22. Francesca
“Fuck!” I grabbed her hand.
“Frankie,” Marie blushed.
“You’re getting married?” I asked trying to hide my shock, but so help me God, it wasn’t working. “So soon.” I didn’t want to sound negative or anything, but they had been dating for what? Two months? Three?
“He asked me to keep it quiet for now, but I couldn’t hide it from you.” Marie was glowing. “And I know it’s soon, but he’s the one, Frankie. He makes me so happy. I love him.”
My heart couldn’t take it. I was so thrilled for her. Marie had been with other guys, but I’d never seen her like this before. She was in…love. Love. The realization struck me hard. I knew that feeling, of what it meant to be loved by someone. How everything around you suddenly felt ten times better. The colors were more vibrant, the food tasted better. Even the very air you breathed seemed to fill you differently. I had felt that once.
“I…Marie.” I stared at the massive diamond on her finger. “I can’t believe it,” I chuckled in happiness.
She met me on the other side of the kitchen island, and we hugged. I held on to her tightly and couldn’t contain the wave of emotions that crashed into me. I held back a sob. I was beyond happy that my best friend actually managed to fulfill her dream. She found her prince; she was going to get married.
Deep down, a small part of me, one I was ashamed of, was jealous of her. I wanted to crush that part, destroy it, but it had latched on and wouldn’t let go.
Marie and I talked for hours, she told me how magical the proposal had been and how she was already planning the wedding. I sat there listening to her and imagining how lucky she was to have it all, and Marie deserved it.
She headed toward the bathroom and returned holding an orange pill bottle. “Frankie?” she said sadly. “What is this?”
My cheeks turned pink. Cassio had told me not to be ashamed. He said there was nothing wrong with me. Dr. Alma, my physiatrist, had said the same, but it was hard getting over an old habit.
“I visited a psychiatrist,” I confessed. “And next week I have an appointment with a therapist,” I added. Marie’s jaw dropped.
“Frankie, that is wonderful.” She sat beside me on the sofa. “I’m so proud of you.” She held my hand. “Sorry for judging.” She offered me the pill bottle.
I took them from her and placed them on the table before me. I couldn’t blame her for doing so. For four years, Marie watched me use all kinds of drugs and take various kinds of pills. She had remained my friend through thick and thin, so I couldn’t blame her for wanting the best for me, just like I wanted the best for her.
“I’m still adapting,” I told her. Taking the correct medication scared me. I didn’t want to become addicted, again.
“I’m here for you.”
I leaned into her. “I know.” I smiled.
“Frankie.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are there black boxer briefs on your couch?” Marie sounded calm, but I could hear her loud thoughts.
Mortified, I looked at her. It was a miracle that my face remained calm and composed. “Oh, I didn’t know they were there.” I waved at her dismissively.
“Frankie! Why is there male underwear on your couch? What happened? Are you seeing someone? Are you getting some?” She was equally horrified, confused, and excited.
Heat traveled from my neck all the way to my cheeks. Marie looked at the boxer briefs one more time before settling down. I almost reached to take them from her, but I thought it best to remain where I was.
“It’s his isn’t it?”
“Who’s?” I played dumb. Marie raised one brow and it was all that it took for me to admit it. “I slept with Cassio.”
Her jaw dropped a few inches and her dark eyes widened. “You… Francesca.” She then laughed.
“Slept as in plural,” I added, and Marie squealed. “I feel so guilty.” I added.
Her face morphed into shock. “Why would you be? You’re a twenty-three-year-old gorgeous woman, who spent the last four years of your life in an unhappy marriage.”
“It wasn’t all that bad.” I didn’t know why I still defended him.
“I hated seeing you with that man. I know you owe him a lot and that he helped you through a bad phase, but he hurt you just as much. Paolo watched you suffer, and he watched as you slowly began to fade away and did nothing to stop it. You might hate me for saying it, but Paolo is dead, and you aren’t.”
“Cassio was the last person I should have allowed back into my life.” I argued.
She tilted her head and was silent for a while. “Is it just sex or something more?”
“Just sex,” I said quickly, but when I stopped to think about it, it had turned into more than just that.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Marie pointed out simply, as if it was that easy. She didn’t understand the power of Cassio Moretti. “What are you worried about?”
