The Promise Read online

  “He’s Benny,” I said in response, figuring that said it all.

  “He sure is,” she agreed, knowing it said it all because she’d seen him, repeatedly (though, once would do it).

  “But he’s my dead boyfriend’s brother.”

  “Girl,” she started, wheeling me toward the doors again, “God doesn’t care who you let in there, just as long as the feelin’s are honest when you let him in.”

  I looked to my bag on my knees. “It’s my understanding God does care who you let in there.”

  “Sure enough,” she replied. “But that’s not the there I’m talkin’ about. The there I’m talkin’ about is your heart.”

  I was not going to get into this with my soon-to-be-ex nurse while she wheeled me to the taxi that would take me home after my hospital stay, so I pressed my lips together again.

  I unpressed them when I felt her stutter step behind me and the wheelchair jerked slightly with her movement.

  I also looked up when this happened.

  And what I saw was Benny Bianchi in a white t-shirt that hugged his muscular torso in a way that made you jealous of that tee. He also had on faded jeans that fit loose in a way that only hinted at the power in those long legs (not to mention the power behind that package), making you want to get acquainted with both…intimately. He was leaning against his Explorer right outside the doors.

  He had his arms crossed on his chest and shades over his dark brown eyes, but I knew those eyes were on me.

  He was waiting on me.

  Not parked illegally outside a hospital to come for a visit.

  Waiting on me to be released.

  “Uh…Cindy,” I muttered, eyes glued to Ben. “Did someone at the nurse’s station share with Benny when I’d be released?”

  “He may have made that inquiry,” she evaded.

  “And was it answered?” I asked, though the evidence it was was pushing away from his Explorer. It was then I knew why Cindy was wheeling me to the doors and not a nurse’s assistant or an orderly. She didn’t want to miss this or miss reporting back to the girls.

  “Mm,” Cindy mumbled her evasion this time.

  I couldn’t get pissed at this. Not because it wasn’t worthy of being pissed at, but because Benny was moving in our direction, we were moving in his, and all my attention was taken in concentrating on watching him move.

  He moved well. He looked good. He was tall. He worked on his body and this work was extremely successful. He had a lot of thick, messy black hair. And he had a face that was movie star handsome in a way that, without a doubt, launched a million wedding fantasies, even from women who just caught a glimpse of him walking down the street.

  My eyes remained locked on him as the doors swished open, and we trundled through at the exact same time Benny arrived at our location.

  I opened my mouth to say something but didn’t get a word out, because Ben grabbed my bag from my lap and thrust it Cindy’s way with a murmured, “Could you hold that, darlin’?”

  Cindy took it and I again opened my mouth to say something and, again, didn’t get a word out because Ben bent, shoved a hand under my knees, one around my waist, and lifted me into his arms.

  But gently.

  There was pain, but it was minimal. Mostly because it came with his strength and warmth and the smell of his aftershave.

  Shit!

  I said something then. It was loud, but it was lame.

  And what it was was, “Ben!”

  He didn’t even look at me. He turned to Cindy and said, “I’ll take that now.” She must have given my bag to him because he immediately went on. “Thanks, beautiful. You’ve been great. Got it from here.”

  After delivering that, he turned and started walking to his SUV.

  I glared around his shoulder at Cindy.

  Cindy stood with hands on the handles of the wheelchair and grinned at me.

  “I’m canceling that big bouquet of flowers and three-layers-deep box of Fannie May I ordered for the nurse’s station!” I yelled.

  She pulled her phone out of her scrubs, lifted it, and I knew she took a picture while Benny opened the back door to his SUV in order to toss my bag in, because she called, “That’s okay. I’ll share this shot with the girls.” She looked from her phone to me. “This’ll be all the thanks we need.”

  I had more to say to my now-ex-nurse Cindy, but I lost sight of her and couldn’t retort when Benny deposited me (gently, God!) into the front passenger seat.

  I turned my glare to him.

  “You aren’t taking me home,” I declared.

  “You’re right. I’m not,” he replied, attention on the seatbelt.

