Chapter 25
FRANKIE
It’s hard to sleep when your thoughts are screaming at you all night long.
Unfortunately, my body clock is firmly set to wake me at sunrise, so now I’m lying in bed with my eyes wide open and literally no reason to get up. The tasting room is closed on Mondays anyway, so regardless of my questionable employment status, I have to find a way to occupy my entire day.
I haven’t felt depressed like this in a long time. Maybe ever.
Not just over the inventory debacle, or the fact that Jessica seems to have gotten away with blaming it on me—but because my husband also came inside me again last night. I’m on a losing streak right now, and I’m angry at myself for not doing more to prevent some of it.
Granted, there is little I could have done to stop Jessica. But I can control my pregnancy risk. Starting now.
Dante might want an heir, but he can’t actually force me to give him one.
Because even with him not using condoms, there are plenty of other birth control methods out there.
Hell, I started taking the pill when I was sixteen, and I’m happy to go back on it—I just haven’t gotten around to having my prescription updated since I returned from Italy, which has left me vulnerable.
Damn it. I need to add “make appointment with OBGYN” to my mental to-do list.
In fact, I’ll call today.
Hand straying over my abdomen, I think about the possibility of a baby growing there already. God, please not yet. Not when my life is such a shitshow. I’m not ready for a baby. We’re not ready for a baby.
What would having a child with Dante even be like?
He’s so controlling and stone-faced most of the time, I can’t honestly imagine him as a father.
Especially when he’s made it clear that he views offspring as “heirs” rather than actual children.
But maybe having a kid would change him in ways I can’t imagine.
Maybe he’d find a softer side of himself, patient and loving and attentive.
Or maybe he’d just be his usual cold, indifferent self, dumping our child off on a series of nannies and private boarding schools while he runs his empire.
The last thing I want to do is bring a child into this world as a guinea pig.
Reaching for my phone, I type my old gynecologist’s name into Google to get her number. Just then, a message from Charlie pops up. How fast can you get here?
My heart begins a furious pace at what’s prompting a question like that. 20 min or so? What’s wrong?
Please don’t let it be Livvie.
There’s a pause and I almost call my sister, but another text comes through. Dad’s home.
“Oh, fuck.” I read those two words again. “Shit.”
I can’t move him by myself and I need you to see something. Hurry.
Can’t move him? What the hell is going on over there? Bursting from the bed, I throw on a pair of leggings and a tee shirt, slip into my sandals, and hurry out the door. I don’t even bother brushing my teeth, I’m so anxious to get over to Dad’s.
Downstairs, I swerve into the small hallway closet where the keys are kept and grab the set to my little red convertible. Dante only returned them to me recently, and I’m probably about to make him regret that decision. But maybe if I can get back soon enough, nobody will even know I was gone.
I pull the Jaguar out of the garage and speed down the long driveway, kicking up rocks under the tires. I’m just past the Bellanti gates when my cell rings.
The sound makes me jump. It has to be Dante. His spidey senses probably went off the second I crossed over the property line, and now he’s going to chew me out.
Not that I care. I’m a grown-ass adult and this is a family emergency. He can fight me.
I accept the call and hit the speakerphone button, realizing only too late that I don’t recognize the number on the screen. Is it something to do with Dad? The hospital? I answer hesitantly, my adrenaline surging.
“Hello?”
“Frankie! Hey, babe, it’s—”
Fuck. Rico.
I end the call and throw the phone onto the floorboard, not caring if it breaks. The sound of the caller’s voice echoes in my head, and I grip the wheel harder.
This is not what I need right now. Or ever.
My throat constricts. Why is my life such a fucking mess? The little disasters keep piling on and piling on and I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Focusing on the road, I drive as fast as I dare to the Abbott compound, even though the last thing I need right now is another run-in with a cop. Guess I’ll take my chances.
When I get to the house, the car’s barely in park before I run up to the door. Charlie meets me there. “Tell me,” I pant out breathlessly. “And where’s Livvie?”
“Shh, she’s fine. She’s at school,” Charlie says. “I haven’t told her he’s back yet.”
“Where is he?”
My sister’s eyes flick from side to side, as if someone might be lurking on our property eavesdropping. She ushers me into the house and locks the door, keeping her voice low.
“About a half an hour ago, some car drove up and rolled him out of the back. A black car, I don’t know what kind, I was in the front room with my paints.”
“Is he injured?” I ask, whispering.
Charlie shakes her head. “I don’t know. He had a piece of paper pinned to his shirt with a very high number written on it. One million.”
