The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(120)

He couldn’t say he didn’t feel for her. She was a good woman. But he couldn’t help her by biting the bullet and giving her the big family that would make the shit in her life less shitty. She’d made her choice.

She looked forward again and led him out onto a patio with a pool, gazebo, and pool house. There was a huge-ass, ostentatious fountain shooting water into the deep end of the pool. There were pots filled with thriving flowers and greenery all over the place. It looked like it belonged in a resort, not in an affluent Chicago suburb that would much prefer the local mob boss hadn’t bought a house there but no one would say jack for fear they’d find a horse’s head in their bed the next day.

And like he was at his own personal resort, which he was, Sal Giglia was sitting at a table with an iced drink in front of him, along with a tablet, his phone to his ear.

He, too, was a good-looking man, a big man, tall, broad. He’d been built back in the day, but now he had a gut. His dark hair had silvered and he’d left it at that, but he did slick it back, even if he was doing that to sit on his patio. He dressed well—designer polos, nice slacks, custom-made Italian loafers. He looked like Tony Soprano with more hair, classic features, and an extra fifteen years.

When they came out, Sal’s eyes came to Gina and Benny. He then said something in his phone, ended the call, dropped the cell on the table, and stood, face breaking into a huge smile.

Ben felt his throat prickle and fought back the urge to form his hands into fists or, the better option, turn and walk away.

“Benny, figlio,” Sal called as they made their way over the expensive pavers to Sal.

Figlio.

Asshole.

“Frankie’s birthday, am I right?” Sal asked, eyes lighting, misunderstanding the situation and thinking Ben getting in there with crazy-beautiful Francesca Concetti meant that either he was thinking with his dick or being led around by it.

“Not exactly,” Ben replied, his gaze moving to Gina and back to Sal to make his point that what he had to say, Gina shouldn’t be around to hear.

Sal’s huge smile faded, but only slightly, as he took hold of his woman’s hand, pulled her closer, kissed her cheek, and leaned back to ask, “Get Benny a drink, would you, cara?”

“Of course,” she replied, smiling up at her husband before turning that smile to Ben. “What can I get you, Benny?”

He shook his head, searching for words that would take the sting out of his meaning. “Thanks, but I don’t have time for a drink, Gina. Frankie’s comin’ in tonight. After I talk with Sal, I gotta run some more errands so I can’t stay.”

She nodded understandingly, trying to hide the disappointment and failing miserably. She aimed another smile at her husband, then moved away.

Sal threw out an arm, inviting, “Sit.”

Ben didn’t want to sit. He didn’t want to breathe Sal’s air.

He had no choice.

So he sat, pulled the shades out of his hair and over his eyes to beat back the sun, and trained his gaze on Sal.

“Last place I wanna be,” he said quietly.

At his words, Sal’s mouth got tight. “Do not tell me my Gina let you into our home for you to sit on my goddamned patio and be an ass**le to me.”

“Last place I wanna be ’cause I’m here ‘cause I need you to do somethin’ for Frankie.”

Sal suddenly went still.

He was listening.

Intently.

And Ben did not get that, why Sal and Gina sunk their claws into Frankie before and after Vinnie died. He could get falling in love with her, he did that himself. And these people understood loyalty. But not the healthy kind, which it seemed they gave Frankie.

They had two daughters.

It didn’t make sense.

But he wasn’t there to make sense of it. He was there to do something three months ago he would have told you he’d put a bullet in his own brain before he did it.

But there he was.

“Actually, two things,” Ben went on.

“You gonna tell me what they are?” Sal asked.

“Yeah,” Ben answered. “One, we’re havin’ a birthday thing for Frankie tomorrow night at the pizzeria.”

Sal’s brows shot up.

“You and Gina aren’t invited.”

Sal’s brows lowered and he scowled.

“That is not disrespect,” Ben said low and it was the truth. “Feels like it, but that’s me respectin’ my family and givin’ a good night to my woman. Ma and Pop would not want you there, Frankie would want everyone to have a good time, and knowin’ that they weren’t, it would f**k with her. Last, it would be awkward and I do not want that for Frankie on her birthday. But Frankie will wanna see you so I made reservations at Crickets for a Champagne brunch tomorrow morning,” Ben told him and finished with, “I will not be there.”

Sal nodded slowly. “And the second thing?”

“Guy at Frankie’s work got whacked.”

Sal’s brows shot up again, but Ben didn’t miss that his body also got tight.

Preparing. Like Benny, he knew Frankie was a magnet for drama.

“Whacked?” Sal asked.

“Professional hit, one shot to the head in his home. Nothin’ stolen. Nothin’ even moved. Guy came in, did him, left. He was a doctor who worked on developing drugs for her company. Police have no suspects. Cal’s got a friend who’s a cop in Brownsburg who asked around. Indianapolis Metropolitan PD have no clue why this guy had a hit taken out on him. Nothin’ in his life leads to that kinda retaliation. They’ve been over everything repeatedly. He has a wife, two kids in college, nice house. No gambling. No drug use. Not a big drinker. Kids not f**ked up. Wife all good. Plays golf. Belongs to a club. No shit in his past. No shady friends. Not one f**kin’ thing.”