  He wasn’t?

  “I am in your truck, Ben,” I pointed out.

  His eyes came to mine, and I was glad he had his shades on because he had beautiful eyes. Amazing. A rich dark brown that could dance with laughter and warm with feeling, both having the capacity to melt your heart.

  Unfortunately, his eyes also looked good hidden behind his silver wire-rimmed shades.

  “I’m not takin’ you home. I’m takin’ you to my home,” he clarified.

  I blinked. I stared. I totally forgot about how cool his sunglasses looked.

  Then I lost my mind.

  “I’m not goin’ to your house!” I shouted.

  “Yeah, you are,” he replied, attention back to the seatbelt he was pulling around me, shoulder strap yanked way out to clear my head.

  This was thoughtful. I didn’t need that strap pressing against my body. It would kill.

  I ignored his thoughtfulness and declared, “I’m goin’ to my house.”

  “Nope. You aren’t.”

  “I ordered a taxi,” I told him.

  “Found him. Gave him a twenty. Sent him on his way.”

  He was leaning in to latch the seatbelt, and since he was that close, I got a good whiff of his aftershave. I also got a good view of the back of his head with his thick, black, wavy hair.

  It was hair you’d run your fingers through just because. Any occasion granted you, you’d take it.

  If you were standing close and talking.

  If you were lying around, tangled up together, watching TV.

  If you were kissing.

  I closed my eyes.

  God really, really hated me.

  I opened my eyes. “You can’t send the taxi away. I gave them my credit card. They’re gonna charge me anyway.”

  I heard the belt click and he adjusted his position so he was facing me. He was still leaning into the cab of the truck. He was still close. And I could still smell his aftershave.

  It was spicy.

  Yes, God hated me.

  “I’ll reimburse you,” he said.

  “Benny, this is not cool,” I snapped. “I’ve just been shot. I don’t need this.”

  “You were shot a week and a half ago, babe. And if you felt shit, you wouldn’t be able to mouth off.”

  I clamped my mouth shut.

  Ben grinned.

  My clit pulsed.

  Yes. God so totally hated me. He was punishing me. Doing it on earth before He sent me to the fiery depths of hell.

  Ben moved out of the cab and slammed my door.

  It was at this point that I could make a break for it. Then again, I didn’t think the awkward, painful strolls I’d been taking around the hospital corridors had prepared me to make a desperate dash from lean, fit Benito Bianchi. Hell, if I was in perfect shape, I still couldn’t execute a desperate dash from Benny Bianchi.

  So I didn’t make a desperate dash. I glared at him through the windshield as he rounded the hood of his Explorer, and I kept glaring at him as he pulled his long body into the driver’s seat. Committed to this act, I continued to do it as he switched on the ignition and guided the truck away from the curb.

  It was then I noticed he didn’t put on his seatbelt.

  “It’s law to wear your seatbelt in Illinois, Benny,” I shared snippily.

  He
didn’t glance at me, kept negotiating the rounding drive out of the hospital, but reached for his seatbelt and clicked it in place.

  Well, hell. He took direction. Even snippy direction.

  I didn’t need to know that either.

  He pulled out onto the street.

  “Can you explain why you’re kidnapping me?” I requested to know.

  “Kidnapping you?” he asked the road.

  “I am in your truck against my volition,” I pointed out.

  “Right.” He grinned. I saw it and my mouth went dry. “Then I guess I’m kidnapping you,” he finished good-naturedly.

  It was unfortunate that it was highly likely I’d rip my gunshot wound open if I attempted to scratch his eyes out. Furthermore, I didn’t want to survive genuinely getting kidnapped by a madman, running through a forest, ending up shot, only to get in a car accident mere minutes after being released from the hospital.

  Therefore, I decided not to do that and instead kept questioning.

  “Now that we have that down, can you explain why?”

  “’Cause you’re not gonna convalesce under the watchful eye of a mob kingpin.”

  “I was heading home, Ben,” I shared.

