The Promise (The 'Burg Series)

by Kristen Ashley

  She stared at me in the mirror.

  I went back to my hair.

  My arms were tired, I had a nagging ache that prolonged standing and moving was beating through the medication, and I knew I should give up on my hair.

  But I didn’t.

  Asheeka said no more. Just when I got down to sliding my fingers coated with elixir through my hair and putting another coat of mascara on, she walked into the bedroom and came back with a fresh nightgown.

  I pulled it on over my undies and saw it was really cute. The one I’d chosen last night was kind of a caftan—flowy and comfortable, but full coverage.

  This one had a high-low hem, the front of which hit me several inches below the knees, the back dip went nearly to my ankles. The neckline plunged to an empire waist, with gathering at the bodice and waistline that drew attention to the cleavage. And last, it was a bright coral color that looked great with my hair.

  You could see the turquoise lace of my bra at the neckline but…whatever. It wouldn’t be the first time I showed hints of a bra, including to Ben and Theresa.

  “Cute nightie,” Asheeka observed, giving it a once-over.

  “Gina. She has an eye for cute,” I told her.

  “Sexy-cute,” she told me.

  I looked into the mirror. The cleavage was sexy. The material was semi-shiny and clingy.

  Jeez, it was sexy-cute. Who knew Gina had that in her?

  “I’m thinkin’ you’re good for now and need to take a load off,” Asheeka said.

  I turned to her and took the hint.

  She needed to go.

  “Sorry, babe, my mind’s all over the place. You gotta go.”

  “Happy to stay as long as you want, but yeah. There are syringes to sell and we’re one girl down in sellin’ ’em.”

  I grinned.

  She shifted out of the way and swung an arm toward the door.

  I took her invitation and headed that way. Once in the bedroom, I didn’t waste time taking a load off, stretching out on the bed, pillows tucked behind me, upper body resting back.

  That was a lot better.

  “You want me to come tonight, company and a buffer?” Asheeka asked and I looked up at her.

  I would love that. It was sweet as all get-out and would help a lot.

  But she was late for work for me and I’d need her to come around to Benny’s for at least a couple more days. I didn’t need to suck all her time and goodness. I was not a fan of owing markers, and with me moving away, I wouldn’t have many opportunities for her to call them.

  “I’ll be okay,” I answered.

  “You keep sayin’ that, and I know you want me to believe it, but gotta say, honey, not sure that I do.”

  I gave her a face and she returned a grin. Then she bent down, grabbed my hand, and gave it a squeeze.

  “You need me, you know how to get me.”

  “Yeah, babe. I do. And I appreciate it like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you,” I replied.

  That got me another squeeze and a smile before she let me go and walked out.

  “Later!” I called as she did.

  “Later, girl!” she called back.

  When she was gone, I looked to the nightstand to see if Ben left the remote.

  He did not.

  Something about that made me want to giggle out loud.

  Perhaps my TV ploy did work.

  I was reaching for Vogue when Benny walked in. I watched him do this. I also watched him come to a dead stop five feet in, eyes on me.

  “I attacked my hair this morning,” I declared. “That’s a feat that’s difficult to conquer on the best of days, so, Warden, if you intend to force me to walk down to the commissary for breakfast, I’m gonna have to starve until lunch.”

  Ben said nothing.

  I kept talking. “If you bring me something to eat and more coffee, I’ll be nice to you for fifteen minutes.”

  Ben still didn’t speak.

  So I allowed, “Okay, twenty.”

  Benny planted his hands on his hips but said not a word.

  I went on. “And you can bring the remote back. Last night, I saw the Entenmann’s coffeecake on your counter. For a slice, I won’t fuck with your TV all day.”

  “Told you, you can’t have sex. Doctor’s orders.”

  I felt my head jerk in surprise at his words before I asked, “What?”

  “Babe, you want me to fuck you, you give me big hair, a hint of a bra I’ll wanna see covering your tits before I’ll wanna take it off, and skin.”

