Ben moved into the aisle and took Kate on one arm, Keira on the other, and followed them.
Colt and Manny flanked Cheryl and they followed Benny and the girls.
Short, sweet, and pure beauty.
This was how Anthony Joseph Callahan made Violet Winters his wife.
Chapter Nineteen
Long Shot
Ben was pissed off and not because his phone just rang and it had Sal’s number on the display.
Because it was his birthday, the Thursday after Cal and Vi’s wedding, and Frankie was supposed to be down for the entire day, arriving that morning, leaving the next.
But she’d called the day before and said there was a work thing she couldn’t get out of. This meant she was taking a late afternoon flight and he’d have her for dinner and a f**k, then she’d be gone on the first flight in the morning. A flight that left at 6:30, which meant they had to be out of the house before five to get her to her plane.
Technically, she was with him for his birthday so he couldn’t get pissed at her.
That said, he clearly hadn’t expressed the totality of his expectations when it came to special days.
But her work was her work, it meant something to her, and he had to stand down.
This time.
He was just wondering when the f**k the time would come when he wouldn’t. They loved each other. They’d said it. They showed it. When they were apart it was okay, they kept as close as they could with the distance, but it was not near as good as when they were together.
When they were together it was dy***ite.
She had to want more, didn’t she?
He had no answer to that question, and was getting increasingly frustrated with Frankie not even bringing it up, which meant he was going to have to and possibly not like her answer.
On these thoughts, he pulled into his garage after going to the gym that morning. Going to the gym when he should have been going to the airport to pick up Frankie.
No, when he should have been home from the airport and having a birthday f**k with his woman in his bed.
And Sal was on his phone.
In other words, so far it’d been a f**king shitty birthday.
He grabbed his phone, took the call, nabbed his workout bag, and rolled out the car door.
“Sal,” he greeted after he put the phone to his ear.
“Benny, figlio.”
Ben clenched his teeth, wishing Sal would quit with the figlio crap.
“I hear Violet made a beautiful bride,” he went on as Benny moved through the side garage door into his backyard.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed, not about to tell him he thought it was cool that Gina and he had declined the invitation Violet had extended, knowing in that small resort gathering they would be hard for the Bianchis to avoid.
It was a kind thing to do for Cal and Vi, not giving them awkwardness, not to mention respect to his ma and pop, who didn’t need that shit on a day they were over the moon happy.
“I’m hoping to see pictures,” Sal muttered.
Ben said nothing. He had pictures on his phone, about three thousand of them, all taken by Frankie whose phone didn’t fit in her miniscule purse, a purse she carried for the sole purpose, that Ben could see, of holding her lip gloss.
Even if he had pictures, he wouldn’t be sending them to Sal.
He let himself in the back door of his house and changed the subject by asking, “There another reason you’re calling?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Sal answered.
He wasn’t big on the “unfortunately.”
Ben dumped his workout bag on the table and went to the fridge to get a water, prompting, “That would be…?”
“Made a number of inquiries, Benny, dug deep. That’s why it took so long. It would seem the job you asked about was done by out of town talent. No trail. I’ve got nothing.”
Ben dropped his head to look at his running shoes.
He didn’t know how to take this news.
On the one hand, Frankie had not mentioned the murder again and everything seemed status quo at her company.
On the other hand, she’d told him she’d had a direct run-in with the dick she worked with, something with that guy that was not status quo. He’d instigated it; Frankie didn’t buy it. She was just doing her job when he’d perpetrated a surprise attack.
However, when she told him this on the Sunday after Vi and Cal’s wedding, she did it acting cagey.
He’d never known Frankie to be cagey. She let it all hang out. Even when she bailed on him, the only reason he didn’t have answers to why she did was because she didn’t know them herself.
And because of that, he didn’t have a good feeling about Frankie’s cagey.
“But you know it was a hit,” Ben stated.
“It was a hit,” Sal confirmed.
“You just don’t know why the hit was called,” Benny went on.
“No, Benny, I don’t know why,” Sal again confirmed.
Not good.
“Would you like me to keep digging?” Sal asked into the silence, and Ben lifted his head but looked unseeing at the old calendar on his wall.
“What’s your gut say?” Benny asked.
“With Frankie?” Sal asked back, then answered, “I keep digging.”
That was what Benny’s gut said.
Fuck.
“This another marker?” he asked.
“Job undone, Benny,” Sal replied. “So no.”
Ben drew breath in through his nose and moved to the door to the hall, giving a little for reasons he had no f**king clue. “I’ll get Frankie to send you some wedding photos.”
“Gina would like that.”
Whatever.
“Gotta go,” Ben told him.
“Addio, figlio.”
“Later.”
Ben ended the call and jogged up the stairs, wondering if he should shower first and then take Gus for a walk, or release Gus from the confinement of his kennel, take him for a walk, and then shower with Gus in his bathroom, gnawing on the rug.
He had eyes to his feet and mind on his puppy—Frankie’s puppy, a puppy she should be going with him to take out for a walk—when he moved into his bedroom.
This meant he jerked to a halt and his head snapped up when he heard Frankie say, “Happy birthday, Benny.”
He stood still and stared at her in his bed, wearing a deep plum nightie that had a middle that was sheer material, so even if she was on a hip, her legs curled beside her, he could still see the thin, plum, lace ribbon of her panties that he hoped like f**k led back to a G-string.
Her hair was a big mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her chest, just as he liked it.