This was one of the reasons I’d called Asheeka. She was very sweet, very generous, very funny, and she could take a hint like no girlfriend I’d ever had. She could read an eye gesture or a hair flip at twenty paces. She was the master and, therefore, didn’t press about me being at Benny’s because she knew I needed her to leave it alone.
She also knew I’d give it all to her in the morning.
After the call, Benny confiscated my phone.
I let him, sat at the table and watched him do the dishes, wishing I wasn’t watching Benny do the dishes because I didn’t need to know he could be gentle, he could take direction, he could make amazing pizza, and he could do the dishes. He was like a man out of a dream except for the fact that I could get up, wrap my arms around him, kiss his neck and then kiss other parts of him, and men you made up in your dreams obviously didn’t afford those opportunities.
As I thought this while watching him do the dishes, close to him finishing up, he decreed, “You get a pass tonight ’cause you had a big day. Tomorrow, your ass is at my side helpin’.”
The idea of doing dishes with Benny was bizarrely alluring.
So I quit thinking about it.
Benny finished the dishes and ordered me upstairs. I went because I was exhausted and that was the only place he’d let me lie down. I didn’t need another altercation with him. I wasn’t doing too good with those. I needed a chance to regroup.
He came upstairs with my bag, dumped it on the floor by the door to the bathroom, and kept issuing orders.
“Get ready for bed, cara.”
He then left.
I went to my bag with more hope than realism and, upon perusal, found my hopes dashed.
The nightgowns and robe Gina got me were there. The panties and the toiletries my friend Jamie went to my apartment to get were there. My purse, with my wallet and phone, wasn’t.
I got ready for bed, then I got in the bed, pulling the covers up to my neck.
Ben joined me ten minutes later.
He produced the remote and asked what I wanted to watch. Committed to the silent treatment and satisfied with my performance thus far, I said nothing.
Ben asked again.
I still said nothing.
He found a game.
I continued to say nothing, just lay there, eyes to the TV, mind wondering how drama found me even when I lived quiet.
It was at that point I remembered I’d heard that Daniel Hart was on a rampage with Cal in his sights.
Joe Callahan, known to all but his woman as Cal (his woman called him Joe), was Benny’s cousin. He was an awesome guy, a good (albeit distant) friend of mine who had been tight with Vinnie Junior and the entire Bianchi family, mostly because they were family but for a lot of other reasons besides.
And Daniel Hart was the man who waged war against Salvatore Giglia, the man whose war meant Vinnie was no longer breathing.
When I got word things could go bad for Cal, I warned Benny. Directly after that, as I was wont to do, I got a wild hair, acted on that wild hair, drove to fucking Indiana to have Cal’s and his new woman’s, Violet’s, back, did something stupid, and ended up getting shot by none other than the man who ordered the hit on my boyfriend.
So that was how drama followed me.
I went searching for it.
Shortly after this uncomfortable realization, I carefully curled on my side in order to sleep and do it not snoring. Shortly after that, I fell asleep.
Now was now.
I was in Benny Bianchi’s house, alone in Benny Bianchi’s bed, and Benny had thrown down. I knew where he stood. I knew what he wanted. I knew where his head was at.
And I knew I’d never go there.
Not because I didn’t want to. I was going to hell for it, but Benny was not wrong and neither was Shakespeare. This particular lady doth protest too much.
In the dark in Benny’s bed, I couldn’t go there.
I had to go where I needed to go.
And that was to formulate a new plan.
I knew I didn’t have it in me to fight the good fight—that fight being my normal fight, all about drama, hysterics, shouting, and eventually getting my way.
I had to wait it out and fight the slow, calculated fight—that fight being about quiet and giving in early to get what I needed in the end.
So I would have to see Theresa, let her mother me, give her the forgiveness she needed and should have. The same with Vinnie.
And in the meantime, I had to find some way to get Benny to let go of his idea that there was a future for us.
There wasn’t.
He was a good guy. Decent. Strong. Loyal. He went into the family business not only because his father wanted him to—it meant something to his dad and he respected his dad—but because Benny was all about family and that was what you did. He ran the Little League. He bought a house and started a search for a good woman with whom he could make a solid family and build a good home.
He deserved to find that good woman.
She just was not me.
But I had to find a way to convince Benny of that.
And I would do it. Because I was a quarter Italian, which meant I wasn’t only hotheaded, impatient, and dramatic, I was also crazy-stubborn.
And I would do it because Benny should have a good woman.
Which meant he had no business being with me.
Chapter Three
Sweet and Spicy
“Francesca, baby, wake up.”
Benny’s voice—deep, easy, and sweet—was at my ear, his mouth so close I could feel his lips whisper there.
My eyes fluttered open and I immediately felt the pain. To alleviate it, I shifted from my side to my back. Benny, sitting on the bed next to me and leaned onto a hand on my other side, shifted to accommodate me. As I untwisted to lie flat on my back, I made the mental note that being a woman who snored was better than waking with this kind of pain.
Still half asleep, I was unable to hide it and I knew it when Benny murmured, “Brought you coffee. Your girl’s downstairs. She just showed. I’ll send her up with some water and a pill.”
I focused on him to see his hair a sexy mess from sleep, his eyes warm and somnolent, his white tee on.
Asheeka had woken him. Asheeka had gotten a load of all of that opening the door. Therefore, even if the option of enlisting Asheeka in an escape plan was still open, she probably wouldn’t take it, seeing as she knew I was currently occupying all that was Benny’s bed; thus, she would not lift a finger to help me escape due to the fact she’d think I was insane for wanting to.
“You need help gettin’ out of bed and to the bathroom?” Benny asked, and it was then I knew I really wasn’t hiding the pain because I also felt stiff, like my body would break if I moved it another inch, and I didn’t want to try.
It was this way in the mornings. It got better as I got more lucid, moved around a bit, warmed up, and, most importantly, got some drugs in me.
I was looking forward to the time when I didn’t wake up this way. It was getting better. But it was also taking its fucking time.
“I—” I started to refuse, not only because this was Benny and I wanted to make it clear I didn’t need or want his help, but because I would do the same if it was anyone.
It was a pride thing. It was stupid. But it was me.
Benny knew I was going to refuse and didn’t allow me to do it. He shifted again, wrapping an arm around my waist, carefully moving me with him. He exited the bed, sliding me out from under the covers as he did it.
As for me, as he did it, I winced outright, not having it in me to attempt to hide it.
I ended up with my feet on the floor and my side pressed close to Benny’s, his arm around my waist, his other hand coming out to settle on my hip. He was holding my weight and steadying me at the same time.