by Xavier Neal
My voice fights to cut through for what feels like the millionth time, “Benic-”
“They may be Dons, heads of their families, heads of their avenues of enterprise, but they do not measure up to that of a Bennett.”
I increase my firmness, “Beni-”
“They have their ranks, which will always be under mine. You cannot do what it is their operations do without someone bigger, better, and more brutal than you allowing it to proceed. I sit on that throne. They will bow to me, or I will cut off their legs so they will permanently be on their knees.”
Irritation boils over the brink pushing me to lean forward between the seats. “Be-”
“In un minuto,” he callously insists to resume his ranting. “I-”
“No!”
The shout startles him out of the unnecessary tirade he, clearly, wasn’t finished delivering.
“You have had twenty-nine minutes of ignoring me,” his hazel gaze locks onto my brown, “and if you would like to make it one more, I will have Luis pull this SUV over right goddamn now and hitchhike the rest of the way home.”
“I would pay to see that,” Miko jovially teases in his seat across from my future husband.
“Sta 'zitto,” Beni hisses without breaking our visual hold.
“I am under no false illusions or assumptions that I am to come before business on the average occasion but let me be as clear and concise as I was when we first got together, Benicio. I will not live on your back burner and neither will your children.”
“Children? As in-”
“As in I, highly, doubt we’ll only be having the one in our life.”
He has to fight the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You have to learn to make time for your family even if it means momentarily stopping a lecture that King George the 3rd himself would be proud of.”
Guilt flashes in his glare.
“I am only this insistent on interrupting because it seems asinine to have Luis drive us all the way to the estate to then have to turn all the way back around and take me where it is I would like to go.”
“Quale è dove?”
“To see my dad.”
Beni’s entire demeanor suddenly shifts.
My fingers fly upward to fidget with the ends of my hair. “I…I think it’s time.”
“Sei sicuro di essere pronto?”
Are you sure you’re ready?
“No…” There’s a small shake of my head accompanied by an even smaller shrug. “But I don’t think I’ll ever fully be ready, Beni. But I definitely think it’s time.”
After spending the weekend cementing a bond with those that I have left and those that I’m learning are here for the long run, it just feels right.
I need to see him.
I need to say goodbye to his physical form before I can truly wrap my mind around having him only in my thoughts and memories.
Beni nods and checks the brand-new watch on his wrist – an engagement gift from Antonio. “Faremo il tempo.”
We will make the time.
“Luis,” my fiancé calls to the driver, “to the cemetery.” He redirects his voice to the passenger seat. “Dario engage security protocols.”
His head swivels to Miko who instantly states, “I’ll have the next couple of conference calls pushed back an hour and inform Antonio of the detour.”
When his eyes return to mine, he offers me a softer, sweet expression. “Mie scuse, Mia Bella.” He folds his hands together on top of his lap at the same time he concedes, “You’re absolutely right. Business will often come first, but I will work to be better about balancing the two. I learned to rule the two worlds entrusted to me. I shall learn to establish a state of stasis between the man I am behind the desk and the man I am behind our dinner table.”
Hearing his proclamation pushes a smile onto my face.
“Chiedo la tua pazienza nel processo.”
I ask for your patience in the process.
“Sì?”
“Sì.” I lean back against the seat and cross one black tights-covered leg over the other. “And, when it runs out, there are plenty of guest rooms for you to sleep in while it recharges.”
Miko instantly laughs over the comment, while Beni struggles to decide whether to join him or threaten to spank me.
God, I love when he gets that look.
I love it even more now that I know what it was like to worry that I’d never see it again.
The remainder of the drive is filled with rearrangements being made, and Beni checking emails via his phone. Despite the lack of conversation verbally continuing, he angles himself so that he can hold my hand.
Be there for me in silence.
Prove that his attention may be on his business, but his commitment will always lie with me.
Our arrival at the gated cemetery is faster than I anticipated. Maybe it was the back roads Luis took or maybe it was because my mind was determined to focus on how comforting it felt to have my fiancé’s touch rather than the distance there was to travel to be here. There’s a keypad to be granted initial access, but further back is the private Bennett portion, which is secured by an additional gate and two armed guards.
Benicio rolls down the window, and they politely greet, “Afternoon, Mr. Bennett.”
“Afternoon.” He offers them a cordial nod. “The future Mrs. Bennett is here to see her father.” I lean forward again so they can see my face and me theirs knowing I need to begin familiarizing myself with them immediately. “She is to be granted access whenever she deems fit. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Bennett,” the two retort in tandem making it difficult for me to decipher whose voice is whose.
“Good. Open the gate.”
One shuffles away to key in the code while the other returns to his post.
On the opposite side of the iron gate is acres of lush foliage. There are large trees. Bright flowers. Perfectly manicured grass. From first glance, it simply looks like a garden with a road that runs through it, yet on a closer look, I manage to spot random headstones positioned around the area.