Was it that obvious? “What if he hurts me again?”
Marie’s face softened. “As long as you don’t fall for him, then he can’t hurt you.”
And that was the problem, Cassio was the last person I could allow myself to be happy with. There was no way the words happiness and Cassio could be used in the same sentence. And I hated that lately all I could think about was Cassio.
How he had visited my mother with me. How he had brought me home and fucked me senseless, against the door, then the wall. How he went down on me and ate me up like he was starved. Then he took me to bed and fucked me there, too. Even the kitchen counter wasn’t spared. How he had held my hand at the doctor’s office.
What if I was falling for him? That couldn’t happen, right? Not after he broke my heart and tore it to pieces. How could I ever forgive him? But he was everywhere. Consuming every inch of me and I couldn’t allow that to happen.
I needed to get away from him because I knew Cassio was going to hurt me again, it was not if, but when. I couldn’t dare hope with him because hope was dangerous.
Cassio was addictive.
Stronger than any drug I had ever used, and like any other drug, there was a moment when I would have to come down from that high. So instead of crashing into the bottom of the pit like I usually did, it was best to push him away. To go back to being strangers, it was the only way to save my heart.
I sat on my couch and looked at the clean—box-free—living room. For the first time in three months, I had started and then finished unpacking all those boxes. All my clothes were neatly folded and stored away, my shoes, purses, and makeup, too. This place still didn’t feel like home, but at least now it wasn’t suffocating me as much. I was active and less depressed. My days were blue instead of gray.
My phone rang, and a shiver raced down my back. I had taken two days off from visiting my mother. The hospital was the only place that could be calling me right now. Ever since my doctor’s appointment four days ago, Cassio had vanished. And it was for the better.
“Francesca.” A male voice sounded on the other side. It was hard to identify at first since all I could hear was my pulse. “Francesca?”
“Marco?” How hadn’t I recognized him?
“Can you come to the hospital?”
“Marco, is everything all right?”I shot up, my hands becoming sweaty.
“Francesca, please.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I was not ready for this. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I was going to have an attack. I didn’t have the courage to ask, but I knew something had gone wrong.
“Marco is Mamma…”
“Shit, I can’t talk, just meet me at the cafeteria.”
He hung up before I had the chance to say something, as if he knew what I was going to say.
I bolted inside the hospital, my head spinning, my stomach churning and my blood pressure lower than the pits of hell. My first instinct was to head toward my mother’s room on the 9th floor, but if something was happening, I didn’t want to be there to see it. I didn’t care if it made me a total coward.
When I reached the wide area, I looked in all directions, searching for my brother, it took me a while to remember I wasn’t looking for a kid anymore. Even so, I couldn’t spot his blond hair anywhere. My hands were shaking. I walked myself over to the counter and asked for a bottle of water. I waited as the barista took my order, my nails incessantly tapping on the counter.
“Francesca.” I began to turn around at the sound of my name. “Don’t. Don’t turn around.”
“Marco?” I wanted desperately to turn around but didn’t.
“Please, just pretend I’m not here.” I was about to scold him till kingdom come when the barista arrived with my order.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?” she asked my brother who proceeded to ask for a bottle of water as well.
He remained there standing beside me, but neither of us looked at each other. It was as though we were just two strangers in the line. Out of curiosity, I glanced over at him, his face was hidden by his Chicago Bulls cap, and he wore a black zipper jacket and some jeans. He was so out of character that I understood now why I hadn’t seen him before. I was looking for a boy in boyish clothes or someone in a tux like most Made Men wore.
“Mamma?” I asked as the barista handed him his bottle of water.
“Va bene,” was all he said, but those two words telling me she was okay, was all that I needed to calm down—at least as much as was possible. “Do you know where the gardens are?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I added because he wasn’t looking.
“Meet me there.”
“Mar—”
But he was already walking away from me. I squeezed the water bottle, trying to channel all my inner rage toward the poor thing. The desperation and fear I had been feeling just a few seconds ago were completely replaced by rage. I wanted to kill my little brother for making me so freaking scared.
“Thank you,” I told the barista and moved toward the side so that others could order as well.
