Mrs Mariano: Part 1

by L Neil

  Amazingly, Tommy didn’t protest, not one bit. Not even as Frank and I had discussed what should happen next.

  My husband had offered to end him in his trademark way, using his trusty scalpel and various other surgical equipment. “With the right tools, removing the skin is quite effortless,” he says, so very casual. “I could teach you.”

  However, in the state that Tommy is in now, he probably wouldn’t last a minute before his heart gives out... and that just would not do.

  Besides, this kill is mine.

  As the sun sets, Frank and I watch Dominic splash gasoline on the man who stole my innocence.

  Max returns with a silver tray that has matches and cigars atop it. He places it on the nearby garden bistro table and leaves us once more.

  I place a hand on Dominic’s arm to make him stop. “That’s enough – we wouldn’t want him to burn too quickly.”

  He backs away without protest.

  Frank watches on with sinister eyes and lips curled in a nefarious grin. As I retrieve the matches, I hear him exhale deeply. He is enjoying this way too much.

  Not wanting to delay any further, I return to Tommy and strike the match. Leaning in close, I whisper to him, “I hope you burn for eternity,” and set him alight.

  The screaming only lasts a few seconds – maybe five, tops – but I watch him turn into a charred mess for minutes. And it feels... good.

  It smells awful, however.

  I hadn’t been this close to Campbell when he burned, so I’ve never actually smelled burned flesh and hair before. Even outside in the cool air, it’s a battle not to choke.

  Frank steps in beside me for a closer view and the flames flicker in those cool, unwavering eyes of his. I rest my head on his shoulder and enjoy the view, too.

  He held me through the night as I rocked and cried away all the pain.

  “I’ve got you,” was all he said. And it was exactly what I needed.

  CHAPTER 16

  Honeymoon

  The next day, Frank and I packed our bags and headed to the airport.

  Although I have been on many planes before, this was my first time on a private jet and because Frank owned the company, we were treated like royalty. With first class service, sparkling champagne and exquisite food, it was a strange experience for someone like me.

  With the trip being overseas and a last-minute arrangement, it was decided that we didn’t need security to accompany us. Which was more than OK with me, even though it seems that Dominic and I don’t have a problem anymore.

  We are overdue for a honeymoon, or so my husband says. I know he is after a distraction to stop him from agonising over my decision not to find Jimmy and do terrible things to him. At least, not yet.

  Sure, he can’t get away with what he has done but I need time to decide exactly what we do about it. I mean, I can’t torture and/or kill my own father.

  He didn’t ask Tommy to do what he did, just to date me so that I was unavailable to Frank’s sons. It’s the fact that he protected Tommy afterwards that hurts the most.

  The whole situation is... incomprehensible. Whenever I begin to think about it, I consciously stop myself. It’s simply too hard to deal with.

  While Frank was great at consoling me last night, he had naturally started planning retribution the minute he awoke this morning.

  Frenzied, he began to talk through the steps required to ensure that we did not find ourselves having to cover up our crime afterwards.

  He rambled on about alibis, scouting Jimmy’s house and nearby streets for surveillance, leather gloves to cover our prints and using chloroform to avoid a scuffle.

  In and out and then back to our basement. Nice and neat.

  And he wouldn’t send Leo’s men because this was personal. No, Frank would kick down Jimmy's door himself.

  The torture he had planned made our work on Tommy seem like disappointing foreplay. His imagination really knows no bounds.

  When I told him that I didn’t want to do anything, he was livid.

  “Baby, no, please,” he had pleaded, grabbing my arms. “You can’t do this.” With his forehead resting on mine, his deep breaths mingled with my own.

  “Please,” he murmured over and over.

  Anyone would think I had told him that Christmas was cancelled forever.

  I held him there for some time and felt the tension leave his body as he realised that he was getting ahead of himself and that it was my revenge to undertake, if anything.

  I didn’t need to explain this - I knew he would get there eventually. He just needed to process this in his own way.

  It’s sweet, really, how protective he is of me. The only person besides Frank to care about me so much is Manny.

  Florence is more beautiful than I had ever imagined.

  Eighteen hours after leaving New Orleans, we landed and headed directly to our room, the Imperial Suite at Villa Cora.

  My mind was completely blown at the extravagance of the prestigious, historical building. Every inch of space from the grand salon to the lobby and even the halls is opulently decorated. From the large, glittering chandeliers, gilded posts and mirrors to the shining parquet floors, it is like nothing I have ever seen before.

  Although we had slept on the plane for a few hours – after joining the mile-high club, of course – we needed another quick nap before heading out to explore.