“There’s a second entrance at the far end that connects to one of the private roads that leads to the estate,” Beni casually explains as the vehicle creeps to a stop. “It’s not guarded like the front since getting access to those roads to begin with is a task within itself; however, it does have security cameras that are active and being monitored.”
“See,” Dario announces, pulling my eyes to where his phone is raised to display the view.
“There are no cameras at the gravesites, so you will still be required a security escort. È chiaro, Mia Bella?”
Is that clear?
I don’t hesitate to nod.
“Buono,” he states prior to the vehicle being put in park. “I will show you to your dad.”
His door is opened by Luis while Miko exits the opposite direction. My fiancé extends his hand to assist me out of the SUV and guide me away from where Dario remains stationed with our driver. Miko trails behind us quite a distance, presenting us with privacy, and my eyes frantically search the sides of the shady trail for a headstone. Frustration starts to flutter through my system during my visual hunt that I don’t feel should be nearly this difficult. Just seconds before I’m about to snip that walking this path has me feeling like I’m Alice in Graveland an unexpected sight is revealed.
My jaw drops to the ground halting me in place. Tears collect in my vision. My throat. The hand not holding his, shakily rises to stifle the sob that’s inevitably going to seep free from my mouth while I continue to stare on in disbelief.
“At first,” Beni casually begins, thumb stroking the skin in his possession, “I had just planned on waiting for you to be able to pick out a headstone. You deserved that right. You weren’t able to bury him. You weren’t given the chance to host a funeral or a memorial. You were, undeservingly, robbed of so much.”
I force my face away from the building and over to
him.
“After a couple late nights of contemplation on how to approach the subject, I soon realized a headstone wasn’t enough. I knew I couldn’t bring Luther back to you, but,” his own voice grows thick with tears, “that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep your connection with him alive.” He swallows deeply and clears his throat. “So, I had this modern mausoleum built and his casket moved here.”
A single tear rolls down to my cheek without my permission.
“He’s buried in the center, but there are benches for you – or someday, if you want, us – to sit on.” His hazel stare glows with love that summons more tears to drop. “The inside is still fairly bare because I wanted you to honor the space how you wanted. Whether that was with some of his favorite things from his home or certain flowers or taffy wrappers… I wanted that choice to be yours. I wanted you to have the power to choose.”
Unsure of what to say, I throw myself into his arms and release the remaining tears.
Benicio holds me as tight as he can fathom without, potentially, harming our child. Grief rocks the ground under my feet, yet he fights like hell to keep me upright.
To provide me with strength.
To prove he has me even when I don’t have myself.
Mascara stains his white shirt on every sob, something I am sure he’ll bitch about later, yet welcomes for the moment. Sweet forehead kisses are slipped in between gentle strokes of my back. My sides. The fact words aren’t spoken only makes me love him more for allowing me to get everything out and mourn the way I need versus consoling me the way he wants.
I’m uncertain how much time passes prior to me walking into the small building.
I, honestly, don’t even know if I walked over, or in here, on my own.
It’s as though, in one single blink, the man of my future was holding me and the next, I’m here.
Sitting on this marble bench.
Staring at the unsolved Rubik’s cube resting on Dad’s burial space.
The sight causes more tears to gather along the brims of my eyes and the ache in my chest to deepen to a degree it hasn’t since I watched a bullet pierce his skull.
“Beni made sure I was in here with you until I could be in here with you,” I whisper through the tears, astonishment building with every breath. “He really is a good man, Dad. Just like you said.” Instead of wiping away the wetness streaming down my face, I let it continue to pour. “And, he’s gonna be a really good dad.” A smile wants permission to appear, but it isn’t granted. “I hate that I didn’t tell you I was pregnant. I hate that you won’t be here to meet your grandchildren. I hate that they won’t get to meet you.”
Transitioning from quiet bawling to violently blubbering is almost instantaneous.
I shed tears over watching him die.
Not getting to say goodbye before this moment.
Having to say goodbye at all.
I wail about the future that has to go on without him until I begin weeping in gratitude that I don’t have to go on alone.
That – because of him – I don’t have to live a life alone.
That, because he was pushy about Beni, pushy about me actually living, I know how to move forward to keep his death from being in vain.
And, it won’t be.
I will never take this life, these luxuries, and those in my world for granted.
More importantly, I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect them, just like my dad was always ready to do whatever it took to protect me.
Chapter 20
It’s been another long week.
Hirings, firings, training, renovations, and appointments – both medical and wedding – have been quite taxing. Once you add in that my family won’t be leaving until after the wedding and having to watch my best friend slowly slip out of my life to prepare for a new one, there’s no question as to if I need to relieve stress so much as what is the best way to alleviate it.
Tonight’s dinner will provide me with the perfect opportunity to unleash the tension, but unfortunately, I can’t stop the mental skirmish regarding Chantal’s presence at it.