I searched the room and instantly my eyes settled on a man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. He was dressed casually but there was nothing casual about him. It took me only a couple seconds to realize he was one of Donato’s men, keeping tabs on my brother.
The man wasn’t looking my way, he was standing by the door, his head turned towards where Marco went. I understood his secrecy now, Marco didn’t want them to know he was here with me. He was trying to protect me.
With shaking hands, I opened the bottle and took one hard sip. Slowly my anger dissipated, and I didn’t feel the need to strangle him. I hurried toward the garden but instead of taking the same route as him, I went the other way. If he took all that trouble to remain unseen, then I wasn’t going to be the one to ruin his plan.
The hospital’s garden wasn’t exactly a garden, it was an outside area filled with a couple of trees and flower bushes. There were a few paths and some benches scattered around them. I passed some patients as I made my way through the main path. Marco had sat on a bench on the furthest side, his head hung low, his elbows resting on his knees, but I knew for a fact he was one hundred percent ready to move if someone drew near.
The bench he had chosen was equally hidden but also placed in a good spot if he wanted to keep an eye on the passersby. That was the Outfit’s doing, both with him and with me. I could easily see these things now.
I sat on the bench but kept my distance so that if others saw us, they wouldn’t know we were together. We remained in silence for a moment, he no longer had his head hung low and he now leaned against the wood, he looked forward as though he were in some deep thought.
“Ma che cazzo, Marco.” I finally lost my patience. I couldn’t hold it anymore.
Marco on the other hand seemed to have all the patience in the world. He sighed deeply as he shifted on the bench, one leg folded over the other, he turned to face me completely—Marco removed his cap.
“Marco!” My hand shot toward him, to touch my little brother.
“Don’t, Francesca.” He stopped me.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from him, or better yet, from the enormous purplish-black bruise on his face. His left eye was slightly swollen and his lips as well. There was a small tear right in the middle. My heart ached at that sight. Fire coursed through my veins, anger like I had never felt before consumed me. I shot from the bench.
“Was it him?” I practically shouted.
“Francesca.” He tried to shush me, looking both ways to see if someone was looking. He moved to put his cap on once more, but I took it from him.
“Marco,” I threw back. “I’m going to kill Donato.” I turned around ready to murder my father.
Marco’s hand encircled my wrist, causing me to look back. His face was paler now, he looked concerned, but I also saw fear in his eyes. That was what unmade me. My shoulders slumped, and I didn’t fight him as he pushed me back. I stepped in front of him, and he sat there, his head held low once more.
Gently, I lifted his face, he flinched but didn’t move away from me. I exhaled in relief. He looked at me now as I ran my finger slowly through his bruise, praying I wouldn’t hurt him.
“I’ve had worse.” He tried to laugh it off, but it was the wrong thing to say.
Thirteen. My brother was a teenager, and his face was all busted. He’d had it worse! How? I looked at him and all I could see was my baby brother, and I wondered what kind of a monster would do that to a kid. I scoffed inwardly; I knew exactly what kind of a monster would do that.
“It’s better now. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, Marco! It’s not…” I sighed.
“Can you please sit?” He practically begged. He watched the garden with eagle eyes, afraid someone would spot us.
“Fine,” I grumbled and sat beside him. “Did you at least get it checked?” He gave me something in between a nod and a shake of his head.
“Francesca, it’s fine, really.”
“Your face is busted, Marco, it’s not fine,” I shot back. How couldn’t he see it?
“I was worried about you,” he confessed. If we weren’t this close, I wouldn’t have heard it.
“Me?” I was taken aback by his comment. He looked at me with those dark blue eyes, twins to mine. In this moment, Marco seemed to be ten years older than I was. His beautiful face was marked with concern.
“I tried, Francesca.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I tried to stop him, I just…he shouldn’t have hit you like that.”
“Marco.” I took his hand. “It wasn’t your fault, do you understand? What happened back there wasn’t your fault and neither was it your responsibility.”
“I’m your brother,” he said with genuine determination, a kind of protectiveness I never heard from my older brother Savio. “I should have defended you.”
“You did. You tried, and that is more than anyone has done.” Holy God. “Is that why he hit you?”
Silence.
“Marco.”
