Chapter 17
Francesca
It had been a month since that strange night with Matt. An eternity could have passed, and I would still feel his rough touch on my skin. It was searing and enough to have me daydreaming about my ex-husband more often than not.
There was something special about Matt losing his carefully crafted control. Special because it only happened with me. Knowing that intrinsically, allied to the memory of that night, made it hard for me to let go.
And that was exactly why I left, even though he was bleeding and passed out. Max had come with a doctor in tow, just as he should have done the first time around. But I was sure that the “no doctors” rule came from Matt himself, and Max just improvised as well as he could. I mean, a paper stapler to close the wound? Really?
Why not use a paperclip and some thread and just MacGyver it?
He was taken care of when I left, on his way to a full recovery.
I couldn’t deny that my heart was beating out of my chest with concern. I couldn’t deny that turning my back was the hardest thing I’d done since signing those papers and holding my own until I was out of that club.
But I couldn’t stay and wait for clarity because once Matt was back to his senses, he’d reject me all over again, and I couldn’t go through that a second time.
I didn’t think I’d be back on the jet on my way to New York so soon after that. Not to mention on my way to a Commission meeting.
Even though my uncle was confident, I had zero expectations about the outcome of tomorrow’s meeting.
It was still hard for me to believe that the patriarchy was opening the door to a woman willingly. If my uncle had an ace up his sleeve, he definitely hadn’t mentioned anything about it. So, excuse me for being skeptical. It was just a really fucking long shot that I truly didn’t see happening.
It had been my utopian dream, something I craved with all my being but always knew deep down I would never have.
Leading New York while Matt was focused on his revenge had given me a small taste. But it was like an addiction – after starting it was hard to stop.
I wanted more.
I wanted it all.
My uncle said he had a plan. That he would make it work out. Even though I still had my reservations, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. And so, here I was, on my way back to the hell that saw me burn just two months ago.
I was apprehensive. No… scratch that. I was anxious, unsettled, nervous, dreadful—all of those bad emotions you can think of to describe walking straight into a lion’s fucking den.
Something in me could sense the trouble before it even happened. What trouble was that? I had no clue. Probably just me taking all those steps back into the pity state I was in when I walked away after signing those divorce papers.
I despised that version of me even though there was no way to escape her. I’d just lost the love of my life. It was only normal to mourn his loss only to go back to New York a month later and fuck him one last time.
Would he remember anything? Probably not.
Despite all the heartache and deception, I was still a walking contradiction. I couldn’t decide what I should feel.
I missed him. I really missed him, and just thinking that I’d be seeing that smug, stupidly handsome face in a couple of hours stirred something inside of me.
The line between the hate I nurtured for Matt now and the love I had for him before was as thin as paper. Or maybe two sides of the same coin.
All through the flight, I talked myself into feeling nothing, trying to put on this false bravado so he couldn’t see what went on beneath the surface.
Knowing that I was undoubtedly going to hurt once my eyes set on him had me kicking myself away from self-pity and into an armor I hoped I could hold up.
How could I be feeling this way towards him still? I should hate him, loathe him, despise him. And I did. Just not enough to forget my love for him just yet.
Especially since I had a nagging suspicion that this sudden willingness about a woman becoming the boss had his fingers smeared all over it. Was that the grounds for the divorce?
No.
That was just my heart trying to make excuses for him. Trying to find some kind of grand gesture behind what was a mere business agreement. One year to get him that seat, one year to free Detroit from the Battaglia wrath. That was it.
Either way, if I broke down again, New York wouldn’t be the place to do it. I would have to be far away from his sight before I crumbled into the weak mess I was in. I refused to let him see me bent and broken because of him. As far as Matt Battaglia was concerned, I was more than well. I was spectacular, incredibly fine, and over the whole. Fucking. Thing.
“How are you doing?” My uncle asked, placing his hand on mine and giving it a small squeeze while a smile made of nothing but pity covered his features.
Could I tell him that we hadn’t even arrived yet, and I was already more than ready to leave? No. Instead, I put on a mask of “I’m fine and healed” and squared my shoulders, ready to give him my best performance.