She should be there.
She deserves to be there.
She has earned her place at the table; therefore, not being present shouldn’t be a question at all.
However, her carrying our child distracts me from those notions.
What if something goes wrong?
What if there’s an attack we’re too late to stop?
Her stomach is essentially one giant – it isn’t actually giant, which has me worrying for other reasons – target for enemies to aim for.
What if that’s exactly what they do?
“Stop that.” Chantal swats at my hands that are struggling to fix my bowtie.
“It’s not straight.”
“It was the first time you tied it,” she sassily taunts from my side in our bathroom. “You have since then untied and retied it six times. I’m a little surprised the material hasn’t just given up altogether, at this point, and gone out for tequila shots.”
Her attempt to make me smirk works.
“You are tense, Beni. Even for you.”
Rather than express my concerns for what lies ahead, I address those from earlier in the afternoon, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind regarding what Dr. Ybarra and Dr. Gregory said in reference to your weight.”
“Pregnant or not, you should never bring up a woman’s weight.” Her arms fold firmly against her long sleeve, form fitting, black cocktail dress. “Nevertheless, my weight is fine.”
“The lack of increase-”
“Isn’t cause for concern at this time. I know you have trouble hearing things that won’t cause you to panic, but you should definitely start to try it.”
A thin line of discontent forms on my expression.
She thinks I take shit too seriously.
I think she doesn’t take shit seriously enough.
An underweight, over-stressed, pregnant fiancée seems like an appropriate thing to worry about.
“Do not use our unborn child as a way to divert a conversation, Benicio.”
Culpability causes me to drop my glare to my dress shoes.
“Guardami negli occhi,” Chantal forcefully commands.
Look into my eyes.
The instant my stare meets hers, she snaps, “Our children are to never be used as pawns. Am I making myself clear?”
My cock starts to stir inside my slacks over the delicious confidence and dominion being forced upon me. “Sì.”
“Good.” She flicks the coiled piece of hair shaping her face away from her cheek. “Now, tell me what’s actually bothering la mia promessa sposa.”
It’s impossible not to grin. “My betrothed. Well done. Who was responsible for teaching you that?”
“Tua madre.”
Your mother.
“You two have built quite a bond.”
“I need her on my side when it comes to naming the baby,” Chantal playfully pokes. “Really trying to venture away from all the Bs.”
“È tradizionale.”
It’s tradition.
“Traditions change.”
“That one won’t.”
Her face teasingly sneers before asking again, “What’s wrong, Beni?”
“You know what’s in store for tonight.”
“I do.”
“You know that even in the most controlled situations, there are often unforeseen factors that can arise.”
“I do…”
“Sono preoccupato,” I am worried, “that…” my hands shove themselves into my pockets to hold onto every bit of composure I can, “something may go awry.”
Her face remains unaltered. “And?”
“And, that you or you and our child may be harmed as a result.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself?”
“I don’t want there to be a reason you have to handle yourself.” Another wave of fear floods my expression. “I don’t want to take that
risk.” Chantal’s mouth twitches to reply but is met by a shake of the head. “Ho già rischiato abbastanza la tua vita. Non voglio farlo di nuovo.”
I've risked your life enough already. I don't want to do it again.
“You are not risking my life by having me at this dinner, Benicio.”
My brow twitches in disagreement.
“You are ensuring that I keep it.”
More confusion crawls into place.
“You are feared and respected. You have shown them why they should cower. Why they should never cross you. You have shown them the beast you will become to protect what’s yours. You’ve staked your claim as king of the concrete jungle, and in order to be queen, I have to be allowed the opportunity to do the same, or I will never be seen as a worthy partner but a weak point that they can continuously exploit.”
Her words tear at the lingering doubts about the decision we are only minutes from.
“Io non sono debole,” she states strongly in Italian prior to repeating it in English. “I. Am. Not. Weak. And, it’s time everyone fucking knows it.”
On a hungry growl, I launch forward, capturing her lips with mine. Caution isn’t executed. Care for smearing her lipstick or having to wait an extra few minutes for her to correct it doesn’t exist. Pouncing and possessing her tongue are my only priority. Like the slippery minx she is, she continuously evades the overbearing lashes, forcing me to hastily pursue in order to claim what’s rightfully mine. The harder I have to work to taste the mint flavor – something I’m sure she had to help with nausea – the harder my cock grows in anticipation of the ultimate reward of pinning her down, holding her jaw open, and coming all over the muscle that’s currently evading my advances.
“Mi mancherà davvero vederti scopare con le tue lingue,” Miko’s voice unexpectedly cuts through.
I will really miss seeing you fucking with your tongues.
The statement pulls us apart and is followed by an additional one chuckled, “E tu, Dario, dovresti abituarti a vederlo più spesso.”
And, you, Dario, should get used to seeing it more often.