  “And you don’t think Sal wouldn’t have his ass, Gina’s, and every Chicago mob wife and girlfriend up in your shit, catering to your every whim?” he returned. “You’re family and you took a bullet for family. He was your godfather. Now he’s your fairy godfather.”

  Pure Benny.

  “I wouldn’t let Sal hear you refer to him as my fairy anything,” I advised.

  “I don’t give a fuck what Sal hears me say about him.”

  It was not surprising that the Bianchis, who owned a family pizzeria and had nothing to do with the Cosa Nostra, weren’t all fired up when Vinnie Junior decided to cast his lot with his uncle Sal. They were less fired up about it when he got whacked during a war Sal found himself in.

  There weren’t a lot of people who would disrespect a Mafia boss.

  The Bianchis were the exception. And Benny, who loved his brother, loved his mother and father, sister, and other brother, hated to lose Vinnie Junior. He also hated to watch his family suffer that same loss. Therefore, he took that disrespect to extremes.

  It scared the crap out of me.

  If you knew Salvatore Giglia like I knew him, you would think he was the kindest-hearted man you’d ever met.

  But he absolutely was not.

  Therefore, my voice was lower when I noted, “You need to be careful about Sal, Ben.”

  He glanced at me before looking back to the road while asking, “What? You think he’ll take another son from my father?”

  At the reference to Vinnie Junior, I decided I was done talking.

  “He would not do that shit,” Benny went on.

  No. Sal wouldn’t. He respected Vinnie Senior. He might not eat any shit in his life at all. None.

  But he’d eat Benny’s shit because of what happened to Vinnie Junior and because he respected Vinnie Junior’s father.

  This was surprising. In Sal’s world, he figured he’d won respect from everyone—save cops, the FBI, and IRS agents—so he demanded it.

  But he didn’t mingle at family reunions with cops and FBI agents.

  And he ate shit from the Bianchi family.

  Particularly Benny.

  “Anyway, babe, he’s not here,” Ben finished.

  Luckily, this was true.

  I decided to keep not talking.

  This was because there was nothing to say to his comment. It was also because I had a new strategy.

  Silence. Preserve my energy. Get to Benny’s house and ask him to go to the pharmacy for me. Wave him happily away. Call a taxi. Get the fuck out of there.

  And not to my home. I’d go to a hotel.

  The Drake. I’d always wanted to stay at The Drake and now was my shot.

  One last hurrah.

  I had a new job in Indianapolis. They’d been pretty cool about the whole me-getting-shot-and-having-to-delay-starting-work-for-them thing. Mostly because I’d been on TV (or my picture had) and they thought I was a hero rather than a crazy bitch on a mission who nearly got herself killed.

  So I’d check into The Drake. Live it up for a few days. Get out. Pack up. Go.

  Sal would be able to find me.

  Ben, probably not.

  After a few days, I would feel better and have more fight in me should Benny still not get the hint.

  Then I’d be gone.

  Benny drove. I watched the city start to engulf us as we left the suburb where I’d been hospitalized and entered the urban area of Chicago.

  I tried not to look at it, but it was all around me.

  My city.

  I’d been born there. I loved it there. I loved The Wrigley Building. I loved Sears Tower. I loved Marshall Field’s (when it was Marshall Field’s). I loved the lakefront. I loved The Berghoff (which, thankfully, was still The Berghoff). I loved Fannie May meltaways and pixies. I loved the ivy on the walls of the outfield at Wrigley Field. I loved the Bears, even when they were losing. I loved the Cubs because they were always losing.

  And I loved Vinnie’s Pizzeria. The smell of the place. The feel of the place. The pictures on the walls. The memories.

  But I hadn’t stepped foot in Vinnie’s in seven years because I wasn’t welcome.

  And it was time for new horizons.

  So it was good-bye Chicago and hello new horizons.

  “You’re quiet.”

  That was Benny.

  I wasn’t even looking at him and I got warm just hearing his voice. It was deep and easy. The kind of voice that could talk you out of being in a snit because something went bad at work. The kind of voice that could make your heart get tight as you listened to him talk to a little kid. The kind of voice that would make you feel at peace with the world before you closed your eyes to sleep after he whispered good night in your ear.

