Chapter 42
SOFIA
I’m sore all over when I wake up, but it’s pleasant.
I feel like I’ve had an incredible workout, not like I’ve been involved in a fight.
All the sex really made a difference. Not only that, but I feel calmer than I have in years.
I remember shooting Carlo Andretti, but I can’t seem to summon any remorse.
In fact, it feels like my whole quest for vengeance on behalf of my brother has been laid to rest.
I picture Danny lying on the couch with his head shattered, but even that doesn’t get a rise out of me. I found my brother’s killer and destroyed him, effectively shutting the book that had been keeping me up at night.
Frankie is lying beside me. He looks so sweet with his eyes shut and his hair a mess.
There is a splotch of red across the bridge of his nose, but it’s nothing alarming.
Pulling back the covers, I can see a few bruises beginning to form around his ribcage.
I think we’re both going to be in pain for a while, but we’ll live.
Frankie murmurs something and tugs the blanket back up to his chin. I kiss him on the cheek and sneak out the opposite side of the bed. There’s plenty of room, but I’m faced with another problem.
I don’t have any clothes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to put on the dirty clothes from yesterday.
They’re covered in blood and I left them in the bathroom down the hall.
Hopefully, Marlena or one of her staff members will burn them.
They’re evidence of a crime as well as being disgusting, so that’s not an option.
I certainly can’t go downstairs wearing a towel.
And I don’t want to wake Frankie up to ask for something to put on.
So, I walk to his dresser, hoping to find something that will work without disturbing him.
I send a silent prayer skyward that I won’t find anything I’m not supposed to see.
I’ve already been caught spying on this family once, and I don’t want a repeat performance of that situation.
Opening the first drawer, I immediately locate a pair of pajamas.
This is perfect because I’m not in the mood to go snooping for much longer.
I tug out the pants and hold them up to my waist. They’re a bit too big, but I don’t think anyone will care.
After all we’ve been through, seeing me in ill-fitting pajamas isn’t even going to be a blip on their radars.
I step into the pajama bottoms and pull on the top.
The waist is way too big, so I have to hold onto it with one hand.
The legs fall over my feet, so I stop in Frankie’s living room to sit down and roll up the cuffs.
Looking ridiculous, but feeling ten times better, I let myself out of Frankie’s suite and into the hallway.
There’s no one around, so I go to check the bathroom. I just want to satisfy my curiosity about my clothes. The bathroom is spotless; obviously, someone came in to clean after I was done. The bloodstained clothing is gone, which makes me feel like the whole thing was some kind of horrific dream.
I walk downstairs, having never experienced breakfast in this household before. I’m shocked to find several strange men hanging about. They don’t pay any attention to me though, so I don’t have to explain my strange attire.
I walk into the kitchen to find Marlena in front of the stove. She looks up and smiles, her eyes giving me a once over that is more friendly than critical.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have given you something to wear.”
“It’s okay,” I respond. “I just want a cup of coffee.”
“Over here,” Marlena says, pointing to the coffee pot. “I can’t drink coffee anymore.”
“That’s so sad,” I commiserate.
Marlena sighs wistfully. “I only have a few more years.”
I reach for a cup from one of the cabinets, holding my pants up with my free hand. “A few more years?” I ask.
“I don’t want the coffee to affect the baby while I’m breastfeeding either,” she explains.
“Hmm,” I reply, not sure how I feel about that. “Maybe you can have just a little bit.”
“No,” she exclaims, “I’ll be fine. Other people deal with worse things all the time.”
“You mean like being shot at?” I guess.
“Yes,” she agrees.
“How do you do it?” I wonder. “I mean, how are you so calm about being Mrs. Francisco Corello?”
“Francisco is wonderful,” Marlena says with a sigh. “And I admit, it did take some getting used to.”
I set the mug down on the counter so that I can reach for the coffee pot without flashing everyone.
Pouring myself a strong cup, I forego any kind of additives.
Black coffee will work fine. I want that strong bite of caffeine to bring me back to life, and cream and sugar seems like too much trouble now.
I take a seat at the breakfast table but jump up a moment later to help Marlena. I’m handicapped with one hand attached to my pants, but I do what I can. Together, we manage to transfer the eggs she’s been cooking to two plates and walk them back to the table.
We sit down and begin to eat in silence. I’m starving, and I haven’t realized it until just now. The moment the eggs hit my tongue, I’m overwhelmed by the flavor. It’s almost better than sex, and considering the night I had, that’s saying a lot.
