The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(51)
“Frankie, Vinnie bought what happened to him.”
“A woman is supposed to have her man’s back,” I retorted.
“Not when her man turns his back on his woman,” he returned.
His words hit me like a bullet (and I knew that feeling) and I clamped my mouth shut.
“He did that shit to you and you know it,” Benny stated.
I looked to the side.
“He did that shit to you, you knew it, and you were done with it,” Benny went on.
I looked to him.
“Weren’t you?” he pushed.
“Yes,” I whispered, then admitted my horrible secret, “I was giving up on him.”
This time Ben shook his head. “Cara, he took away everything so there wasn’t anything to give up.”
His words hit me again, hard, and I drew in a sharp breath like I’d sustained a blow.
“You got a point with this talk?” he asked.
“This is between us,” I explained. “It always will be.”
“How?” Benny asked before he reminded me, “He’s dead.”
“I loved your brother, Benny,” I repeated.
“Yeah. You did. He was lovable. He was a good guy. He loved you too. Fuckin’ besotted. I was glad my brother had that. Then I was f**kin’ pissed he shit all over it.”
And still more goodness from Benny.
I couldn’t take it.
“This can never work between us,” I declared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because people will see us at Giuseppe’s and they’ll think, ‘There she is, Frankie Concetti. Dating her dead boyfriend’s brother. Latching onto another Bianchi.’”
“Anyone thinks that shit can kiss your ass, and while they’re at it, they can kiss mine.”
He had an answer for everything, but I was losing it, so I leaned in and shouted, “It isn’t right!”
He leaned forward to, his voice rising, and threw out both arms as he asked, “What about the last four days hasn’t been right, Frankie? Tell me. What hasn’t been right? You gigglin’ at Pop bein’ Pop and me bein’ me? You sharin’ words of wisdom with one of Cal’s girls? You in my bed handin’ me shit I like, then cuddlin’ up to me to watch TV? You eatin’ my pie and lovin’ every f**kin’ bite? You sittin’ at the kitchen table havin’ lunch with my ma? Pop havin’ your back when your bitch of a sister comes callin’? What about any of that isn’t right?”
That was when I lost it.
“I don’t want you to ever think I’m with you for any reason other than you’re Benny!” I yelled. “Not ever, Ben. Not ever. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve ever to think something like that!”
As I was yelling, his torso jerked back, even as his chin did it into his neck.
When I was done yelling, he whispered, “What the f**k?”
“You’re right,” I snapped, throwing out a hand. “I came onto you after Vinnie died. You kissed me, but I made the first move.”
“I know that, baby,” he replied, still whispering.
“It was a slutty thing to do.”
“You were drunk.”
“It was slutty.”
“Francesca, you were plastered, outta your mind, totally blotto. So was I. You lost your man, I lost my brother, you’re a woman, I’m a guy, and shit happened seven years ago. It wasn’t right. We both f**ked up. We both knew it. And now it’s over.”
“That’s it?” I clipped.
“That’s it,” he returned immediately.
“And you don’t think I’m a slut.”
His body went solid and my heart squeezed hard.
“You think I’m a slut,” I whispered.
“No,” he bit out.
“You do. I can read it, Benny Bianchi. It’s written all over you.”
“Babe—”
I shook my head, looking toward the door, demanding, “Take me home.”
“Babe—”
I looked to him and shrieked, “Take me home, Benny!”
“Frankie, baby. Fuck. I know Vinnie took your virginity.”
I took two steps back and stared.
He watched my feet move and his eyes cut to my face. “Yeah. This would be the awkward, uncomfortable shit we’ll be needin’ to get through.” He lifted a hand, tore it through his fabulous hair, looking to the side and finishing on a mutter, “All a’ this shit.”
“Vinnie told you that?” I whispered, and Benny looked back to me.
“Yeah,” he ground out.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“Loved him. He was a good guy until he turned bad. But he had a big f**kin’ mouth.”
“Oh my God,” I repeated.
I wanted to die. I wanted to rewind to the forest and not make it out.
Vinnie talked about me, as in about me.
To Benny!
“Frankie—”
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“Babe—”
I leaned toward him. “How much do you know, Benny Bianchi?”
He answered in a way that seemed he was forcing the words to come out, “I know I got some work to do to get you to enjoy goin’ down on me.”