Chapter 12
FRANKIE
I’m thrilled to find Charlie and Clayton at the table when I enter the dining room later that night.
A late afternoon toss-all-the-cookies session made me late to the meal I’m not even sure I can keep down, but I doubt anyone will mind, judging by the fact that they’re all engaged in a conversation.
Dante is so engrossed that he doesn’t seem to notice I’m there until I pull out the chair beside him.
“He’s hiding out somewhere. I doubt he made it far, not without money. He’d have to be calling on a lot of favors to stay hidden.”
“He could be anywhere.”
“Unless he’s dead.”
I look at all the faces around the table, settling on two that I don’t know. Men, both of them—and although they aren’t wearing uniforms, they have the stiff bearing and broad shoulders of ex-military or police.
“If my father was dead, we’d know about it by now,” Charlie says. “Someone would make damn sure we knew.”
She puts on a smile when I catch her gaze, but it does little to cover the stress lines between her eyes. Clayton’s expression is stony. Armani looks deep in thought, and Marco…he’s got the bottle of wine right next to his glass, and it looks almost empty.
“I didn’t realize we were having company tonight,” I say to Dante, keeping my voice light while cutting my eyes at the two strangers.
He clears his throat and takes my hand. “Francesca, these gentlemen are David Farman, who is now in charge of security for the winery, and Jim Bryant…he’s a police officer and an old friend of Marco. Jim’s not here in an ‘official’ capacity.”
“Do I want to know what that means?” I say mildly, though my blood pressure is already climbing.
Dante glances at Bryant—who nods—and then back to me. “He’s going to help us track down your father. As a favor.”
“Do we have to?” I try to joke, but the larger part of me is dead serious.
The food comes out just then, stopping the chatter around the table.
Oh God, no. It smells like veal…and onions. Nope.
Bile lurches into my throat and I shake my head, closing my eyes. Dante has my plate immediately taken away.
“Can I get you something else?” asks Alain’s assistant, apologetically.
“I’ll just stick with the soup,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
“You need more than soup,” Dante says.
I gesture to my middle. “Tell that to the lima bean.”
A few laughs go around the room, followed by the clank of silverware. Everyone takes a few bites and Armani gets the conversation going again.
“Charlie, Frankie: Jim needs a list of every place your father liked to frequent around town. Every bar, racetrack, betting office, or illegal gambling joint you can think of.”
“I’ve already tried all of them, more than once.” I break a roll in half and start buttering it, thankful that I can still eat bread without gagging.
“Me, too,” Charlie says. “And I talked to everyone I could. Nothing but dead ends.”
I snap a look at her. “You shouldn’t have done that. It’s too dangerous.”
She gives me a condescending look. “Seriously? I’m the big sister. And you went yourself, anyway, so don’t be a hypocrite.”
My hormones have me instantly on the defensive. “I’m a hypocrite? What about the—”
“It’s fine that you already looked,” Armani interrupts, “but Jim can dig deeper than we can. It would also be helpful to let him know about any friends, known associates, or relatives that your father might have made contact with, especially people who live out of town.”
Charlie and I nod, chastened.
“We’ll help however we can,” I say.
Jim takes out his phone and opens a note app, then looks at me expectantly. A shiver goes through me at the intensity of his stare. This isn’t a man who’s used to waiting or not being obeyed. Squirming a bit in my seat, it seems like I’m the one under the microscope.
In between bites, Charlie and I list off the places our father liked to hang out.
Bars—lots of bars—gambling houses, racetracks, strip clubs, even the all-night-breakfast joints where he’d nurse his hangover with eggs and toast. He doesn’t have any real friends, but I’m able to name a few guys he’s mentioned over the years, as well as the name of a woman in Reno he used to stay with every now and again, though it seemed like all they’d ever do was drink and fight.
By the time we’re done detailing Dad’s debauchery, it feels like we’ve taken a grand tour of indolence and sin.
“What about the tattooed man? The one Bregman claimed ordered the hit?” Dante asks.
Officer Bryant shakes his head. “The description of the suspect’s been circulating, but so far it hasn’t turned up anything solid. Doesn’t mean the guy’s not out there, though.”
The remainder of the meal is a tense affair, but before anyone has even finished, I realize I’ve suddenly lost what little appetite I had. I give my sister a look before pushing away from the table and excusing myself. Dante tries to argue, but I cut him off.
“I need some air—I’m going to go check on the horses for Livvie. Don’t worry. Donovan will be close by.”
“And I’ll go with her,” Charlie says, excusing herself too.
We link arms and head down the hall to the front door. As expected, Donovan is waiting there like a sentry. He quietly falls into step behind us.
