I turn my head to look at Dante, and his eyes meet mine. An awed smile spreads across his face.A daughter, he mouths. I nod. My heart is so full, it feels like it might burst.
After the doctor leaves, the nurse informs me that I’m going to be transferred to a private room for the night. Dante excuses himself to go deliver the good baby news to Charlie and Clayton. The mild sedative Dr. Wyn gave me must kick in then, because the next thing I know, I’m coming to in a different room with pale blue walls, soft lighting, and a huge vase of flowers by the window. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. My brain does not want to be awake.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Dante says from a chair by the bedside.
I reach for his hand, stifling a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Shaking my head, I look into his eyes and say, “I wanted to tell you something first.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Frankie, don’t—”
“I am, though. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to the baby. I’d never forgive myself. I just...I really thought we would be safe on Bellanti property. I thought there were security guards all over the place. I never for a second thought—” my voice breaks.
Dante brushes back my hair, shushing me gently. “Youshouldhave been safe. Something went wrong. And I swear to God, whoever is responsible is going to pay.”
I see his jaw clench, his shoulders tense—and I can’t help wondering how he intends to make the men responsible pay.
Charlie said to never ask. That it’s just the way this life is. Mafia wives don’t ask questions. But my sister and I and my baby were almost killed tonight because of who we’re married to. Mafia wife or not, I deserve to know.
“Are they going to pay with their lives?” I ask softly.
Dante hesitates. He’s not going to answer me, and I suppose that’s answer enough. But then he rubs my arm. “Maybe. Let’s not talk about it right now.”
He doesn’t want to upset me, I can tell.
But he doesn’t know what I’m really thinking.
My eyes close, and I feel myself start to drift off again. But I can’t yet. I need to tell him…something...important.
“That other man...at the house. I’m glad you shot him,” I tell Dante groggily.
And then I slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.
28
Frankie
The vineyard’sNew Year’s bash last month went off without a hitch, despite the fact that the entire Bellanti family was conspicuously absent from the festivities. I chalk the success up to a combination of my older sister’s event-planning superpowers, and the hard work of the few loyal staff members who’ve been tasked with holding down the fort. Everyone else employed by Bellanti Vineyards is on paid furlough while the property is being renovated during the winter months.
The official story is that all of the Bellantis are spending time in Italy during the winery’s renovations. Which is true...partially. The renovationsarehappening, but in reality, it’s only Armani (and a trusted bodyguard) who went to Italy. Apparently, Armani has a real talent for blending in, so he’s doing some digging into who wants the Bellantis dead, following up on the scant information obtained from the third would-be arsonist before he...decided to stop living.
Meanwhile, Marco is quietly touring all the prominent racetracks in the US, scouting for talent for his growing racing company. He started his journey by hand delivering Max to Livvie down in New Orleans and making sure she was settling in at the new safe house. She and our mother were recently relocated to a different property in a private, secure location known only to the Bellantis, since we don’t know how deep the betrayal of our family goes. Armani made the arrangements. He chose a place that’s up to the right standards for Livvie to resume her training with a vetted horse trainer, and under the watch of her personal bodyguard. She’s finishing up high school with a private tutor, also heavily vetted. By all accounts, things are going well.
What else? Mom is painting again, a pastime that had fallen by the wayside over the years, now rekindled by her phone calls with Charlie. Sometimes they even paint together over FaceTime.
It seems like all our wounds are starting to heal...in more ways than just physical.
Now, making my way out the front door of the house and toward the Bellanti stables, I pull the collar of my wool coat tighter against the crisp February air. Morning sunlight spills down through dark gray clouds, but it offers little warmth. Once I reach the barn, I find the inside pleasantly cozy as I make my way down the aisle. For the past few weeks, I’ve been obsessively checking on our two very pregnant Friesians. They’re due to drop their foals any day now, and their stomachs are huge.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I say to Avina when she pops her head over her stall door in greeting.
She and Maeije both get an oatmeal treat from my pocket, along with a few nose pats. When Avina nuzzles me for another, I give in immediately. I know what it’s like to have pregnancy cravings. And now that my morning sickness has mostly passed, I can’t stop eating. Especially hamburgers. Speaking of which, I’d do just about anything for a hamburger right now. Fried in mustard, well done, with pickles. Mmm. This baby is definitely a carnivore.
