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She cupped my face and beamed at me, like she always did.
“You’re a good man,” she said. “You were a good boy, and you are a good man.”
She patted my cheek and walked out. How she had known exactly what I needed to hear was beyond me. It was some sort of maternal instinct. Auntie had raised my brother and me after our mother died. We’d been blessed with two incredible mothers, and I never forgot it.
Auntie was wrong. I was not good. But I wanted to be good, or to get as close as I could to it.
Dealing with Francesca and her syndicate was the ultimate test of what kind of person I wanted to be.
I could react one of two ways. One way was strong. Immediate. Violent. That was the old way. I could strike out and end this. I wouldn’t hurt her, but I could hurt everyone around her, take out the entire crew until she was alone.
Or I could try and work things out. Talk to her.
End this thing with words instead of blood.
But I really wanted to end it in bed. I didn’t mean going to the mattresses. I meant fucking.
I picked up my cell phone and pecked out a text.
Chapter Eight
Francesca
“You look beautiful.”
I glanced over my shoulder and gave Maria a weak smile.
“But do I look strong? Not that it matters . . .”
I was not strong. I didn’t feel strong, anyway. I was dressed slightly less formally this time. White jeans. White silk blouse. White blazer.
I didn’t want the man to think he’d earned a suit, not yet. I stared at the mirror. Where the hell had that come from? In my mind, I’d imagined future meetings with Vincent. Suits. Maybe an evening gown. Maybe I’d even skip the white that served as my shield.
I wore other colors from time to time. But for business, it was always white. It was a strong statement and made me feel clean. Even if I wasn’t.
And right now, I definitely wasn’t clean. I was planning to kill a man. To ruin his family. To end his very existence.
A man I admired and respected, had even cared for once. Maybe even loved, in a childish way.
It didn’t make it any less real. Any less true.
Vincent might not be innocent, but he wasn’t evil. I’d always known that. Ever since we were children.
The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. Not that it mattered. My wishes were not the issue at hand. I had no choice. I had to do what I had to do.
I threw my phone and a lipstick into a small white circular leather crossbody bag. The strap was a gold-toned metal. It matched the cross at my neck and the diamonds on my ears and the tennis bracelet wrapped around my wrist. I didn’t wear rings. I hadn’t since the moment I signed the divorce papers. Even the feeling of metal on my fingers made me feel trapped again.
Made me remember how quickly the fairytale had ended and reality had set in.
I’d been so happy. Just for a moment. A day or two. Maybe less.
The honeymoon was not yet over before I realized how truly evil my ex actually was.
I’d seen his ugly side before that. I’d just thought he was a garden-variety shit heel from time to time. But no. The man was a devil. I was convinced of it. Now when I imagined him, I pictured horns and a forked tail.
Snap out of it, Frankie. You need to focus. You need to convince Vincent that you are not a threat. Otherwise, you won’t succeed. And you have to succeed. Her life depends on it.
I cursed Philip for the thousandth time. How many people would use their own child to blackmail someone, use their own flesh and blood as a threat? Who’d actually consider harming them?
And it was all just to get back at me. He never forgave me for leaving him. As much as he hated the Margarelli brothers, I knew his plan was really revenge on me. He knew about our childhood friendship. He knew that Vincent was not just anybody to me. He knew that I liked and respected him, at least from a distance.
So, in a way, his plan was brilliant. Brilliantly cruel. It was a double-edged sword, a catch-22. There was no way I could meet his demands without cutting my own hand. My own heart.
I’d never wanted the kind of violence he was asking for. I had always planned something more like what Vince and Tony were doing. Legitimacy, not weakness, reserving bloodshed for when it was truly needed, not just as par for the course.
But I didn’t have a choice now. No wiggle room. No hope to escape from this horrible situation.
And now I was doing something that risked everything.