  My stomach tightened and not in a bad way.

  But…

  Was he crazy?

  “What?” I asked, louder this time.

  “Actually, you want me to fuck you, you gotta breathe. You want me to fuck you immediately, you give me that hair, a hint of bra, and show some skin.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What is up with you?”

  “You play games with all that” —he flicked a hand in my direction— “you get repercussions.”

  “Benny, what…the hell…are you talkin’ about?” I demanded to know.

  “Hair, bra, nightie, skin,” was his absurd (and repetitive) answer.

  “Gina bought me this nightie, Ben,” I informed him. “It’s like a dress.”

  “It’s clingy and shows skin,” he informed me.

  “It’s one of the only choices I have, seein’ as you didn’t take me home so I’d have different choices,” I retorted.

  “Then I’ll set Ma on hittin’ your house to get you different choices.”

  This would be a wasted chore as the nighties I had at home were way clingier and showed a whole lot more skin.

  Therefore, I advised, “Actually, if you can’t control your base instincts, you should send her to the granny section of Macy’s.”

  He got my drift and I knew it when his jaw got hard. “You doin’ that shit to fuck with me?”

  “Fuck with you how?”

  “Bein’ a tease, babe. A tease recovering from a fuckin’ GSW, which means I can’t teach you the lesson you should get for bein’ a tease.”

  I felt my blood start to get hot, and this time, it was in a bad way.

  “What, in all that I’ve done and said in the last week and a half, would give you the impression I’d tease you, Benny Bianchi?” I snapped.

  “You, lyin’ in my bed, dressed like that, lookin’ like that.”

  “I did my hair and put on a nightgown!” Now I was shouting.

  “Precisely,” he returned.

  “Are we really having this conversation?” I asked sarcastically, as well as still loudly.

  “You got a robe?” he asked back.

  Oh shit. I did.

  Since I did, I glared.

  Benny read my glare, dropped his hands from his hips, stalked to my bag, and dug through it, yanking out my robe.

  He then stalked to the bed and dropped it in my lap, whereupon he announced, “Ma’s on her way over.”

  I closed my eyes and forgot to be pissed because panic was gathering around my heart.

  “She’s gonna be cool with you, Frankie,” Benny stated.

  That was what I was panicked about. She was going to be cool. Sweet. Kind. Motherly. All this while feeling badly because she’d been in the wrong and something extreme happened that brought that to light. And her feeling badly would make me feel badly. Then I’d have to accept all the goodness of her, knowing I’d have to give it up again, my choice this time.

  The bed depressed and my eyes flew open to see Benny sitting on it, again, hip to hip.

  “Can you give me a hint why this is so difficult for you, babe?” he asked, sounding less peeved.

  “Which part?” I asked.

  “Any of it,” he answered.

  “No,” I finally answered his question.

  “You’re not gonna let me in there, even a little bit.” He stated this as a fact, but I decided to take it as a statement that needed affirmation.

  “No, I’m
not,” I agreed.

  “Then I’m gonna hafta dig in there.”

  I drew in a breath.

  Benny digging in there.

  God seriously freaking hated me.

  It was time to put my plan in motion so I did.

  “Your family blamed me. They turned their back on me. I loved you all. That hurt. Things have changed. I get that. But they changed while I was recovering from getting shot, Ben. You need to get that. I’ll be cool with Theresa. I’ll sit down with Vinnie Senior. And after I get through that, you and me’ll talk. But you gotta cut me some slack. This isn’t easy on you. Think how it feels for me.”

  He leaned closer and didn’t look or sound peeved at all when he asked, “Was that hard?”

  It was.

  Absolutely.

  And as time went on, it would get harder until it eventually killed. But I’d lived through bad. I could live through worse.

  Or, at least, I hoped so.

  “Uh, yeah, Benny. That was hard. That’s the point.”

  He bent in, leaning onto a hand in the bed on the opposite side of me as he took my hand in his free one, lifting it to hold it to his tight upper abs.

