Kristen Ashley: The Promise

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, because 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.