Chapter 143

About four hours later, I’m all dressed and ready to go. Nico and Christian are in the living room dressed in suits, coordinating the final details of something on their phones, so Frankie and I are just…waiting.

“Are we sure about this?” I ask, looking down at the coordinated sweatsuit that Nico made me buy when we went shopping for my outfit for dinner with the family. It’s a deep grey, almost black athleisure set and, I mean, I look good in it, but…

“Yes, it’s perfect,” Frankie says, leaning against the counter next to me and taking a sip from the water glass in his hands. He smirks, looking me up and down. “You look every inch the bored mafia donna who spends all of her time working out and all of her money on four-hundred-dollar gym outfits.”

I groan, crossing my arms over my chest and feeling self-conscious. “I don’t work out at all,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Nor am I comfortable spending that much on what I could get at TJMaxx for fifteen bucks. It’s all a lie, and everyone will see right through it.”

“Just hold your chin up, Bambs,” Frankie says, giving me a soft smile. “Confidence, and no one will suspect a thing. Now, come on.” He puts his water glass down and starts for the door.

“What?” I ask, glancing towards Christian and Nico, who are too wrapped up in whatever they’re doing to notice. “Where are we going?”

“Out, my little minnow,” Frankie says, holding the door open for me and gesturing me through it. “Bring your purse.”

I groan and follow, grabbing the little Fendi handbag that Nico also made me buy as I head out the door. Frankie strides a few feet ahead of me, leading me onto the beach and then a little distance from the house. I shiver a bit in the wind – it’s a dull, grey sort of day, a bit chilly. Not precisely a beach day, if you ask me.

“What are we doing?” I ask Frankie when I catch up, my arms wrapped tight around myself. “And why am I bringing thousands of dollars of Fendi to the beach?” I hold up the handbag, which isn’t even really my style.

“Because,” Frankie says, pulling something out of his back pocket – or the back of his pants, I’m not sure. “We’re going to put this in it.”

I gasp when I see that it’s a little revolver.

“Frank!” I shout, stepping away, staring at it. “Where did you get that!?”

“The gun store, I think.” he says, giving a little shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

“You went to the gun store when you were a kid!?”

“Good point,” he says, considering the little gun as I take another step back. “Must have gotten it through more nefarious means.” He looks at me and laughs when he sees me taking another step away. “Iris, it’s not going to explode. Come here, I’m going to show you how to use it.”

“No way!”

“Iris!” he laughs again, stepping forward and grabbing my elbow, stopping my retreat.

“I am anti-gun!” I say, vehement, pointing at it. “Gun violence is an epidemic! I’m not going to be part of the problem!”

“You’re in the mafia!”

“I am not!”

“Iris,” Frankie says, laughing harder now and shaking his head at me. “For better or worse, babe, you’re in the mafia. Which means you should know how to shoot and handle one of these. It’s only practical.”

I scowl and stop trying to pull my arm away from him, looking down at the little gun. “Why is it so small?”

“Because it’s a little baby gun,” Frankie says, holding it out to me in his palm. “If you feed and love it, it will get bigger.”

I scowl at him, hating that he’s joking about a lethal weapon, but then I give in and reaching for the gun. I hesitate, though, before my fingers can touch it, pulling my hand back. “Is it…is the safety on? Or whatever?”

“Yup,” he says, turning the gun slightly for me to see the little metal button that’s engaged. He moves it back and forth, showing me the safe and ready-to-fire positions. I relax a little, honestly starting to be interested interested, looking curiously at the gun as Frankie explains it thoroughly to me. As he speaks I find myself growing more and more comfortable – something I never thought I’d be around a gun.

But, well, Frankie’s right, isn’t he? This is my world now. And Frankie clearly knows what he’s doing – and I trust him.

“Okay, so, now we’re going to shoot it.”

I whip my head up to stare at Frankie. “What!?”

“Did you think this was merely theoretical, donna sardine?”

“Why do you keep calling me fish names?” I ask, scrunching my nose.

“Bait fish, Bambs,” he says, smirking at me. “Just like you.”

I narrow my eyes at him, which only makes him smile more.

Frankie takes advantage of my distraction and tips the little gun into my hand. I jump a bit, looking down at it, surprised by how…simultaneously light and very real it feels in my hand. “Now, point it down the beach at those logs over there –“

“No, you do it first –“ I say, pressing the gun back towards him. “I’m…too freaked out.”

Frankie smiles at me for a moment, laughing a little, but then he takes the gun casually from my hand, points it at the driftwood, and squeezes the trigger. The gun makes a huge bang, making me jump, because honestly it’s so small that I didn’t think it capable of making such a big noise. Down the beach, the driftwood cracks, a big piece of a branch falling off.

“It’s just a 22,” Frankie murmurs, turning back to me and placing the gun back into my hands. My eyes widen when I feel that it’s warmer now. “So, not as powerful as maybe I’d want to give you. But it’s small, and portable, and it will take someone out at close range.”

“Am I…” I look up into his face, “supposed to use this today?”

“No, Bambi,” he says, shaking his head. “Not today. Not unless things go very, very wrong. In which case, I want you to take it out and start firing at will. Don’t…don’t let anyone take you again, okay? Kill them all first.”

“Okay,” I whisper, starting to get freaked out. I mean, we as a group moved on pretty quickly from my kidnapping but it was a very traumatic experience – one I’m not sure I’ve fully processed yet. And the idea of putting myself in a similar situation again tonight?

I…I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

“Iris,” Frankie says, more serious than he usually is, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. “The moment you want out of this plan, you tell me, okay? And it’s over. I’ll pull you out of there.”

“But –“ anxious, I look back towards the house.

“Hey,” Frankie says, his voice snapping, and I look back to him. “Don’t worry about what Christian wants you to do. This is about what you want. And honestly, after hearing the plan, I do think it will be okay. But Iris, the moment you want out, you just say the word and I’ll pull you. We’ll deal with the consequences later.”

I stare at Frankie for a long, long moment as I realize that he is making me an offer he shouldn’t be making. His loyalty should absolutely be to his don, to Christian. And offering to defy him for me, if I even get spooked?

It’s an incredibly generous offer. And one that, I think, might just show where Frankie’s loyalties really lie. And I’m a little bowled over to realize that they might be…with me.

We stare at each other for a long moment, the realization passing between us. He tightens his hand on my shoulder, letting me know that I’ve heard him right – that what I’ve realized is correct. That Frankie – he’s my man now, not Christian’s. Which should be the same thing but…if we come to disagree? He’s got my back.

The realization is…overwhelming.

And I know that I could reject it, could refuse, but…

“What’s the word?” I ask, my voice soft as I tacitly accept Frankie’s loyalty. And I’m honestly grateful for the out, even if I don’t plan to use it.

“Password is Sharkbait, just like you,” he says, giving me a little smile that lets me know he’s glad I accepted. And then he breaks the serious mood and gives me a wink. I stare at him for a second before laughing, because Sharkbait – it’s perfect, isn’t it?

Frankie laughs with me, shaking his head. “Now come on,” he says, turning me and pointing down the beach at the driftwood. “Give it a try. You’re going to be great at it.”

I loose an unsteady breath and raise the gun. Frankie talks me through it though, teaching me how to aim, showing me how to hold it.

And then, when I’m ready?

I pull the trigger.