“I confronted him. After you left, I tried to go after you, he sent me to my room and right after, when I finally got out, I confronted him.” Marco scoffed. “He didn’t even beat me himself, he had Enzo do it.”
“God,” I cursed.
“Is it true? What you said about Mamma?”
“I’m sorry you had to find out that way.” There was no point in lying to him. As much as I wanted to shield my brother from the horrors of our family and the world I couldn’t. There was nothing I could do when he was closer to becoming a Made Man with each day that passed.
Marco only nodded, he didn’t speak, and silence settled once more over us. I didn’t know what to do, we were still getting to know each other again.
“I need to tell you something.” He blurted after a while. “I don’t know who to trust right now and—” he paused and looked around searching the premises, but no one was here with us.
“You can trust me, you know that, right?”
Marco didn’t answer, instead, he removed his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, searched for something, and finally handed it to me. I took it and frowned at what I was seeing.
It was a picture of Donato in a meeting, the door was slightly ajar, and I couldn’t see the others who joined him. Marco swiped to the next photo and this one was much like the first, but the only difference was that I could only see their faces.
Then he showed me a third one. I recognized the place instantly despite the years since I hadn’t been there. The picture was taken in my family”s lake house, it was night, and three figures sat on the pier; Donato, and two others I didn’t know.
Marco zoomed in on the picture, right on one of the strangers, and zoomed in until all I could see was the man’s arm.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Papa once told me that almost every mafia had its own tattoo,” he explained. “This is the Bratva’s.”
I looked at Marco beckoning him to continue. He took the phone from my hand, and quickly locked it, and shoved it back into his jeans pocket. Again, he looked around making sure no one was nearby. I realized that even if we had power, life in the Outfit was a life of always being in a constant state of alarm.
“I think Papa is up to something,” he whispered. I looked at my brother as he avoided looking at me.
I couldn’t believe those words were coming from his mouth. Ever since I moved away, my greatest fear was that I would lose my brother. Savio had always been a lost cause, we were never truly siblings, but Marco was mine, as I had practically raised him. As I looked at him now, I had no shadow of a doubt that he was still the same little boy I knew.
“Why me?” I whispered as well, suddenly catching up with what he was telling me and what he was here for.
“I don’t…I don’t know who to trust, he’s my father, and I owe him my loyalty, but Cassio is our Capo, and I know I owe him my loyalty, too. I can’t just…” He sighed slouching on the bench. “I don’t know if it’s all in my head or if something is really going on between Father and the Russians. I can’t just simply take this to either of them. This isn’t exactly proof, and even if it were, how could I betray our own family? Our name.” He looked at me and I saw his despair. “I want to make them proud.” He practically whined.
In this moment I watched as the mask of the man he was trying to be, fell and in its place was a child who so desperately sought to prove himself.
I pulled him so that he faced me, I didn’t give a damn if Donato’s men saw us. “I can’t offer my opinion because you know it’s going to be biased. I can’t tell you what to do because it’s up to you to choose. You know what Donato has done and you know what kind of a man he is,” I spoke. “Either way, no matter what happens or what you choose to do, I will always be here. You can always come to me. I don’t care if Donato threatens to hurt me, if anything happens, you come to me. Do you understand?”
“Francesca, I can’t.”
“Bullshit, of course you can. Look at me, Marco, I’m already screwed, what more could happen?” A lot. My conscious answered, but I pushed it away. “I hope it’s nothing, maybe it’s just business.” And I did, no matter how much I hated Donato, he was still my brother’s father and Marco still cared for him. Not only that but if something happened to my father, Marco would be the one to suffer the consequences one way or the other.
“He was Russian, Francesca.” He chuckled bitterly.
“It doesn’t matter, what matters is that whatever you choose to do, I will be there with you. Okay?”
He seemed to ponder it for a while and then he nodded his head a couple of times. Instantly I felt as if the muscles on his shoulders relaxed.
“I have to go. Papamust be coming home.” Marco stood up. I stood as well, and we were both stuck in that awkward moment, unsure of what to do. He took the first step and began to head away. Suddenly he turned and smiled under his cap.
“I like this version of you,” he confessed and walked away.
I wished I knew which version he was talking about.