Marlena fills me in on some of her story. She has a brother in college, but not much of a family. Until Francisco introduced her to her Italian relatives, she thought she was pretty much an orphan.
“Oh, my gosh!” I shout, thinking about my own parents for the first time. “I have to call my mom.”
“Just a minute,” Marlena suggests. “It’s still pretty early.”
I glance at the clock on the stove and see that she’s right. There’s a lot I need to tell them, but I’m okay. I don’t need to worry them by calling at the crack of dawn. I finish my eggs, expressing my gratitude multiple times.
“Kyle!” Marlena shouts out when we’re through.
A burly-looking twenty-something-year-old pokes his head into the kitchen. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a gun strapped to his hip.
“Can you find Sofia something to wear?” Marlena asks.
“Sure thing,” he says.
“It’s no trouble,” I attempt to argue, but Kyle doesn’t listen. Clearly, there’s a ranking system in the household, and Marlena trumps me.
A moment later, Kyle returns with a folded piece of fabric.
I accept it with a smile and shake it out so I can see what I’m dealing with.
The dress is made of an expensive poly-blend that feels light and comfortable.
I walk to the downstairs bathroom to put it on, finally able to release my hold on the pajama bottoms.
I take Frankie’s clothes back to the kitchen, where I fold them and set them aside. I’m much more presentable now, and I have Marlena to thank for it.
“Is this yours?” I ask.
“Pre-pregnancy,” she agrees. “That’s one of the perks of being a mafia wife, you can have all the clothes you ever dreamed of.”
“Sounds nice,” I observe.
“I have tons of clothes in my bedroom, but there are so many that I’ve also branched out to several other closets throughout the house. Don’t worry, Kyle didn’t have to disturb anyone to get it,” Marlena explains.
“Good,” I decide. I don’t know if Francisco Senior is up and about yet, but I definitely don’t want to interrupt his beauty sleep.
There’s nothing in the world that’s more important than our complete recovery.
Frankie and I got the worst of it, but I’m sure yesterday was no picnic for Francisco either.
Marlena and I are still talking when Frankie comes downstairs.
He’s wearing another set of pajama bottoms, but his fit perfectly.
I appreciate the fact that he’s chosen to remain shirtless.
It gives me a full view of all the valuable assets he brings to the table.
His chest is chiseled, though it bears the marks of the beating he took.
I start thinking about the next time I can run my hands across it, even though it hasn’t been that long.
Frankie comes straight toward me, bending down to give me a good morning kiss. “That’s a great dress,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply. “It’s Marlena’s.”
“I assumed,” he says. “How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead,” I tease.
Frankie doesn’t think that’s very funny. He wrinkles up his nose, only to discover that it still hurts. Wincing slightly, he goes straight to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. He brings it back to the table, choosing to abstain from creamer just like me.
He links one hand with mine, as if we have been dating for a long time.
The morning is nice and slow, just about the speed I’m prepared to move at the moment.
The three of us talk until Frankie’s father joins us.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken at the sight of him, not so much because I’m afraid, but because I still feel guilty for going through his stuff.
“Good morning,” I announce, standing up. I want to get ahead of this, to apologize before he says anything. But he cuts me off, making sure I know that all debts have been forgiven.
“Sit down,” he instructs, circling Marlena from behind with loving arms.
I sit back down, knowing instinctively that it would be best to follow his lead.
“I hope you’re feeling better,” Francisco says.
“Yes,” I agree. “Much.”
“Good,” he replies. “We rounded up some of Carlo Andretti’s men last night.”
“You were busy,” Frankie observes.
Francisco smiles, but there’s not a lot of joy in it. “It had to be done.”
“Does that mean we’re safe?” I ask.
“Yes,” Francisco confirms. “If there’s anyone left who’s loyal to Andretti, they won’t be coming after you.”
“Even though I killed him?” I ask in a small voice.
“Let’s just keep that between us,” Francisco suggests.
“I’d love that,” I respond gratefully.
Handing over responsibility for Andretti’s death is a wonderful relief.
I’ll know what I did, and Frankie will know, but I agree it’s better for the public to think Francisco is the one who killed him.
It makes more sense that way for both of us.
He gets the accolades for finishing off his nemesis, and I don’t have to withstand the worst of anyone’s future revenge quest. It’s a win-win.
Francisco gets himself some coffee and has a seat. It’s almost like we’re a family, two couples enjoying breakfast together in a bright, open kitchen. What more could I ask for?