Chapter 43 Francesca
Francesca
Once I escape the dance floor, I make my way over to my mother. “I think it’s going well, don’t you?” Mom asks me.
“Yes, Mrs. Vicini outdid herself.”
"Carlo looks very handsome in his tux."
Mom’s comment rivets my attention back to him. Even with his cold-bastard expression going, he’s undeniably handsome. He’s currently surrounded by a group of important members of the Trio in a corner on the far side of the room.
One of them is Caterina’s brother Nico who looks ready to start the next war over whatever the men are discussing.
Cat’s other brother Dante is absent, along with their parents and Nico’s twins.
They may all be in Chicago where the Morellis rule, but there’s rumors that Dante has been in Italy a good deal lately. Why exactly, Caterina isn’t sure.
Thinking of those who are missing makes me think of Sofia. She would have excelled at charming the elite of New York’s Trio while gracing Carlo’s arm if not for his actions at Alessio’s Seconda. And if he hadn’t randomly decided he wanted me.
A few of the other men in the group glance my way with dark amusement shining in their eyes. Carlo scowls at them, and my stomach tightens with nerves. Didn’t I warn him they’d think less of him for marrying me?
Forcing myself to turn away, I compliment my mother’s dress. “You look lovely in turquoise, Mom.”
“Thank you, but you’re the one who’s dazzling tonight, Francesca.”
“Dazzling with sore feet,” I admit.
“You still hate high heels. I remember feeling the same way at my wedding,” she says with a wistful smile. “Beppe insisted I dance barefoot when it was his turn to dance with me.”
My heart squeezes thinking of that dear old man and wishing he could’ve shared this day with us.
“Carlo made a similar joke about me dancing barefoot when…” I shut my mouth, remembering how he’d teased me that night when I made a deal with the devil.
My guard had been down then and looked at what happened.
“I hope you’ll be happier than… At least in the early years, it was okay.”
My mood sinks, understanding her and remembering Da.
She loved him even when he was awful to her, even as she tried and failed to protect her children from his rages.
He shit all over her love, loving himself more.
I reach for her hand, knowing she wants the best for me.
It trembles under my touch, and my mood sinks further.
This must be so hard for her after years of avoiding crowds and gatherings such as this because of the shame he caused.
“How have you been since I left Vegas?” I ask.
“I miss you, but I’m content living under Alessio’s roof. Caterina is a sweet girl and good company.” I’m glad. Things would be terribly awkward if she remained with Enzo after Rocco’s death. “I wish Gia could stay with us longer,” she adds.
We both glance at my cousin who’s dancing with her husband. She’s perfected her mafia trophy wife act in public despite Ritchie being a Grade A Asshole. I doubt Mom notices, but Armando is glaring at them from beside the bar.
“What if you had the option to live somewhere else… If you could live with Ronan…”
Mom gives me an alarmed look. “Alessio wouldn’t allow that.”
“Alessio is your nephew. Ronan is your son. They don’t own you. Who would you want to live with?” I have to know her feelings on this matter since Ronan has made up his mind about what’s best for us. “Hypothetically, what would you choose, Mom?”
With a sigh, she answers, “To live with Ronan would mean living in Boston again. Don’t look so surprised at me knowing that, Francesca.
As soon as you told me he was alive, I knew who he must have turned to after my brother’s men failed to kill him.
I cannot express in words what it means to me knowing my son is alive, but I wouldn’t go back to Boston. ”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “My children are half-Irish, but I’m not.
I don’t belong in the brG. The Vegas Trio is my home.
I wish it was Ronan’s, too, but how could he trust them again after everything?
I miss my son, as I miss you, but we don’t always get to keep our children close once they’ve grown.
I knew that ever since my father arranged my own marriage.
I knew it the second your brother came into my life and made me a mother.
Just knowing he’s okay can be enough compared to the alternative. ”
Her words settle over me, and her acceptance is easier to understand than I expected.
I may fight Carlo on certain matters, I will not cower or lie down when I think I’m right, but I’ve grown to accept the idea of sharing my life with him.
In fact, I can't picture my life any other way at this point.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but I believe it’s my turn to dance with the bride.” Don Daniele Vicini holds out his hand expectantly.
“Of course,” I reply. I wouldn't dare refuse him.
The music has grown noticeably louder as we take to the floor.
I ignore the way the steady beat thrums through my chest and try to think of something pleasantly dull to say, but Daniele is quicker to speak.
“I won’t pretend this was a match I had in mind for my heir, but I trust Carlo’s judgement on the matter.
” Well, that was blunt as hell. “I hope you understand loyalty better than your father did, Francesca. Carlo will be Don when I retire, and it would not do for him to have treasons brewing under his own roof. I know he would regret having a problem to eliminate.”
From blunt to an outright threat, how lovely. But something tells me that, unlike his younger sons, this man doesn’t know about my meeting with Ronan. “Betrayal wouldn’t serve me in this marriage,” I reply, stiffly.
“And what of your father and brother?”
