7. Francesca
The alcohol was doing wonders. My head was spinning and everything was hilarious. That heavy weight over my shoulders was nothing but a feather now. A small, albeit insignificant reminder of what had transpired when I arrived.
A server passed me by, and I reached for two shots of fireball. “Shots for mon chérie.” I placed it in Antoine’s hand, almost spilling the contents. He laughed and clinked the cup with me as we drank.
I was going to reach for another one when he pulled me back and sent the server away. “Maybe some water now, chérie.” He took my cup and set it on the kitchen counter.
“Last one, I promise,” I said.
“You said that the last time, you’re not convincing me now, mon amour.” He kissed my cheek and then proceeded to grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water. “You’re already drunk, Frankie.” He pushed the water toward me when I refused like a petulant child.
I hated water, especially since it could possibly make me less drunk and that was not what I wanted nor needed tonight. I didn’t care if people were going to judge me, all I wanted was to silence the voices in my head.
Antoine ran his hand across my cheek and removed a few strands of hair that had fallen over my face. The touch might have looked intimate but between us it was common. Antoine was a hugger and a toucher. I was used to it and had even grown dependent on his touch. Like a dog who offered his belly for pats. I leaned against his soothing touch, my skin burning and my head spinning.
Maybe I was drunk.
“What’s going on, Frankie?” When he used my name like that, I knew he was on to something.
“I’m having fun.”
With his hand still cupping my face, he shook his head. “Francesca, you’re trying to get drunk, not have fun. I have seen you like this before and we both know how it ended.”
With an IV bag and a needle in my vein. A massive black hole in my memory and bruises from Paolo’s fists. I couldn’t remember what had happened first, the fighting or the partying, but either way, Antoine was right.
“Don’t be so dramatic. A bit of fireball never killed nobody,” I teased.
His hand dropped from my face, and he stepped away, placing the half-empty cup on the sink. “So, nothing’s going on?”
“If you’re worried, don’t be.” My tone was harsher than I wished it to be. The truth was, something was going on, and Antoine had no right in sniffing it out so easily. The man was like a cat after a mouse when it came to drama.
He watched me for a second, looked at something or someone behind me, and smirked. “So, this has nothing to do with the man that has been eye fucking you for the past hour?”
“What?” I choked on my saliva.
Antoine furrowed his brow and offered me a look that said I was either blind or dumb. “The same man you have been staring daggers at all night.”
To make his point clearer, he stared at Cassio whom I shamefully knew was standing surrounded by women, one of them was almost hiking up his leg and arms.
“Stop doing that.” I slapped his arm.
“Oh, chérie, he knows,” Antoine waved his hand in dismissal. My cheeks blazed, and I turned so that my back was offered to Cassio.
“So, something is going on.” He wiggled his brows.
“He’s Vitelli’s brother,” I explained and for good measure added. “Nothing more.” Because with Antoine, nothing could happen with a man without it being “something more.”
“Yeah, I know, chérie, but that doesn’t explain the tension between you two. I’m almost going blind with how thick it is.”
I rolled my eyes. What tension? I needed something to drink, this subject was making me sober. There was no tension between us, Cassio had been avoiding me, and I had made sure I was as far away from him as humanly possible.
Unsure why I did it, I stared at Cassio in time to catch him already looking at me. From afar, it was hard to tell if he was either bored out of his mind or angry to the point, he wanted to kill someone. It was hard to tell when he did such a good job of lying. From what I recalled; he hated these kinds of events. A part of me was having fun knowing how uncomfortable he was, or rather not by the looks of the woman in his arms.
She said something and he responded causing her to laugh. I swallowed hard wishing I had some strong liquid to wash out that bitter taste in my mouth. Why did I care if she laughed, or that she was all over him for the last hour or so, and he didn’t seem to mind? I didn’t care, it was not my place.
Before Antoine could stop me, I grabbed another shot and downed it quickly, raised the empty cup in a toast, and set it on the counter, and turned around again, not daring to look long enough to catch Cassio’s reaction.
“I sense some history between you two,” Antoine pointed, stealing my attention.
“No,” I answered all too quickly. “I used to know him.”
“He seems intent on getting to know you again,” Antoine pointed.
“I’m not interested,” I said plainly, but once more a bit too quick for my liking.
True. I had suffered greatly because of him, and four years later I still had some open wounds that refused to heal and scarred me deeply. I didn’t want to get involved with Cassio ever again. If he was the last man left on earth and I was the last woman, humanity would end with the both of us.
“Four months is a long time to be celibate,” Antoine—who did not know the meaning of celibacy—said.
“Antoine,” I chided. “I just lost my husband.”
He rolled his eyes. “Paolo is dead, not you. Stop pretending as if your life ended when his did.” Antoine had never been a fan of Paolo’s and he liked making that clear. “If you want to sleep around then just do it. No one is going to judge you.”
But they would. He might know about the Outfit, but he wasn’t a part of it. Antoine did not understand that in my world, women did not fuck around. The only man they had sexual relationship with was their husbands—when it pleased them to do so.
