The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(199)

He watched her lips before he looked into her eyes and ordered, “Stop bustin’ my chops, give me a kiss, and go to work.”

Those eyes got squinty. “Stop bein’ bossy.”

He grinned at her.

Her eyes got squintier.

“Come here, baby,” he demanded quietly.

She rolled her eyes and came there.

He pulled her into his arms, put his mouth to hers, hers opened, and like always, Ben didn’t waste the opportunity. He drank deep.

When he lifted his head, she said softly, “Remember, we’re comin’ to the pizzeria for dinner.”

The best nights at work, when Frankie hauled their crew to the restaurant. They always started at a table. They always ended in the kitchen, his girl helping her daddy, his boys stealing balls of mozzarella and eating them in his office, Frankie gabbing to his kids.

“I remember.”

“Okay, honey.”

He lifted his head and touched his lips to her forehead.

She bent in and kissed his jaw.

“Dad!” they heard Joey shouting from upstairs. “Van is gettin’ into my stuff!”

“Donovan!” Benny shouted back, still holding his baby close. “Leave your brother’s stuff alone!”

That was when they heard from Van, “Joey’s got a big mouth!”

And that was when they heard from Joey, “It’s my stuff!”

And that was when he felt his wife kiss his jaw again before she whispered in his ear, “Good luck with that, baby.”

Benny looked down to catch her smiling.

She pulled out of his arms, grabbed her purse, computer bag, and travel mug, shouting toward the door, “Momma’s leavin’ and she’s doin’ it lovin’ her babies!”

“’Bye, Momma,” Alessandra, their oldest, shouted. “Love you!”

“’Bye, Mom!” Joey, their second, yelled.

“’Bye!” Van, their last, put his in, then bellowed, “Joey!”

She grinned at Benny and walked through the door to the garage.

It was then that Ben heard Gus bark, this always a warning that things were deteriorating.

But before he hauled his ass from the counter and walked through his huge-ass kitchen to sort out his sons, he looked toward the calendar.

Varied colors of ink. Different handwriting. Mostly Frankie’s. Some of Benny’s. Even some of Ales’s and Joey’s. All marked up. Hardly any white space at all. Alessandra’s dance. Joseph’s karate. Playdates for Donovan. Slumber parties for his girl. Sleepovers for his boys. Birthdays. Dinners with Man and Sela and their brood. His Ma and Pop. Chrissy and Eva. Cat and Art and their crew. And when they could expect people walking through their door to get their own meal made by Frankie.

All the shit that makes a good life scribbled in the blocks printed on glossy paper hanging on a wall.

And on their calendar, full of scribbles, proof the Bianchis lived a good life.

They’d had calendars like that for years.

And Frankie kept each one. Taking it down on January first, always when Benny was in the kitchen. Then putting the new one up and carefully sliding the old one on the shelf in the living room by the TV that held the kids’ baby books and their wedding album.

Taking in his life on a calendar meant Benny was smiling at his feet as he walked out of his kitchen, down the hall to the foot of the stairs, and shouted up them, “Right! Stop screwin’ around! School! Now!”

He heard pounding feet.

Then he saw Gus at the top of the stairs. Their dog woofed, reporting in that the kids were minding.

And since Dad had spoken, and even Van listened when Dad spoke, Ben stood where he was, arms crossed on his chest, waiting for his kids so he could take them to school.

* * * * *

Theresa Bianchi parked at the back of the pizzeria.

She turned to her big bag in the seat beside her, hefted it up, and looped the straps over her shoulder before she got out of the car.

She headed in the back door and went directly to her son’s office.

There, she saw her handsome boy standing at his desk, phone to his ear.

Always standing, her Benny. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him sitting at his desk. Even as a child, he’d always been doing something.

Now as a man, a husband, a father, a business owner, he was the same…except more. Even sitting and watching a game on TV, he seemed somehow full of energy.

Electric.

His gaze came to her and his lips curled up.

She smiled at him and walked in, taking her bag from her arm.

She opened it and pulled out the picture she’d put in the frame that morning.

She set it on its stand on his desk, which was cluttered with some papers, but mostly it was cluttered with picture frames.

Like she’d done since they opened their pizzeria, she still hung pictures of family all over the dining room. So many, from the time her kids were little through the time her kids had kids, the walls were covered in them.

Except there weren’t many of Benny’s family.

This was because her son didn’t get into the dining room very often. But he did spend time in his office. And since he did, if he saw a photo of his family that his mother put on one of the walls in their pizzeria, he took it down and set it on his desk so it was in a place where he could see it.