He pauses. I don’t respond, don’t even move a muscle, my eyes boring into his.
Dom shrugs nonchalantly. “And you know, there are things we could use from you, too. Aside from your fine wine, that is.”
This is it. This is how they set the hook.
They draw you in with the promise of a favor-for-a-favor, and just when you think you’re even, there’s just one more favor to honor, one more payback, one more debt to pay.
There’s never an out unless it ends with a bullet in your head.
I catch Armani nodding his head slightly out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare look at him. He and I have talked about this. We knew going back in was the only way to shut down the threat against our family.
Our father’s death absolved our ties with the mob. We got a lucky break. But now, here we are, about to retie the knot.
An image of Marco’s race car skidding off the asphalt and bursting into flames goes through my mind. Armani, gunned down in broad daylight. And Frankie, she means everything to me…and the baby…they’re all in danger. The Bellanti family needs more help that I can provide with my own two hands. I have to protect them.
Sometimes you have to eat the bitter to keep the sweet.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I square up with Frisco. “What do you need?”
16
Frankie
The women arein high spirits, but their joviality doesn’t touch me.
The piano bar inside the restaurant is beautiful, with wide windows that must overlook the rolling hills of Napa during the daytime. A wall with etched glass partitions divides us from the men, but I can still make out clouds of smoke swirling on the other side as the men puff their cigars. I can’t see them completely thanks to the design in the glass, but I can tell Dante is in there. I’d recognize the set to those shoulders anywhere. He’s standing and tense, flaming my fear over what they’re all discussing right now.
I should be at Dante’s side, not sitting back while he makes decisions that affect the entire Bellanti family—and business—with zero input from me. He’s schmoozing with themob. The very idea terrifies me.
The Frisco wife sits down at the piano and plunks a few keys. Everyone except me is at least a little tipsy by now, and a few of the women start egging her on to play a song. In return, Mrs. Frisco grins and starts picking out notes. It only takes a few bars for everyone to realize she’s playing some pop song from the 80’s. Maybe the B-52s.
Her technique is flawless, and some of the women gather around the piano and start to choppily sing along. They’re all wasted, so the words being sung are mostly wrong, but no one cares. I notice that no one is more animated or friendly than Jessica herself, touching shoulders, throwing her head back in a carefree laugh, acting like she’s the life of the party. I refuse to stand here and watch, so I head over to the window to brood.
A moment later, Charlie comes to my side and slips an arm around my shoulder.
“I should be in the smoking room,” I tell her. “I know the real reason this dinner happened is going on in there right now. Without me.”
I can feel my blood pressure spiking.
Charlie gives me a squeeze. “You’d never be allowed in on it. Trust me. It’s just…how it is. Nothing we can do about it.”
Clamping my jaw, I don’t respond. Anything I could say would only sound hateful, and probably make Charlie feel like I’m judging her for the life she’s chosen.
We turn back around to watch the shenanigans going on around the piano.
“Jessica sure knows how to make friends with mob wives,” I whisper, watching her ingratiate herself with them like a pro.
“Maybe sheisa good fit for Marco,” Charlie whispers back.
I make a harumph of irritation. I know—I justknow—that Jessica is waiting for her chance to pounce. And if Marco isn’t careful, there’s going to be a second pregnancy in the Bellanti family soon… Or maybe she’ll just use my morning sickness as an excuse to take more control over the winery’s operations. I heard her bragging at dinner about how she was going to be leading the helicopter tours—she’s sure to claw her way in further as soon as she can. And then there’ll be no hope of ever getting rid of her.
Just then, the double doors open and the men file in, bringing a thick fug of rich cigar smoke with them. I’m instantly queasy, but I try to ignore it and look like I’m having a good time as Dante makes his way to me. He’s smiling, his posture more relaxed. It’s clear that whatever business was supposed to take place tonight is now over and that the evening is beginning to wind down. I want to ask Dante what happened, but I don’t get the chance before more commotion takes place at the piano.
The Frisco woman’s husband takes a seat beside her on the bench and whispers in her ear, drawing a loud laugh out of her as she shakes her head. He cajoles her with a bit of soft encouragement, the group of women joining in, and soon enough, Mrs. Frisco agrees.
“Fine! I guess since we warmed up with “Rock Lobster,” I might as well put my voice to use,” she says. “I suppose we could try something a little more…fitting for the occasion.”
It strikes me as a bit of an act, something she and her husband must have rehearsed or at least discussed. A round of light applause goes around, along with a few whistles and catcalls. When the waitstaff suddenly enter the room, setting out chairs in a semi-circle around the piano for everyone to sit in, it’s clear this whole thing was a planned part of the night all along.