This time when I did look back, Cassio was gone, and so was the woman in his arms. Unconsciously, my eyes searched the party, but I didn’t catch sight of them. A flicker of something a lot like hatred stirred within, and I let it fester for a while. Four years was a long time to overcome our breakup. People didn’t even know we had dated, but it still felt like a punch to the stomach.
One thing was to know he was fucking around, and another was witnessing it. I despised how that made me feel little. Cassio always had all the power to manipulate me in his hands, that hadn’t changed. Four years later, and I was the one running away with my tail tucked between my legs while he walked with his head held high. Four years and it still stung watching him flirt with another woman.
Why do you care if he’s with other women. You should be happy, at least he’s not bothering you.
I left Antoine and headed outside. The chilly night air kissed my skin, and I warded it off by hugging myself. It was too cold out here, but it was better than staying in there knowing Cassio and that girl were somewhere in there doing God knew what.
“Francesca?”
I turned around and found that none other than Gianluca Gallo was walking toward me. He hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw him at my wedding. He had been my older brother Savio’s best friend, and his father was Donato’s right-hand man, Enzo. We had grown up together, I hadn’t liked him then, and I had a feeling nothing had changed much.
“Gianluca Gallo,” I greeted, giving him a polite smile, although this wasn’t a pleasant surprise.
“I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I could say the same,” I returned.
“Sorry about your husband. It is not really a surprise though, the man was ancient,” he said plainly.
It wasn’t a jab or a joke. Gianluca was never a sensible man. He spoke what came to mind, and he didn’t care what people thought about him.
“I’ve heard you’re practically married,” I changed the subject.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, we’re just fucking around.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t what I had heard. The poor girl was in for a heartbreak.
But I couldn’t really blame her, could I? Not when I had fallen for a man who made me fall for him and then threw me away like I was trash.
I reached for the bottle of water I’d brought with me, took a few gulps, and then closed it. Needing something to do with my hands. The alcohol was still in my system, but it was slowly releasing its claws from my mind.
We both stood there in awkward silence, and I didn’t know what to do or say. He had never been my favorite person. He had been my brother’s friend, never mine, therefore, I never made an effort to talk to him. Gianluca’s eyes roamed over my body and an uncomfortable sensation coursed through me.
“You’ve grown.”
“It’s the natural process of life,” I said simply and watched as he settled his hand inside his jacket pockets and that’s when I saw a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?” I asked.
“I’m trying to stop. You?”
“Yes, to smoking, and no to the stopping.” I hadn’t had one of those in years.
I didn’t like the taste of it in my mouth, or the smell that remained on my fingers. In fact, I didn’t like it at all, but I needed something to do, and smoking seemed like a good idea.
Gianluca pulled out a Zippo, and lit up one cigarette, and put the rest of the pack inside his pocket. He took a deep drag and then offered it to me.
I inhaled deeply and let the smoke settle into my lungs. When I exhaled, I ended up coughing. “Shit,” I laughed. “It’s too strong.”
Gianluca smiled and took the cigarette from my hands. “That’s weird,” he nodded toward the living room. “Never thought Vitelli Moretti would get married.” So, small talk it is. Great.
I grinned broadly. “Marie is a good girl. I just can’t believe she fell for Vitelli of all people.”
“Who would have thought,” he mused. “Young love grows in the strangest of places.”
I reached for the cigarette, and he moved away, I tried again, but Gianluca sidestepped. He pulled it from his mouth and smiled. “If I’d known you would turn out this beautiful, I might have married you back then.”
My smile fell. “Who says I would have married you?”
He stepped closer to me and lifted my chin with his fingers, “You wouldn’t have had a choice.” I slapped his hand away and he laughed, I rolled my eyes. “But now you are no longer pure are you, you have lost your value.”
My jaw dropped. “Vaffanculo,” I snapped. This wasn’t fun anymore. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him. “Let me go, Gianluca,” I warned.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
I swallowed hard at the anger in his eyes. He gripped my wrists tighter, and I winced. Gianluca took a deep drag and then breathed the smoke out on my face.
I looked away and begged him. “Let go of me, Gianluca.”
“We are not done talking, Francesca,” he lifted his hand, and I flinched. Gianluca watched me and then laughed. “You know what they used to call him, Paolo ‘heavy hands’ Biancini.”
I had known that my husband did in fact have heavy hands and had experienced just how heavy they were whenever we fought.
“Let go of me, Gianluca,” I tried yet again, starting to lose my patience.
“Or what? There’s no one out here. The music is loud.”
I looked around and noticed we were indeed alone in a very private area. I’d come out here for that and now I realized my mistake. Panic flourished like flowers in spring.
“If I wanted, I could kiss you right here.”
I pulled back, but he brought me forward, wrapping his arm around me. I leaned back, trying my hardest to stay away.
“I always wanted to taste you; did you know that?”
I swallowed bile.
“To know if the girl next door tasted as sweet as she looked,” he laughed. “Well, not as sweet anymore, are you?” He pressed me tighter against him.
From behind Gianluca, I saw Cassio marching toward us in a madman’s haste. I could see a bright fire burning in his eyes. He was going to rip Gianluca’s head off.
“Cassio, don’t!” Someone shouted.