  Beneath my pale blue wool coat, I am wearing black skinny jeans, a grey sweater and white Chuck Taylors. Frank is dressed head to toe in black, with a large Valentino trench coat keeping him warm in the cool winter weather.

  We stroll, hand in hand, to the Ponte Vecchio and he relentlessly asks if I am interested in any of the jewellery and souvenirs from the vendors.

  After politely declining every offer, he sighs and tells me that he will just stick to buying surprise gifts for me. I suppose I should have expected as much.

  When he walks over to a tobacconist to purchase cigars, I find a beautiful, ivory coloured beanie with small pearl-like beads sewn into the knit work and I buy it for myself.

  When he returns to me, he frowns and seems genuinely put out.

  “Sorry,” I smile.

  Face softening, he confidently informs me that he will have to punish me later. I search the nearby people on the crowded bridge to determine if anyone had overheard his playful taunt, but everyone seems to be in their own heads. He chuckles at my obvious embarrassment.

  A cool breeze sweeps up from the river below and he puts an arm around me. We walk like this to the end of the archways to catch a taxi to a nearby cafe.

  Although it’s midday, the sky is overcast, and it seems like rain may be on the horizon. At the risk of sounding goth, which Sam seems to think suits me, it’s typical that bad weather would follow me around wherever I go.

  The historic cafe is beautiful however, with its brick arches and stained-glass windows. Inside is warm and would be dark if it weren’t softly lit up with rustic gas lanterns on each table.

  Frank takes my coat and pulls out a chair for me.

  After we are both seated, a waiter approaches our table. The young man writes our orders in his notepad – I ask for a sandwich and Frank will have a rare eye fillet with a salad and a bottle of their best wine – and then we are left alone in the corner of the cafe, beside a window.

  We take a moment to relax into our seats and soak in the warm atmosphere.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” I begin, hoping to get him talking and cheerful again.

  He had been so happy ever since we left New Orleans but had become quiet and pensive in the taxi ride here.

  “Mmm,” he answers, distracted.

  Although I’m quite certain it’s not the case, I ask, “Are you upset that I bought myself that beanie?” Please don’t let it be about Jimmy - we came here to escape that mess.

  He blinks and then smiles. “I’m not upset. Not at all. Quite the opposite.”

  The waiter returns with the wine and two
glasses. Before he has a chance to open the bottle, Frank stops him, telling him that he will take care of it. “Also, if my wife’s sandwich is ready, there is no need to wait for my meal.”

  As the waiter nods, Frank looks sideways at me, expecting me to protest but I know better than that. I cock my eyebrow – see? I’m not always so difficult – and he grins in return.

  When we’re alone once again, he slides a hand across the table, seeking mine.

  When I place my hand in his, he softly tells me, “This is the cafe where I met Filippo all those years ago.”

  Amazed, I look around again and try to imagine what it would have been like around forty years ago.

  He takes a deep breath and continues, “I never dreamed that I would be back here with the love of my life.”

  He rubs my hand with his thumb, still lost in thought. I want to lean over and kiss him so badly, but he isn’t done speaking yet.

  “My wife,” he smiles, peering at the large diamond on my finger. Voice as deep and smooth as velvet, he says, “I am the luckiest man in the universe.”

  I can’t help but to feel that I am the lucky one.

  He clears his throat and then says, “Filippo assured me that you existed. Well, you didn’t at the time – your mother was still just a child back then – but... baby, you have been worth the wait.”

  He leans forward to kiss my hand.

  “I love you,” I say. There is so much more that I could respond with, but I don’t even know where to begin.

  Out of nowhere, I realise that Jimmy had sent me away because he couldn’t stand to look at me after what he’d done. If I had stayed, could Frank and I have fallen in love sooner – years ago?

  The more I think about it, the more I realise how much he has taken away from me.

  “Hey,” Frank says softly, drawing my attention back. “What are you thinking about just now?”

  I tell him my thoughts and without a word, he stands up and pulls me from my chair to hold me.

  “Believe me,” he rasps, voice thick with indignation, “my hatred for him was immeasurable after he moved you out if my reach. The things I wanted to do to him...” His voice drops off and his breath rattles on his exhale. “If he weren’t your father, I would have-

  “Stop,” I say softly, pressing my fingers to his lips to keep him from saying things that I probably couldn’t bear to hear.

  That night, we make love in our luxurious suite. It begins playfully, with light, teasing kisses but quickly becomes urgent and heated.

  After he brings me to climax with his mouth, too many times to count, he mounts me and makes love to me slowly, deliberately.

  As he moves, he watches me closely, brows knit together in pleasure and something more – worship, perhaps.

  Even after I am drained of all my energy and my face is warm and his is shining with sweat, he continues to slide in and out, expertly massaging that delicious spot inside of me.

