Chapter 37
MARLENA
Frankie sits with me while I unpack my things. I have so many new dresses, but not enough hangers.
“I’ve got some,” Frankie offers.
We go over to his room, where he roots through his closet to pull out whatever free hangers he can find.
“Thank you,” I say, walking back to my suite.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” Frankie says, looking bored. “Do you want some?”
“Yes, please,” I respond, dropping the loose hangers on the couch. I can always come back to the unpacking project. There’s really no rush. And I’ve been awake for so long, even though it’s still early in the day. “I’d love some coffee.”
We walk downstairs together, blending in to the more than a dozen people who are buzzing around the house. I recognize most of them from the plane, and there are some who have been with Francisco for much longer. I don’t recognize everyone though, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m sure I’m safe as long as I stay inside, but that’s not entirely comforting.
I keep thinking about Brandon out there somewhere.
Is he cold? Is he hungry? Is he hurt? I know Francisco is fairly certain who took my brother, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
If Francisco’s rival is to blame, there’s no telling what he might do to an innocent college kid.
Frankie leads the way into the kitchen, and a few of the low-level soldiers who are eating lunch pick up their plates and move away.
There are strict hierarchies in the house, and Frankie and I are at the top.
No one wants to bother us or get in our way, so the moment we walk into a room, they relinquish the space.
It feels a bit awkward, and I want to tell them to stay put. But I’m also fairly sure that those orders came from Francisco. So I don’t want to confuse anyone or get them in trouble for not obeying their leader.
Now that the kitchen is empty, Frankie goes to the expensive single-cup espresso machine and starts to set it up. It hasn’t been cleaned from the last time, so he has to dump the grounds in the trash and wash out the filter.
I take a seat on the opposite side of the island and put my chin in my palm.
My head is buzzing with unwanted thoughts.
I wish I could take a break from myself for a moment, and wonder if it’s too early to go find Francisco again.
He likely has a lot of business to attend to, and I don’t want to bother him.
Still, he’s my surefire antidote to all the anxiety I’m experiencing.
When I’m with him, all the negativity just seems to go away.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Frankie asks, sourcing some Columbian espresso beans from the cabinet and putting them in the grinder.
“I’m just thinking about my brother.”
The grinder whirls, filling the kitchen with its electric sound. When the beans have become a fine powder, Frankie empties them into the filter and starts the espresso machine.
“You can’t accuse Andretti of taking your brother without proof,” Frankie says, letting me peek behind the curtain at the inner workings of the mafia system of justice.
“Why not?” I ask. “Francisco seems positive that’s who has my brother.”
“He may be positive,” Frankie agrees, “but he doesn’t have proof. It’s a question of honor. Without proof, Andretti can claim that my father is insulting him. That will escalate the situation and possibly cause a war.”
“But isn’t that why we brought so many people back from Italy with us?” I wonder. “Isn’t that why Francisco and I got married in the first place? So that Andretti would think twice before starting a war?”
“Is it?” Frankie asks, looking pointedly at me.
I feel my cheeks heating up and realize that I haven’t been completely honest with him. “There are many reasons I married your father,” I walk it back. “That’s just one.”
Frankie frowns, but he doesn’t push the issue.
I can see this will be a sore spot for a while, and I promise myself I’ll be more careful in the future.
I don’t want to rub salt in his wounds by claiming that my marriage to Francisco is anything other than a love match.
It’s easier that way. And I really do have strong feelings for the man.
“So if we can’t accuse him of kidnapping, but we’re sure that he’s got my brother, what can we do?” I ask desperately hoping for a way out.
If I had free rein of the family’s manpower, I would march up to Andretti’s door and demand the release of Brandon.
It’s frustrating that Francisco won’t do that.
I can’t understand why he’s so sure that Andretti is the culprit.
And I can’t understand why he won’t make a move if he’s so damned sure.
“Don’t be fooled,” Frankie says, grabbing two tiny mugs from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. “The mafia may be a criminal organization, but it has rules.”
I sigh, feeling helpless. “There has to be something we can do.”
“We could use you as bait,” Frankie suggests.
I hate the idea and love it all at the same time.
