“And you’re here because you want me to make some inquiries, find out who whacked this guy and why.”
That was why he was there.
Asking a favor from Sal.
Fuck.
“That’s why I’m here,” Ben confirmed.
“Consider it done,” Sal replied.
Fuck.
“I give, I take,” Sal went on, barely taking a breath before calling the marker.
Fucking fuck.
Ben stared at him through his shades and said nothing.
Sal did.
“When you two get married, Gina and I are invited.”
Ben’s back straightened and he leaned toward Sal, starting, “Sal—”
Sal shook his head, lifted a hand, and dropped it. “Not the reception. We’ll sit in the back of the church. But I’ll wanna see my Frankie happy. I’ll wanna give that to my Gina. And I am not unaware you do not like me much, Benny Bianchi, but I still wanna see you happy. So does Gina. You give that to us, I’ll find out everything there is to know about what’s goin’ on in Indy.”
“That seems too easy,” Ben noted suspiciously.
“That’s because what I do in Indy isn’t for you. It’s for Frankie. But she didn’t ask for it, you asked for it, so you pay.”
He got that and he could pay that marker without too much headache.
Except one thing.
“My parents don’t see you,” Benny stated, and Sal’s face went hard.
“I’m not gonna slink into a church like a snake and Gina’s not doin’ that shit either.”
“I don’t care how you walk in,” Benny returned. “You just do it so my parents don’t see you.”
Sal held his eyes before he jerked up his chin.
Assent.
They had a deal.
Christ.
“Then we’re done,” Ben ended it, and Sal’s face changed in a way Benny did not get, even when he did.
Sal Giglia didn’t want to be done with Benny. With the Bianchis. With family.
How the man could think he could hold on to blood when his business was about taking it, Ben had no fucking clue.
He’d never figure it out and he had another stop to make. Then he had to drop what he was picking up at home before he went to get Frankie from the airport. So he didn’t give that headspace either.
“We’re done,” Sal released him.
“Tell Gina I said ’bye,” Ben murmured, rising from his chair, Sal coming with him.
“Will do,” Sal replied.
Ben gave him a nod, turned, and started away.
He stopped when Sal said, “She was with the wrong brother.”
He turned back, his throat prickling again, and he leveled his shades on the man.
Sal wasn’t done. “Vinnie was a good man, but not for her. She was made for you. Always knew it.”
Ben said nothing.
Sal did.
“She’ll drive you fuckin’ crazy and you’ll love every minute of it.”
Ben kept his silence.
“Happy for you, figlio,” Sal finished quietly.
Since Vinnie died, Ben had spent nearly zero time with Sal, putting up with him at the hospital the night Frankie got shot only because he had no choice.
Now, he was reminded why someone like Frankie would hold on to a man like Sal. Away from him, it made no sense.
But fuck, you got anywhere near, the man was likeable. Always was.
So maybe he had a piece of the puzzle as to why his brother did the shit he did, and having that piece was a miracle.
Ben didn’t tell Sal that, mostly because all the other puzzle pieces did not fit.
He only nodded again and got his ass out of there.
***
“Can you explain why you’re gonna be here six days but you got enough luggage to be here for the rest of your life?” Benny bitched as he hauled Francesca’s huge-ass suitcase up the stairs of his back stoop, along with her carry-on.
“I told you I’d carry them,” Frankie replied. He twisted his neck to give her a look, so she widened her eyes at him and continued, “You wanna be a protective, take-care-of-my-woman, Italian guy, you can’t bitch.”
She was absolutely right.
Still, it bought him Frankie with wide eyes being cute, so he was going to bitch.
He let go of a bag to open the door, asking, “What do you have in these bags anyway?”
“You gave me no hint as to what you had planned so I had to come prepared,” she answered as he shoved in through the door, hauling her bags in with him.
“So by ‘prepared’ you mean you came prepared to assault the White House?” he asked.
“I have clothes and shoes in those bags, not assault rifles,” she shot back.
“Feels like half a ton of C4,” he muttered.
“Shut up, Benny,” she returned, but he heard the smile in her voice.
That made him smile as he kept moving toward the door to the hall.
Once he hit it, he said, “Shit, babe, forgot to put your Fanta in the fridge. It’s in the den. I’ll take these upstairs. You toss a couple cans in the fridge, and while you’re at it, pop me a beer.”
“Your den is not a den. It’s a den-shaped dump,” she replied.
“You gonna pop me a beer or what?” he returned, still smiling.
“All right,” she murmured, and he heard her purse hit the table.
He hauled the bags to the foot of the stairs, left them there, and retraced his steps, timing it perfectly to hit the door to the den so he could see Frankie’s hands shoot to her mouth as she shrieked, “Oh my God! Benny!”
He grinned as he watched her drop instantly to a closed-knees squat as a wrinkly bulldog puppy—brown body, white feet, belly, face, and ears, with little brown spots on one floppy ear, and brown emanating out the sides of his eyes—waddled her way.
Benny leaned against the jamb as she gathered the puppy in her arms and rubbed her cheek against his fur.
“Meet Churchill,” he said.
She tipped her head back, gave him her eyes, and when he got them, Ben went still.
“Gus,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes shining with tears. “His name is Gus.”
Looking in those crazy-beautiful eyes that were filled with tears and love, Ben found he couldn’t move.
The dog and Frankie could.
The dog squirmed. Frankie came out of her squat and moved toward him, holding the puppy close to her face, her eyes never leaving his.
She came to a stop not a foot away, and he said softly, “One day early, but couldn’t leave him in there forever.” His voice dipped low, “Happy birthday, baby.”
He barely got the words out when he watched a tear slide down her cheek.
But she didn’t move.
So he asked, “You gonna kiss me?”
She rubbed the still-squirming puppy against her cheek and asked back, “Do you have any clue how awesome you are?”
“Pretty much,” Benny joked.
“No you don’t,” she whispered, and his gut clenched.
“Come here, Frankie,” he growled.
She came to him. He wrapped his arms around her (and the dog) and bent his head to take her mouth.
He didn’t have to take it.
She gave it to him.
He kissed her deep.
But not long.
Because in the middle of it, using puppy tongue, Gus kissed them both.
***
“This okay?” Benny asked as he parked behind the pizzeria the next night.
The night of Frankie’s birthday.
“Are you makin’ my birthday pie?” Frankie asked back.
Ben grinned as he shut down the ignition. “Yeah.”
“Then yeah,” she finally answered.
He looked her way to ascertain if she was bullshitting him and saw her leaned forward, face in the visor mirror, slicking on lip gloss.