  I looked out the side window.

  “Frankie?” Benny called.

  “I’m tired,” I said to the window. That wasn’t entirely true, but luckily my voice sounded like it was.

  “Babe,” he replied softly.

  Damn. Now his voice was deep and easy and soft.

  God so totally hated me.

  I felt his finger slide along the outside of my thigh and I closed my eyes tight.

  Totally. Hated. Me.

  “We’ll get you home, get you to bed, get some decent food in you, turn on the TV, and you can rest.”

  Now was my time and I wasn’t going to waste it. “I’m not gonna fight it, Ben, ’cause I can’t. We’ll fight tomorrow. But I need some prescriptions filled, and quick.”

  “Ma’s comin’ over. She’ll get you fed and I’ll go out and get your meds.”

  My head whipped around at the word “over” and I stared at him in scared-as-shit disbelief. “Theresa’s comin’ over?”

  He glanced at me, then back at the road. “Yeah, babe. She didn’t fall for your sleep fake either, but she gave you that play. Now she wants to kick in. Make sure you’re all right.”

  “I can’t face Theresa.”

  Ben’s eyes came to me again and stayed on me a shade longer than they should have, seeing as he was driving. Then he looked back at the road. “Frankie, cara, she wants—”

  “I can’t face Theresa.”

  His hand came out and folded around mine. “Cara—”

  I didn’t fight his hand holding mine. I had another fight I needed to focus on. “I can’t, Ben. Call her. Tell her not to come.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Baby, it’s—”

  I squeezed his hand. “Ben.” I leaned his way. “Please.”

  He did another longer-than-safe glance at me, then he gave me another squeeze before he let me go. He shifted forward in his seat, dug his cell out of his back pocket, and I held my breath.

  His thumb moved on the screen and he put it to his ear.

  I took a breath, bec
ause it was needed for survival, and I held it again.

  “Ma, yeah. Listen, Frankie’s with me. She’s good. She’s cool. She’s comin’ home with me, but she needs ’til tomorrow for you. Can you give that to her?”

  Tomorrow. I’d bought time. I was golden.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  Yes, I was golden.

  I did not grin. I heaved a sigh of relief. This was not a victory. I was genuinely freaked about seeing Theresa. I loved her. I missed her. And there was something about the loss of her that cut deeper than any of the Bianchis, save Benny, but I was not going to go there. And, of course, Vinnie, who had no choice but to leave me, except the one he should have made before he hooked his star to Sal.

  My ma was the shit. She was hilarious. She was the best wingman a girl could have, be it at a bar or a church. No joke, even at fifty-three, she could rack ’em up and pin ’em down for you, and I knew this because she not only picked Vinnie for me, she scored both my sisters’ husbands for them, not to mention four of her own. She drank like a sailor, cursed like a sailor, and I wasn’t certain, but evidence pointed to the fact that she’d entertained most of the boys who’d been through the Naval Station for the last three decades (plus). I knew this because my father was one of them.

  She was any girl’s best friend.

  The problem with that was that she’d been my “best friend” since I was two.

  A girl needed a mother.

  And Theresa Bianchi was that for me.

  And then she wasn’t.

  I’d waited for twenty-one years to get that for me.

  And then it was gone.

  “You got a day, darlin’,” Benny said quietly. “A day to prepare. You gotta face her, but more, Francesca, you gotta let her face you.”

  “Fine,” I told the window.

  “Fine?” Ben repeated on a question.

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “No lip. You are tired.”

  “I’ll have my strength back after a nap and we’ll fight about it then,” I lied, because we wouldn’t. I’d be at The Drake while Ben was losing his mind in his empty house.

  “You’re on.” He was still muttering, but he had humor in his deep and easy voice now.

  Humor from Benny was a killer. He had a great smile. He had a better laugh. And I’d already mentioned how fabulous his eyes were when they were dancing with humor.