“I’m fine.” My smile was as fake as my marriage, but this man sitting in front of me knew me too well to fall for my bullshit.
“I don’t buy it, Poppet,” he tenderly said. My uncle was like my second father; there was no way he wouldn’t catch that lie even if I’d convinced myself about it.
“I know, but I’m sticking with that.”
“Okay. I understand. This will be over soon enough, and we can go right back home.”
“Good. I still don’t get why we are trying this. We both know it’s not going to happen. You old men are too stubborn,” I teased him.
“Have faith, Dear. Good things come to those who do.”
“Good things come to those who wait! Don’t go around twisting it to fit your agenda,” I corrected him as I chuckled.
“It’s the same thing. You’ve been waiting, and part of waiting is having faith that things will happen.” I looked at him suspiciously and smiled.
Holding on to faith or hope was also a fast lane to disappointment. So I’d keep my reservations close to my heart until this little game was over.
Matt
The barstool I’d chosen to sit on had a privileged view to the hotel’s entrance. Any newcomers walking through the rotating doors to the grand lobby of the Ritz would come straight into view.
And this front row seat was mine. There was no way I was missing her arrival.
I’d picked this place for our event for two reasons. First, I’d been staying here ever since Francesca left, apart from those few days I had been forced to sleep in my own apartment.
Second, only one year ago, I had danced in this same place with a fiery mafia princess turned Queen, on our wedding day.
Poetic full circle or something. Ending it forever in the same place it all started.
“Just leave the bottle on the counter.” I told the bartender as he poured the third glass of Macallan.
I hadn’t drunk that much. These guys were just stingy as fuck, serving you a mere finger in an amplifying tumbler that seemed to hold an ocean of booze.
I wasn’t about to make the mistake of facing my ex-wife with a clouded mind like the last time. Poisoned or not, fucking her was not a smart move.
The success of tomorrow’s meeting depended on her genuine hatred for me, and that night could have either heightened it or made her see right through my fragile bluff. I had to make sure that wasn’t the case.
I glanced at my watch again, before pulling a cigarette out of the half-smoken pack. I couldn’t light it here, and I refused to leave my spot, so having it dangling on my lips was the concession. These two had made up the bulk of my diet for the last few weeks, alongside no sleep and lust for days. I was sure that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon, especially with Francesca at arm’s length. Close enough to be snagged and kissed.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw Francesca getting fucked from behind against that wall. I heard her moans of pleasure erasing that tentative goad she threw at me, “Do your fucking worst.”
How I was about to sign off on a lifetime without her was beyond me. But I was. No questions asked, because she deserved as much. My wife deserved the world.
“Jimmy has the cops off our backs.” Max said as he came to sit on the seat beside me.
“Good. I’d spoken to the Mayor, too. After his friend Mercier kidnaped and tried to rape Jamie he owed me big. He’d either overlook our all-star meeting this weekend or suddenly see his next campaign unfunded. Easy bargain.” I replied, taking a sip out of my glass that almost emptied it.
Each Don’s entourage would be small, so having The Commission’s meeting under their noses wasn’t an issue. So long as they all behaved and kept their bullets in the chamber, we’d fly right under the radar.
“Nervous?”
“No.” I shrugged, “Expectant. Some pieces are yet to fall in place, so nothing is certain yet.”
“Care to elaborate?” I hadn’t told Max the extent of the plan and I wasn’t about to either. He’d be better off not knowing.
“Once it’s set.” I could see he didn’t appreciate being in the dark, but I preferred to hold my aces close to my chest. “Should we expect any problems with the Yakuza?”
“We have a team with eyes on the city’s cameras. We’ll be warned if they try anything.”
“Good. Set up a perimeter around the block. Our guests should be arriving any minute now.”
As if in a queue, the movement at the entrance stole my attention.
I felt her before I saw her. It was like my soul recognized her presence. I steadied my racing heart waiting for the moment she came into view.
Jesus fuck! She was glowing.
Seeing Francesca again was as much of bliss as it was hell.
Beautiful as ever and so absolutely fucking fine. That’s what made my teeth grind.
My angel was doing just fine without me and that realization was the toughest pill to swallow.