Of course, Francisco would never agree. He wants to handle things his way, which means keeping me out of the fight.
But it’s not his brother who’s in trouble.
Brandon is my responsibility, which means I should do everything I can to make sure he comes home safely.
I know that will make Francisco mad, but I’m pretty sure he’ll forgive me eventually.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Frankie says. “I’m just speculating. I would never do anything against my father’s wishes. And it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want you involved.”
“Please,” I respond. “I feel like we’ve got a rapport going here. You know how much I care about my brother, and your father. If Francisco can’t do anything without starting a war, maybe I can.”
Frankie looks at me, trying to decide whether to help me or not. I see the thoughts swirling in his head as he calculates the logistics. He’s probably thinking about how angry his father will be, but hopefully he’s also considering my feelings as well.
Finally, he nods to himself. “If we can get out of the house, then maybe Andretti will come after you.”
“Okay,” I agree hesitantly, “and then what?”
“Well, if Andretti comes after you, and you’re married to Don Corello, then that would give my father permission to break down doors. Theoretically.” Frankie finishes, pouring us each a cup.
“But then, wouldn’t I be in danger?” I ask suspiciously.
“Yes, but you would also know where your brother is,” Frankie says.
“Would you come with me?”
“I’ll come with you,” Frankie agrees. “But I’m not going to lie to my father. If we do manage to find your brother, and if my father has to step in, I want him to know the whole truth.”
“Agreed,” I say. “But don’t you think we should take a gun or something?”
“I’ve got one,” Frankie replies.
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
He laughs, bringing his cup to his lips. “I am my father’s son.”
Just then, we witness a scene out in the hallway.
The kitchen is open at one end, which gives us a pretty good view of what’s going on.
A man whom I recognize but don’t know well, storms down the hall toward the front door.
He’s got one hand pressed to his face, and I think I can see blood oozing through his fingers.
He passes Luca on his way, and I’m pleased to see someone else is paying attention. Luca and the man don’t speak, but there’s definitely some negative energy floating between them. Luca looks after him as he pushes past, almost as if to say, “What’s your problem?”
Then, Luca goes down the hallway toward Francisco’s office, and the stranger barges out the door. Frankie grabs me by the hand and hurries out of the kitchen, leaving our still-full espresso cups on the counter.
“Marcello!” Frankie calls as we step outside.
The man with the bloody nose turns around and glares at us.
Frankie walks down the front steps, seemingly unconcerned with the menacing vibe I’m getting off the stranger. “What happened?” Frankie asks.
“Nothing,” Marcello mumbles. He looks at me with dead eyes, which is somehow even more terrifying than anger.
“Uh,” Frankie begins, glancing at me. “Can you take us to a bar?”
Marcello sneers. I wonder what Francisco sees in this man, and I wonder how he got injured. I think he’s part of the inner circle, but at the moment, I can’t understand why.
“We’re celebrating,” I say.
Marcello still doesn’t speak. He glances at the car parked by the door, which I’m assuming is his, like he has somewhere else he’d like to be. I gather it’s a huge imposition to ask him to give us a ride, but we’ve got no choice.
I glance around to see if we were followed out the door, but there are no guards around.
The three men whom Francisco hired to take care of me are nowhere in sight.
I guess they’re probably inside, taking showers or watching television.
They probably don’t think I’m going anywhere, but it won’t be long before they start looking for me. Our window is thin and closing fast.
“Yeah,” Frankie says, sharing my urgency. “She’s my new stepmother, but she’s kind of young.”
I shoot him a narrow look, telling him to shut up. The world doesn’t need to be reminded of the age gap between me and my husband. That’s just rude.
“So anyway, we were kind of hoping to get out and have a drink just the two of us,” Frankie continues, ignoring my silent protest.
Marcello looks away again, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to do it. But finally he nods, opening the back door. Frankie and I dart inside, looking over our shoulders to make sure we’re still in the clear. So far, so good.
Marcello gets behind the wheel, and I notice the keys are already in the ignition and find that strange, but then again, who would be dumb enough to steal a car from Francisco’s house.
Marcello opens the glove compartment and finds a handkerchief.
Pressing it to his face, he winces. I can see him in the rearview mirror.