“Dollars?” I gasp. “Fuck. What did he do this time?”
“I don’t know. He’s not talking. Maybe you can get something out of him. He’s either been on a serious bender or else they drugged him, because he can’t seem to focus. I brought water and saltines to him in the den, but he might be passed out again.”
We tiptoe down the hallway and peek into the den. I’m expecting to see Dad asleep on the couch, or maybe the floor. What I’m not expecting to see is him perched on the edge of the ottoman with one of our grandmother’s big antique vases in his hands, staring into it bleakly with his mouth open.
“Dad, no!”
I run toward him, but it’s too late. He retches into the vase, his fingers gripping the sides as he heaves.
“Fuck, Dad,” Charlie says. “That’s the one with a crack in it.”
Yes, it is. And now it’s leaking onto both him and the floor.
“I’ll get a towel and some cleaner,” I tell my sister.
She sighs. “God, this is like senior prom all over again.”
“And Livvie’s fifteenth birthday party,” I add.
“And that time we—”
Dad heaves again and reaches a hand out as if he’s trying to swat at us. I dart into the kitchen and grab a few dish towels, another bottle of water, and some Lysol. When I get back, Dad is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Iss gonna be okay,” he tells us, slurring his words. “We’ll juss…sell off the rest of the horses.”
Livvie’s horses? Oh, hell no. That is it. I am DONE with the men in my life.
I drop the supplies in my arms, march over to him, and drag him down by the front of his shirt until he’s on the floor on one knee. His eyes flash with anger as he tries to grab me.
“Dad—” Charlie starts.
“Lemme go,” he mumbles.
I slap him. Hard, across the face. The sound of it reverberates through the room, the sting of it jolting through my palm and up my arm, straight to my heart.
“Enough,” I hiss. “You’re not selling Livvie’s horses, or anything else. Look at me.”
He refuses, keeping his eyes on the floor. It’s clear he’s still not feeling well, sweat beading at his temples, his skin pale and the broken blood vessels visible on his cheeks and nose. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for him, though. Something inside me has come unleashed.
Digging my fingers into his shirt, I pull violently, trying to get him to look up. He’s a big man, more than capable on a good day of holding me off. But he’s fucked up and weak and I’m very, very pissed.
“I said look at me, Dad!”
A soft hand touches my shoulder. I smell Charlie’s perfume. Her fingers curl over my shoulder and she pulls back, taking me with her. But I won’t relent. I shrug her off and cross my arms, glaring down at my father on the floor.
“Who killed Enzo Bellanti?” I demand.
Behind me, Charlie gasps.
“The hell should I know?” he says.
I’m out of patience. Moving eye level with him, I speak again, slowly and clearly. “Who. Killed. Enzo. Bellanti.”
Dad just smiles. His lower lip has a scab down the center, as if it had been split and healed up some. If he smiles any wider, it’ll probably bust open again. He doesn’t answer, so I press a finger to the scab. He sucks in a breath.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m warning you, Frankie,” he says.
“You have nothing to threaten me with. Do you understand that? You’re not a threat. Not a parent. And certainly not someone I give a shit about. What you are is a source of information and you’re either going to tell me what I need to know, or I’ll let my husband get it out of you.”
Beside me, Charlie shifts. “And mine. And trust me, he won’t be as gentle as Frankie.”
Dad squints, his jaw working just enough that I know he fully comprehends the meaning of what we just said.
“You married me off into the mob, Dad. You think I won’t use that to my advantage?” I prod. “Who tampered with that car? Give me the fucking name.”
I’m breathing hard, barely able to contain my rage.
“Fine,” I say with a fake smile. “I’m calling Dante. By the way, have you seen the underground wine cellars the Bellantis have? They’re huge. And dark. And cold. It’s probably really easy to get lost down there. I doubt you’d even be able to hear anyone yelling for help.”
I pull out my phone, and my dad suddenly yells, “Wait!”
He motions me closer. I consider that maybe he’s going to try to strangle me as I lower onto my haunches and put my ear to his lips. Charlie must be considering that, too, because she’s got a death grip on me as if she can singlehandedly pull me up from the lion’s den.
Sighing deeply, he whispers a name. Then he pulls back, brows arching as if to gauge my reaction. He’s breathing hard, still visibly sweating. It looks like he might vomit again.
I cross to the mantel to grab another vase. This one’s undamaged.
Handing it to him, I say, “Try not to choke to death.”
Taking my sister’s arm, I guide her out into the sunshine. We leave Dad back in the den with his vase and his misery. Alone.