she thought she had was gone, that was the turning point for her. Was that the moment she turned into a bitter hag? Maybe it was a matter of perspective? Of deciding whether to move forward and make a good marriage? Maybe she had decided instead to make everyone’s lives miserable.
But my mother was the reason I was afraid of having children. I wasn’t sure how to explain this to Conall. My anxiety about being a wife or a mother began and ended with Carlotta Santelli.
“Frankie, are you alright?”
Brody’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I forced a smile and lifted my glass. “Just soaking it all in,”
I replied, not wanting to delve into the dark thoughts occupying my mind.
“Good luck with that,”
Brody joked. “It’s all downhill from here.”
“Get out of here, Brody,”
Conall muttered, his tone clipped but not sharp enough to convey any real threat.
Dinner wound down, but I wasn’t sure if it was because we had all had our fill or because Conall’s mood was steadily darkening. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was ready for his brothers to leave. He wasn’t even subtle about it, shifting in his seat and glancing at the clock as though they were overstaying their welcome. He’d been rearranging his silverware for the last fifteen minutes.
Finally, he placed his napkin on the table with a sigh. “I hate to interrupt the fun, but it’s getting late.”
Paddy leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, come on, we’re just getting started. Frankie here hasn’t even had dessert yet.”
“I don’t believe Conall cares about dessert right now,”
Brody said, giving me a mischievous wink.
I rolled my eyes and pushed my chair back. “I believe I’m the one who gets to decide whether I want dessert.”
“Not tonight,”
Conall said firmly, standing tall. His voice carried the same authority he always wielded, as if he were issuing an order rather than merely making a suggestion.
The brothers finally took the hint, albeit not without a few more parting jabs. Paddy hugged me as he left and whispered, “Don’t let him boss you around too much.”
“Don’t encourage her,”
Conall said from behind me.
Brody grinned as he opened the door. “If you need our help, just say the word.”
I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Once the door closed behind them, the apartment fell into an awkward, almost oppressive silence. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed as Conall tidied up. Moving to help him, I began gathering leftovers and checking the cupboards for containers I could use. It took us only a few moments to clean up, but I immediately noticed that Conall’s meticulousness also extended to his kitchen.
“You weren’t subtle about wanting them to leave,”
I said, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged and rolled up his sleeves. My mouth went dry at the sight of his corded forearms. “It’s our wedding night. I thought we’d earned a little peace.”
“Peace,”
I echoed, my voice laced with sarcasm. “How romantic.”
He turned to me, his expression enigmatic. “It’s not about romance, Francesca. We both know that.”
My chest tightened at his words. Despite their truth, I loathed how easily they stung and how cold they sounded. I longed for romance in my life. Conall didn’t know me well at all, but didn’t all women desire a little romance? Nobody wanted to be pushed around and told what to do.
“Well, you got what you wanted,”
I said, brushing past him toward the hall. “Excuse me, I’d like to find the guest room.”
Mentally, I groaned. Why did I sound like a bitch?
“You’re not sleeping in the guest room,”
he said, his voice firm and resolute. “We made a deal.”
He was right. If I wanted him to uphold his part of the deal. I needed to uphold mine. The pit in my stomach widened. I couldn’t say anything about it since I had agreed.
“This is our marriage,”
he said, his tone softening slightly, though the steel remained in his eyes. “You may not have chosen it, but we’ll make it work. That begins tonight.”
I wanted to argue and lash out, but the day’s exhaustion weighed too heavily on me. Ultimately, part of me wanted this response from him. I didn’t want a marriage built on silence and anger. A marriage like my parents’. Still, I huffed and stormed past him, muttering as I headed toward the bedroom. I didn’t know how to feel right now. It had been a long day. First, there was the minion from Cosimo, and then this whirlwind. I didn’t even have toiletries here.
He crowded behind me in the hallway as I realized I had no idea where I was headed. There was a bathroom and then a bedroom that was clearly a guest room.
“Keep going. Up ahead, turn right.”
The hallway branched off, with small windows showcasing the Brooklyn Bridge. “If you had gone left, you would have found my office,”
he explained.
I did as he asked, and the hallway led to another set of double doors, which opened into the main suite. Like the rest of the place, it had been decorated in a modern style with minimal accents. I’d have to talk to him about decorating because I’d need to add something if I was going to make a home here. The space was eerily tidy and spartan, resembling a monk’s cell. It was creeping me out.
“I don’t have my things here,”
I said with annoyance. “Not even a toothbrush.”
“I’ll get you one. There are extras under the sink. I change mine every two weeks, but I’ll have your items ready in the morning.”
Every two weeks? I tried not to roll my eyes. He probably had a calendar reminder on his phone.
The bed was enormous, the largest I had ever seen, even bigger than a king. I could easily get lost in it, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I enjoyed having my space, especially if I had to share it. He showed me the bathroom — a double vanity setup with marble countertops and wood accents that complemented the original hardwood. In these rooms, a few walls of exposed brick remained, which I adored. If only it had some plants, I would be perfectly content.
“I need a t-shirt to sleep in.”
“Hmm,”
Conall murmured indifferently beside me, brushing his teeth for what must have been exactly two minutes.
“Are you timing yourself?”
I asked out of curiosity while watching him in the mirror, attempting to overcome the awkwardness of standing beside him in the bathroom.
He spat and swished. I found the act oddly intimate, brushing our teeth together. I reminded myself that he hadn’t answered me about the shirt.
“Yes. Maintaining oral hygiene is important. You wouldn’t want a husband with rotten teeth, would you?”
He rinsed his toothbrush diligently and placed it exactly on the sink. “You will find what you need in the closet.”
M-kay. I didn’t know how to respond to that, but I dashed to the closet door as his fingers began methodically moving down the buttons of his shirt. Like the rest of the place, it exuded opulence, with dressers lining the center and his and her areas reminiscent of my brother Angelo’s house. What confused me were the women’s clothes that hung in neat rows and were stacked on the shelves: buttery leather boots, winter jackets, heels, and sneakers. Whose clothes were these? Red suffused my cheeks. Did he have women here? I opened the drawers on that side; sure enough, they were filled with t-shirts, leggings, underwear, and lingerie.
Spinning around in anger, I was prepared to give Conall a piece of my mind, but he was standing in the doorway. “Going somewhere? You seem a bit heated.”
“Whose clothes are these?”
I snapped. Being married was one thing, but I wasn’t going to share him with some whore. “If you think …”
“I’ll stop you right there.”
His jaw firmed, and his mouth thinned in what I had learned today was Conall’s irritated look. “They’re yours. I bought them for you,”
he clarified.
He stalked away, leaving me reeling with the knowledge that he must have had time to plan this if he had clothes here. Fuming, I returned to the clothing racks, ran my fingers over the outfits still in their protective sleeves, and unzipped the bags to discover designer gowns. I kicked a shoe out of the way. The jerk had me get married in scrubs, and he’d had a whole closet of clothes back here.
What was his actual problem? Why would he do that? I could have changed hours ago.
Grabbing the simplest nightgown from one of the drawers and a robe, I changed and slipped out of the dressing room back to the master bedroom. The lights had already been turned off, but I could see Conall still propped up on the pillows, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows. I hoped he had blinds because there was no way I could sleep with all the city lights shining in like that.