“I have no loyalty toward my father, and my brother is a grown man. What could a girl like me do for him even if I wished to?” I ask, innocently.
His wintry expression shifts into a brief smirk. “Remember that, and we’ll have no problems.”
His attention shifts elsewhere, the matter decided in his mind, as our eyes are drawn to another pair on the dancefloor - Carlo and Giulia.
The little girl grins widely up at her big brother as he swings her around.
Her patent-leather dress shoes are missing, her stockinged feet resting on Carlo’s polished shoes as they move.
She presses a small hand against Carlo’s chest, nodding at something he’s signed.
She can feel the bass, just like when we played the low notes of the piano.
That’s why the musicians are playing louder, I realize, and I am certain who asked them to do that.
My throat is tight with emotion, and something even more dangerous wells up inside me when I see the unguarded smile my husband gives Giulia.
I miss her company, but I miss him even more.
“Is that supposed to be dancing?” my father-in-law asks, harshly.
He doesn’t expect an answer, but I give one anyway. "Yes, the best dancing I've seen tonight. Giulia is an amazing little girl."
"Amazing? She's-"
"She's deaf, so what? You should be proud of her! Instead, you behave like a small-minded, old fool."
"You dare speak to me this way?"
"I'll speak to anyone this way when they neglect and wound their innocent child with their stupidity, especially when they do that to part of my family. Even you."
I feel a little short of breath the second the words are out, hardly believing I just did that. What was I thinking?!
I was thinking of Giulia.
With a sharp nod, Daniele excuses himself.
Stifling my annoyance, I realize Gia’s husband means to claim my next dance, so I pretend not to notice Ritchie and decide it’s time to powder my nose.
Quietly stepping inside the ladies' room, a cloud of expensive perfume nearly knocks me down, and I hear female voices chattering like an overturned beehive. “We had such hopes for forming a bond between you and him after Sofia ran off, but I’ll hand it to the little hussy… the sheets make it impossible for him to honorably withdraw now even if he had come to his senses.”
Peeking around the corner, I see Mrs. Russo, the Consigliere’s wife, and that’s his daughter, the girl who danced with Carlo and glared at me.
The other one is the wife of the Underboss from Philadelphia.
I’m the hussy who obviously trapped him.
What a fucking joke. But how the hell do they know about the sheets?
“I can't believe he really chose her. He could've had anyone. He didn’t look very happy dancing with her, and he was very cordial with me. Do you think there’s any chance he might set her aside?” the girl asks her mother.
“You know that’s not how things are done once a man proves he’s claimed his bride, my dear, but there are two more Vicini brothers you could be promised to.”
“But they won’t be the Don,” she pouts.
"I'm certain she's behind Sofia's disappearance. Probably had her quietly killed off," the Underboss's wife suggests.
Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. The urge to slink back out of here is strong, but my anger is stronger. I am his wife. He chose me, and no Vicini hangs their head for nasty vultures.
Having heard enough, I step around the corner, holding my head high and taking pleasure in the way the blood drains from their faces. "Good evening, ladies. Don't let me interrupt your fascinating discussion."
The three of them murmur rapid, false courtesies, acting as though they weren't speaking of me. I give them a pitying smirk before deliberately turning my back on them and reapplying my lipstick. They're spiteful creatures like Bibi's cousin Piera, and their opinions don't define me.
As they're backing out of the room, I glance over my shoulder. "I hope you'll be more circumspect about where you hold your gossip sessions in the future. You never know who might be listening, and my husband is rather bewitched by me."
When I step back into the hallway, Faro is waiting for me, smirking at the retreating women. "They give you any trouble?"
I shake my head as Caterina joins us, her lovely face clouded with concern.
“Frankie… God, I’m sorry,” she whispers, hugging me.
Did she hear them, too? I can’t see how. “It’s okay,” I say, sitting on a nearby bench to slip off my heels and massage my aching feet.
Cat joins me, kicking off her own heels as Faro retreats a few yards to give us privacy. “I don’t care about tradition. The world has no right sticking their nose in a couple’s marriage bed this way.”
“Marriage bed? What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Oh, I…” Cat cringes before continuing. “I made the mistake of joining Alessio in the corner where the men have been loitering since the dancing started. It’s not like they’d have that to display if this reception had happened immediately after a regular wedding.”
Jumping up before she can say more, I race barefoot back into the ballroom. Every single one of these men are killers, but they part like leaves before a tornado when they see me. My eyes grow wider, and my stomach bottoms when my horrifying suspicion is confirmed. The absolute bastard.
Draped over a table is the proof of my lost virginity and Carlo’s triumph over the stupid girl who thought she’d found a way out of a Trio marriage and instead climbed right into her coffin. I’m going to murder him.
But before I can do anything, a pair of strong arms lock around my waist. His scent, spicy cologne and smoky liquor, floods my nostrils as his hard body presses against mine, his husky voice murmuring in my ear, “You’ve lost your shoes, mia moglie. Does this mean it’s time for another dance?”