“I can’t stomach what else they have to say about Dad,” I confess. “Not tonight.”
Charlie squeezes my arm. “I’m with you. Come on, let’s take some pictures to send to Livvie.”
The stables are spotless, warm, and comforting.
Delores’s son Vicente and the Bellanti stable hands have clearly been taking excellent care of the Friesians, considering how the horses’ coats gleam and that the stalls are full of clean straw, fresh food and water, and even toys and salt licks.
Livvie couldn’t have done a better job herself.
Ytse tosses his head when he hears us approach and buries his warm muzzle in the crook of my arm when I lean over the door of his stall.
Charlie snaps a few photos and texts them over to Livvie.
Opening the door to the gelding’s stall, I go in and wrap my arms around the horse’s neck.
His thick, flowing mane tickles my cheeks while he nickers softly, as if he knows I’m having a hard time.
Charlie feeds him a handful of oats and then we sit together in the corner of his stall while he gently nuzzles between us, looking for more treats.
Dante would have a fit if he saw me sitting on the ground so close to this massive horse.
But he doesn’t know Ytse like I do. He’s more lapdog than horse.
Charlie plucks straw from her wool pants. “Did Mom tell you anything while you were staying with her? About, you know, when she left?”
I nod, trying to gauge whether my sister wants to know the truth or if she’s asking out of curiosity that doesn’t truly want to be satisfied.
“It was…complicated,” I admit. “It’s honestly not at all what we thought.”
She looks surprised at my answer. “She tried talking to me, but I told her I was there for Livvie and that I didn’t want to hear it.”
“Do you want to hear it now?”
Our eyes catch, a million pulses of our childhood pain going between us. Her voice is quiet as she says, “Yeah. I guess I do.”
Taking a deep breath, I take Charlie’s hand in mine and haltingly relay the series of events that resulted in our mother’s departure from our lives.
The abuse she endured from our father, how she’d held out for years hoping he’d change, her eventual decision to divorce him and try to get him to face his addictions.
I can barely bring myself to detail what he made her do to settle his debts, the videotape blackmail.
Charlie listens silently, her face shut-off and blank.
“He made her leave us,” I finish. “She thought we were going to live like princesses.”
My voice cracks on the last word, and Charlie bursts into tears.
“I knew she loved me,” she chokes out between sobs. “I hate him.”
“I know,” I say gently, rubbing her back. I don’t need to ask who she’s referring to.
Charlie’s tears keep coming, but I just murmur soothing words and let her get it out. She’s processing years of buried trauma and pain, the deep wounds suddenly reshaping themselves around these new revelations. I know what she’s feeling. I felt the same way.
“He forced her out of our lives, and for what?” she sobs. “For the enjoyment of watching us suffer through our whole childhoods? Or was he just biding his fucking time so he could eventually pimp us out?”
“Knowing him, I wouldn’t doubt it.” There’s no point in sugarcoating it.
A puff of warm air on my leg draws my attention to Ytse. His head is down, his ears forward as if he’s listening and sympathizing.
“You know, I saw Mom the night she left.” Charlie pats the horse’s nose.
“You did?”
She nods. “I got up for something in the middle of the night, I don’t even remember what.
And I found her in the foyer with a suitcase.
She didn’t see me at first, but I saw her.
She was crying, not making a sound, just standing there.
Shaking. And she looked terrified. I don’t know, maybe she couldn’t figure out whether to stay or just get the hell out of there.
But then she saw me. And she just…smiled, like nothing was wrong, and told me this lie about how she needed to go on a business trip. She said she’d be back soon.”
My brows knit together. “Mom didn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Charlie says. “The thing that always stuck in my mind is the way she lied to my face. It’s like…
in that moment, I convinced myself I believed her—I knew it wasn’t true, but I wanted to believe her, I didn’t want her to cry anymore, I didn’t want her to cry.
So I just played along and pretended it was okay.
I convinced myself it somehow had to be true.
That she’d come back. But she never did.
“God, Frankie, for years I held on to that. How I let her lie to me and just walk right out the door. And I was so angry at her. I had no idea that…”
She starts crying again, which sets me off, and I put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. We’re finally interrupted when Ytse moves closer and noses at Charlie’s hair.
“You big monster,” she teases, laughing through her tears.
We quiet down, taking turns petting Ytse’s nose.
After a moment, I say, “Dad’s got a long list of things he needs to pay for, doesn’t he?”
Charlie takes a deep breath.
“I hope…” she whispers. “I hope Clayton kills him. I hate myself for wishing that on my dad, and on Clayton. But…I can’t help wanting it all the same. Do you think that makes me a bad person?”
“No,” I whisper back. “It makes you human.”
I lean my head on her shoulder and hold my big sister close.