Vendetta: A DeLuca Family Novel (The DeLuca Family Book 2) (4 page)

“
O
h
, Mia, I almost forgot. I saw the cutest crib set online the other day. Here, I saved the picture,” I said pulling up the camera roll on my phone. I clicked on my most recent picture and handed my phone to Mia. “Scroll through, I saved a couple of them.”

“I love the mustaches, skulls. Yeah, no way Carlo’s going to go for that, are you?” Mia asked.

“No,” Carlo said sternly, glaring at me over the top of his wine glass.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I said with a smirk.

“I like the lime green and black; that works for a girl
or
a boy,” Mia commentated as she continued to scroll. “Whoa, peaceful Frankie, that’s something you don’t see every day.”

“What?” I asked. Confused, I snatched the phone out of her hand to look at the picture she was talking about. My stomach dropped to the floor when I got a good look at the photo. It was of me, asleep in my bed. Whoever took the picture had been standing over me. The thing was, I didn’t know who took the photo.

“Oh my God. What the fuck?!” I shrieked and threw the phone onto the table as if it’d burned me.

“What is it?” Enzo asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

My hands were shaking as I brought them to my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. Who? Why? How? I hadn’t been on a date in over a year, let alone had anyone in my house while I was sleeping. “Someone was in my apartment,” I choked out finally.

“What do you mean?” Carlo asked, snatching the phone off the table before Enzo had a chance. He glared down at the screen, his scowl deepening the longer he stared. “Is there a chance it was someone you knew? Maybe you just forgot?”

“Let me see,” Enzo barked out before he ripped the phone from Carlo’s hand. He stared at the photo for a long while, his face growing harder with each passing second.

I scoffed, “No. No one has been in my apartment in months and there definitely hasn’t been anyone there while I was sleeping. Oh God, the flowers!”

“It’s got to be the same person,” Mia said, her hand unconsciously stroking her swollen belly.

“What flowers?” Enzo asked.

“Last week a bouquet of flowers was delivered to my office. They didn’t have a card or anything so I called the flower shop. When the lady looked up the receipt she told me it was an online order made using a prepaid card, and the only name on the order was John.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Enzo demanded.

“I didn’t think it meant anything,” I said.

“Jesus, do you have any idea who it could be? Old boyfriend?” he asked, spitting out the last part as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“No,” I responded automatically.

“No?” Enzo questioned, narrowing his eyes in my direction. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Frankie, even if you don’t think it’s likely, we should check out everyone,” Mia chimed in.

“There isn’t anyone; drop it,” I said firmly.

Enzo was still glaring at me from across the table, as if he didn’t believe me. Well, he could just go fuck himself because there was no way I was going to talk to him about my sex life, or lack thereof.

“Well you can’t stay there; at least, not until we find out what’s going on,” Enzo demanded.

“Excuse me?” I asked, immediately put off by his authoritative tone.

“It’s not safe, Frankie. You need to be where people can keep an eye on you. This isn’t something to take lightly. This guy was in your apartment while you were asleep and you had no idea!” Enzo said, his tone almost accusatory, as if it were my fault some peeping Tom had snuck into my loft.

“Enzo’s right,” Carlo said. “You can stay here.”

“With all due respect, Boss man, you're my employer—not my dad,” I sneered. “Besides, what am I supposed to do? Move in here forever? If I up and leave my apartment, we might not ever find out who it is.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Enzo said. His tone suggested that the offer wasn’t up for discussion, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“Like hell you will,” I rallied back.

“Frankie, this isn’t a fucking argument. The answer is no. That's final!” Enzo barked.

“Well you didn’t exactly ask a question for there to be an answer to now did you? I'm not leaving my apartment and no one is staying with me. I have a gun and I can take care of myself.”

“I'm not going to let you stay by yourself while some psycho is on the loose!”

“Let me? I’m a grown-ass woman! You don't own me and I don't take orders from you,” I said, my rage barely controlled as I faced off with the brood of a man sitting across the massive polished wood table. “I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

“That's bullshit. Stop being so fucking stubborn, Franny.” Enzo heaved a frustrated sigh, scraping his hands roughly over his head. “You need to be smart about this. I need you to be safe.”

Ice ran through my veins at his words. I’d heard those words before.
I need you to be safe.
He’d said that to me each time he left me, like it was my responsibility to keep him from worrying.

He’d called me Franny, the name he used to call me when we were kids and he wanted to get his way. He was using our past against me, trying to make me remember so he could manipulate me into giving in.

“Please… You haven't given two shits about me in years,” I snapped and stood from the table, the legs of my chair unpleasantly scraping against the floor. “I'm sorry, I lost my appetite. I'm going to go home. Alone.” Enzo’s eyes narrowed at my accusation; I could see the tick in his jaw indicating his agitation from where I stood.

“You can leave, but I'll follow you,” he said, his tone almost threatening.

“That's called stalking, Enzo. I’ve apparently already got one too many of those.”

“I don't give a shit what you call it, I'm going to protect you!” he growled, his voice was still low but I could see the anger brimming just below the surface.

“You’ve been perfectly fine letting me handle my own shit for years, so why are you all up in my business now?” I demanded.