  There it was. It happened right away. My hand on Benny’s tight abs that I’d never really get to explore. It got worse.

  “You got nothin’ but good comin’ your way, Frankie, I can promise you that,” he said softly.

  He was wrong. I never had nothing but good coming my way. If I got good, I lost it. That was my life. I’d learned to live with it. I didn’t like it, but I had no choice.

  I didn’t share that. If he hadn’t figured that out for himself, I wasn’t going to enlighten him.

  He squeezed my hand and pressed it tighter to his abs. “You open yourself up, you could find it’ll be the best you ever had.”

  I didn’t know what he was promising, but I had a feeling it had a variety of nuances. I also had a feeling he was right—about all of those nuances.

  The problem was, he should find the best he’d ever have, and he couldn’t get that from me.

  “Can we stop talking now?” I requested.

  His eyes got soft, but his lips said, “Yeah. About that. I’m gonna go get you some coffeecake, but before that, I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go down.”

  I had a feeling I knew what “this” was, and, admittedly, I was grateful he had a plan. This would likely come as an order, which would be annoying, but I needed to be prepared and I’d take whatever I could get.

  “When she gets here, I’ll bring Ma up. She’ll do what she’s gotta do and I’ll be here with you in the beginning. Then I gotta get to the restaurant. Got paperwork to do and Pop’s takin’ my back at nights while you’re here. He does things his way. I do things my way. Obviously I like my way better. He fucks up my kitchen, I’ll deal. He fucks up my system in the office, that will not go good. So I gotta see to shit. Ma will stay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  This was a good plan, the best part being I’d get a break from Benny during it. I’d take dealing with Theresa over Benny any day.

  “Gotcha. But just sayin’, if you need to be at the restaurant at night, I’ll be good here alone.”

  “You’ll be here alone and schemin’. So that shit’s not gonna happen.”

  To preserve the precarious mellow mood I had going, I decided not to reply.

  “So, you’re down with that plan?” he pressed.

  “Do I have a choice?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Then yes, I’m down with that plan.”

  He smiled at me.

  I allowed myself a nanosecond to long for a life where I could be lying in a sweet nightie in Benny Bianchi’s bed with him sitting close, holding my hand against his taut abs, smiling at me, and what I would be free to do in that pleasant happenstance, before I shut that shit down.

  “Bring the remote with my cake,” I ordered.

  “Back to spicy,” he muttered, still smiling.

  He liked spicy. If I was playing it smart, I wouldn’t give him spicy.

  But I was Francesca Angelica Concetti. That just wasn’t in me.

  “I was under the impression I’m here to finish recuperating, Benny. I can’t do that if you starve me to death.”

  I felt those tight abs shaking with his silent laughter and I liked that feeling a whole lot. Too much.

  Dangerously much.

  Then he gave my hand a squeeze, let it go, and pushed up from the bed, muttering, “At your service.”

  I should have let it go, I really should have. But I didn’t because it was just…not…me.

  “I will note at this juncture that if I was in my own apartment, which doesn’t have steps and is a lot smaller, I could get my own coffeecake.”

  “You’re right,” he replied, not looking at me and walking toward the door. “But you probably wouldn’t have coffeecake.”

  “No, I would have Gina makin’ me ciabatta toast with homemade ciabatta, which, incidentally, she’d deliver to me in bed without the hassle.”

  “Then lucky you’re here,” he returned, walking through the door. “Entenmann’s cheese coffeecake with crumble is better, even than Gina’s ciabatta.”

  There it was. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  Because he was right.

  * * * * *

  I lay in Benny’s bed, eyes glued to the TV, plate in my hand with a slice of coffeecake the size of which, coupled with last night’s dinner, proved irrefutably that Ben didn’t intend to starve me.

  I did this as Benny took a shower.

  I was good, resting, eating, a fresh cup o’ joe sitting on the nightstand and a huge slice of fresh Entenmann’s in hand, but I was wishing for pain. Pain would take my mind off Benny in the shower.