  My eyes sting and then begin to water after he pulls the next orgasm from me. Is there not a limit to how much pleasure someone can command from you? It seems like he wants to make up for all the time we potentially lost over the years.

  When he eventually gives in and releases himself, we are both too spent to get up and shower. Instead, he spoons me, and we fall asleep.

  Our next hotel suite is by the water, in Sorrento.

  We hire a yacht and Frank is naturally able to captain it himself, so we spend an entire day out on the bay, alone together.

  Although it is the beginning of winter, today, the sunshine provides enough warmth that I can wear only my bikini and a white, crochet cover up.

  Frank is dressed in long, beige chinos and a loose, white linen shirt. The bottom of his pants and the ends of his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his tanned skin. Barefoot under the sun with a cigar between his smiling lips – this suits my husband so very well.

  Just when I think I can’t possibly get any happier, he goes ahead and raises the bar even higher. Especially when he promises me that he will show me the world – and a man like Frank keeps his promises.

  When it grows dark, we return the yacht and ready ourselves for dinner at an outdoor restaurant and bar just off the bay.

  The pathway to the restaurant is lit up with warm fairy lights and the breeze that sweeps up from the water is so cold that I’m glad to be wearing my pale blue coat again, over my white knit dress. The black leather boots climb over my knees and almost reach the hem of the dress.

  Frank is head to toe in black again and as he walks beside me, I feel warm, safe.

  We eat our meals, drink our wine and talk for hours.

  At one point, I find myself wondering again how I became so lucky.

  Never could I have imagined that someone like Frank could exist – someone who cannot take his hands or eyes off me, who would literally kill for me.

  And I am aware that it is surely unhealthy, this obsession with me that has grappled him for years now. But I have grown so used to his attention that even spending a short moment apart seems wrong.

  Just now, he asks what’s on my mind and he genuinely wants me to share my thoughts with him. Any troubles that I have, he will hastily erase them. And if it’s happy thoughts, he will somehow find a way to make me even happier.

  “I love you,” I say quietly, the rim of my wineglass hovering just below my lips.

  His eyes grow hooded and a fire ignites behind them. The rest of the world fades away until there is just the two of us under the stars.

  He slides his chair around the small table so that he is seated right beside me and then he rasps, “I love you more.”

  His heavy hand rests upon my exposed thigh, throwing my body into hyperawareness. With heavy breaths, he slowly slides his hand beneath my dress.

  Would he really do this, here?

  More importantly, would I let him?

  His phone vibrates on the table and he tenses. As do I.

  For a moment it seems he considers taking the call. He had told his guys not to contact him unless it was urgent and completely necessary, so I don’t know why he is hesitating.

  Finding it very odd indeed, I say, “You should probably answer that.”

  A moment passes and he opens his mouth to speak but then my phone vibrates, and Silvia’s name appears on the screen.

  Immediately, I recall saving Sam’s number under her name, and I panic. Especially as Frank notices my own hesitation.

  Realising, however, that it could really be Silvia phoning me because Manny or Isabella may be hurt, I decide to take risk and answer it. I slide out from under Frank’s rigid hand and walk away from the table.

  “Hello?” I ask, actually hoping it is Sam. My sister-in-law knows that we are on holiday and has never phoned me before, so I couldn’t think of any reason that she would call me that isn’t critical.

  Through tears, Silvia tells me that Manny is in hospital. She’s scared and doesn’t know what to do.

  I turn to face Frank, also on the phone. He must be hearing the same news because he looks uncharacteristically afraid.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Break

  “Baby, sit down. Pacing about won’t make the plane go any faster.”

  “I know that!” I snap back, without meaning to and instantly feel like a piece of shit.

  Frank doesn’t react because he knows I’m hurting and scared. Even he seems on edge, with his back slumped over and his hands laced before him as he sits in the brown leather seat.

  “I’m sorry,” I say before collapsing onto a seat on the opposite side of the small aircraft and looking out the window.

  It’s still dark outside and my phone tells me that we have another fourteen hours to go before we return home to my baby brother.

  All anyone knows at this stage is that Manny collided with another car and he is still in surgery. There’s nothing more that they can tell his wife, his family, at this stage.

  Poor Manny. Poor Silvia. Fuck – poor
Isabella.

  It was Dominic who had called Frank in Sorrento to tell him the news.

  Since then, Frank has phoned him back numerous times to get updates for me. He has also contacted Seamus to arrange paperwork and funds to move Manny to the best possible care as soon as possible after surgery.

  I have never hated flying before, but the walls are just way too close and the fact that I cannot open a window to get more air makes me wants to scream until my lungs give out.