“Doesn’t matter; I am.”

“Oh, come off it, enough with the hero complex bullshit. You know what? I don’t even give a shit why. You don’t have a right to order me around. You’re off the hook. I’m telling you right now that you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?” I shrieked in frustration.

“Because you're my fucking wife, that's why!” Enzo roared, slamming a heavy fist on the table.

Silence filled the room. The shock of everybody at the table was like a living breathing thing. I could feel it in the air. I’d never seen him so angry before, but I didn’t have time to process that because my own rage was taking over.

My face burned with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. His words sliced through me and tears started to prick the back of my eyelids. What an asshole! He knew what bringing that shit up would do to me and he did it anyways.

“You haven't treated me like your wife in a really long time,” I said coldly. “Don't hurt yourself trying to start now,” I gritted out before turning and bolting for the door.

H
eat traveled
up through my back. My anger was alive and trying to claw its way out of me. I didn't usually show emotion, let alone anger.

The military taught me not to let my personal feelings affect my mission. Everything was tactical—stay cool, do the job, and get out. If you didn’t, you were dead. I’d adopted that mentality when I joined the marines and it stuck with me even years after I was out.

I rarely let anything other than logic dictate my actions. But when I saw Frankie across the table trying to look and act like she wasn’t scared, I lost it. Just the thought of somebody hurting her made me lose the grip on my tightly-held control.

What pushed me over the edge was that she was fighting with me about her safety like she didn't care. Telling me I was off the hook like I could ever just flip a switch and stop worrying about her. I would
never
be able to do that with Frankie. Someone else, sure, but not her. Never her.

“Yes, I do,” I said through gritted teeth. I was on my last nerve. How could she be so fucking casual with her own safety?

“Why?” she shouted, exasperated.

That was it, I snapped.

“Because you're my fucking wife, that's why!” I bellowed, slamming my fist on the table to emphasize my point. Everyone who’d been sitting around the table fell eerily silent. The look of pain that flashed over Frankie’s face made me immediately regret my outburst.

I chanced a look at Carlo to my right. He was leaned back in his chair watching me with a quirked eyebrow. He’d known, but no one else had. Of course, all it took was a public records look up to see that Frankie and I had gotten married eight years ago, and there was no divorce on file. Mia was sitting stock still, but her eyes were bouncing from Frankie to me, her mouth hung slightly agape.

My eyes fell back on Frankie, standing on the other side of the table. A pang of shame squeezed at my heart when I noticed her hands were trembling slightly and her nose was red, which meant she was about to cry. I’d done that. I brought up the one thing that I
knew
would break her. I was the worst kind of asshole.

“You haven't treated me like your wife in a really long time. Don't hurt yourself trying to start now,” she said, trying to sound hard and angry, but I knew her too well to be fooled. She was just barely holding on, a fact that was confirmed when she bolted for the door.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let my head hang, both hands splayed on the table in front of me while I tried to calm myself down. It didn’t work.

“FUCK!” I screamed.

“Is someone going to explain what the fuck is going on?” Mia asked, agitated.

I looked around the table at the people that had become like family to me, noticing the shocked and confused looks on their faces. I’d have to explain myself eventually, but it would have to wait. Frankie was my first priority.

I moved to go after her but instead came face to face with an angry Mia.

“What in the actual fuck?”

“God, Mia,” I groaned. “I don’t have time to do this right now. I’ll explain later.” I sidestepped her, careful not to jostle her for fear Carlo would probably shoot me. I heard her screeching as I made my way out the front door. It was going to take a lot to calm her down this time—poor bastard. But I had my own woman to worry about.

Jumping in my car, I raced down the long driveway—memories and worry clogging up my headspace as I merged onto the highway headed for Frankie’s apartment. I can’t believe I’d outed us like that. Frankie had been working for Carlo for close to four years now, and neither of us had breathed a word to anyone about our marriage, no matter how much of a joke it was.

It was going to take a lot to get back in her good graces, not that I’d been there much in recent years. I’d been able to let her keep her distance. I deserved it after all, but that was when I knew she was safe. With an unknown threat looming, I couldn’t afford her the luxury of distance anymore.

She may hate me, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I wouldn’t, couldn’t let her down. Not again.

“
W
e’re here
!” I called out as my mother, aunt, and I walked through the front door to Frankie and Claudia’s house. There was no need for knocking; Claudia would just complain about having to come all the way to the front door.

I’d been home for almost a week after my final tour overseas and Claudia had invited us over for dinner. By the smell of garlic mingling through the house, she’d pulled out all the stops. There was no response, but I could hear low voices coming from the kitchen, so I made my way towards them, my mother and aunt trailing behind.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure something out,” Claudia cooed over Frankie who was sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. The second she looked up at me I knew something was wrong. Her nose was red and her face was blotchy, which could only mean one thing; she’d been crying.

“What is it?” I asked concerned, rushing over to Frankie. Even when we were kids I couldn’t stand to see her cry. I didn’t know why but there was just something about seeing her upset that made my gut twist and a panicky feeling take over my body. I’d do anything to make it better for her.