  Fortunately, the shower turned off.

  Unfortunately, this conjured images of Ben standing at his sink in nothing but a towel, running his hands through his hair.

  I was reconsidering Asheeka’s offer of her brothers and their brothers coming to my rescue when Ben, with excellent timing, exited the bathroom.

  Looking his way, I found I was right. He gelled as a necessary afterthought to tame all that thick, unruly hair. It was wet and an attempt had been made, just not a very good one, which left it wet, messy, and hot. This meant it would dry messy and hot.

  He was wearing another white tee but different jeans—more faded and there was a worn white patch that was nearly threadbare at his crotch.

  My mouth got dry.

  The doorbell rang.

  Theresa was there.

  My mouth suddenly filled with saliva.

  Ben’s eyes came to me. “You’re good,” he said quietly.

  “Uh-huh,” I mumbled disbelievingly.

  “You think I’d let anything harm you?”

  Oh God. More dangerous territory.

  A man, any man, said that to a woman, he dug his way in there, straight into your heart. A man who looked like Ben said it, that hole he was digging went deep. A man who looked like Ben said it and meant it, he got in so deep, he’d never get out.

  “Ben—”

  “You think she would, even before you took a hit?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “You’re good, cara,” he whispered, then moved to the door.

  I hastily set my plate aside and took a sip of coffee.

  After putting the mug back on the nightstand, I didn’t know what to do with my hands or eyes.

  I didn’t figure it out before Benny appeared in the door again.

  He came through and on his heels came Theresa.

  Later, I would process the fact that Ben positioned himself in the room halfway between me and his mother. I would also process the fact that he did this as a show of support for both of us. He took no sides. What he was saying was, if this started to turn bad, he was in the position to deal, for either one of us.

  It was a good thing for a son to do. It was a good thing for a woman’s ma
n to do.

  At that moment, though, I only had eyes for Theresa, who looked unsure of herself, and that look cut straight to the bone.

  Theresa Bianchi had a husband, four children, three grandchildren, and ran the front of a very busy, very popular restaurant for forty years. She wasn’t unsure about anything. There was not an occasion when she didn’t know what to do.

  Except one like this one.

  She stopped three feet in the room and I watched as she struggled with how to place her body, what to do with her hands. She even visibly struggled with holding my gaze.

  Watching it and unable to stand it, I blurted, “Thanks for the magazines.”

  Her head twitched and her body got tight.

  “And the coffeecake.” I threw out a hand to the nightstand.

  Her eyes went there.

  “There’s leftover,” I said, explaining the remaining cake quickly, “because Ben cut a slice for Refrigerator Perry, not a woman who’s been subsisting on IVs, then Jell-O, making her stomach the size of a golf ball.”

  “You did all right with the pie last night, cara,” Benny put in, and I looked at him.

  He was grinning, happy, relieved, and his eyes on me were proud.

  He was a man who could easily take a girl’s breath away.

  Standing there, looking at me like that, he’d never been more breathtaking.

  “It was a Bianchi pie,” I returned and said no more for that said it all.

  Ben’s grin got bigger.

  Theresa made a noise and we both looked back to her.

  She was fighting tears and I knew she’d win just because that was who she was, so I shut up and gave her time.

  I was right. She won.

  And when she did it, she lifted her chin slightly, took two more steps into the room, and declared, “That coffeecake was for sweet tooth snackin’. Not breakfast.” She looked to her son. “You didn’t make Frankie bacon and eggs?”

  “She asked for coffeecake,” Benny replied.

  “Tomorrow she gets bacon and eggs,” Theresa decreed.

  “Tomorrow she gets what she got today, which is whatever the fuck she wants,” Benny shot back, and this was killing me because I liked his words, but more, I liked watching his banter with his mom.

  I missed it and it hurt to have it back because I wasn’t going to be able to keep it.

  Theresa crossed her arms on her chest and set her expression straight to severe.