I crouched down in front of her and took her head in my hands. “Franny, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and pushed a piece of paper towards me. “They denied my financial aid.”

“What? How?” I asked grabbing the letter and standing up. I skimmed the contents of the letter quickly. “They’re denying you because your dad died last year?” I asked disbelievingly.

“No, they’re denying me because we cashed in the life insurance policy last year and apparently they count that as income.”

Frankie’s dad had finally drunk himself into an early grave late last year when he’d been driving drunk and ran his car into a tree. Since he and Claudia had never officially divorced, and she was still listed as the beneficiary on the policy, all the money went to her and Frankie. It wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but Claudia had used the money to pay off the loan on the house. There wasn’t even a dollar left.

“What am I going to do?” she asked aloud, resting her head in her hands once again. “It’s already June; it’s too late to apply for scholarships. I can’t take out that much in student loans.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Claudia reassured her again.

Frankie let out a frustrated sigh and raised her head again. “They look at the past two years’ taxable income, so it won’t be until after my sophomore year that I’d qualify. I guess I’m not going to Gonzaga.”

“No,” I said immediately. “You’ve been dreaming about going there for years; we’ll figure it out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out; even just two years there without financial aid is just too expensive. With tuition, books, room and board, it’s going to be almost a hundred grand, and that’s just for two years. Not to mention whatever financial aid doesn’t cover for the last two years. We don’t have that kind of money, and I’d never be able to pay that much back in student loans.”

“I’ll help,” I pleaded with her, but she just shook her head.

“You have other people that depend on you; I’m not going to let you help pay for my school when I can go to community college.”

“But—“ I started, but my mother cut me off.

“Let’s just take a breather; we can pick it up again after dinner. We’ll figure something out, sweet girl,” she said, kissing Frankie’s head as she passed by.

Dinner was a quiet, everyone’s mind clearly occupied. The empty chair where Eddie usually sat was a stark reminder that he was behind bars for the better part of the next two years. That, coupled with Frankie’s news, curbed the idle dinner conversation.

“I wish you could just use my GI Bill. I’m not going to use it,” I said halfway through dinner.

“What’s a GI Bill?” Frankie asked around a mouth full of garlic bread.

“It’s basically guaranteed financial aid for people who’ve served at least four years in the military and it’s transferable to your children or spouse. It wouldn’t cover the entire cost of Gonzaga but it’d cover most of it,” I said shrugging. “I don’t know all of the details, because I never planned on using it.”

“Huh. Too bad I can’t just marry some guy in the military; that’d solve my problems,” Frankie laughed and everyone else laughed with her. Except me.

“What if you could?” I asked, interrupting their laughter. My mother’s eyes darted to me from across the table.

Frankie furrowed her eyebrows. “What? Get married?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“To who? I’m eighteen. Who’s going to want to marry me just to help me with school?”

“Uh, me, obviously.” I was starting to feel less than confident with the strange looks I was getting from around the table, but I pushed on. “Franny, think about it. I’ve got a GI Bill that’s just going to go to waste, and you need money for school. It’s a win, win.”

Frankie’s cheeks flamed and she let out a nervous laugh. “Wow, Enzo, you have such a way with words. Every girl dreams about getting proposed to at the dinner table with the words ‘it’s a win, win’ being the selling point,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m being serious, this could work,” I implored.

“I guess it could…” She shook her head, a disbelieving smile spread across her face. “God, Enzo, this is crazy. Holy crap, are we getting married?”

“Yeah, I think we are,” I said, locking eyes with her before we both burst into laughter.

“Am I the only one that thinks this is a ridiculous idea?” asked my Aunt Rosa.

“If it helps Francesca get a college education, I’m not going to stand in her way,” Claudia said firmly.

“Marcella, you can’t be okay with this. The church will never approve— “

I interrupted before my mother had a chance to answer. “The church doesn’t have to approve. It’s just a piece of paper. We’ll go down to the courthouse and get it done.”

“Marcella?” Aunt Rosa exclaimed again.

“My son is an adult; he can make his own decisions. Who he takes as a wife and why is none of my business,” my mother said, with a wink in my direction.

I smiled broadly. “We’ll go down to the courthouse tomorrow and get the application. Problem solved.”

Frankie shook her head again. “This is fucking insane,” she muttered.

“Language!” Claudia scolded. “You may be eighteen and about to get married but you’re still under my roof.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said and had to stifle another laugh.

The rest of the dinner went by uneventfully. My aunt didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal; instead, opting to stab forcefully at her ravioli. We left the Delrossi home with plans for Frankie and me to meet up the next day so we could go get the application for a marriage license. By the end of the week I was going to be a married man—at least on paper.

When we got home, Aunt Rosa headed straight for her bedroom without a word to either of us.

“Why is she so upset?” I asked my mother.

“I think she always wished Eddie and Frankie would end up together one day.”

“But we’re not really together. You understand that, right?”

“Hmm, for now. We’ll see how time changes things,” she said, patting my cheek.

“Mom, this is just so she can go to school,” I protested.

She smiled softly. “One day, your eyes will open and you’ll see what I see, then you’ll know.” She kissed my cheek and headed to her bedroom without another word.

If she only knew how clearly I was seeing.