That was when Benny moved.
He only stopped when he felt his mother wrap her fingers around his forearm and she did this tight.
“One warning, Natalia,” Vinnie said low. “You go or I put you out, and I will be puttin’ my hand on you to put you out. You give me lip or problems when I put my hand on you, you’ll be makin’ a big mistake ’cause my son is holdin’ back and you do not wanna force him to let go. Now, you go and you do not come back to this house, and you have not one thing to do with your sister unless she reaches out to you. Are you hearin’ me?”
“Let me get this straight,” Nat started, crossing her arms on her chest. “The Bianchis pissed all over my sister for years, she gets shot savin’ one of your women you actually give a shit about, unlike Frankie, and you all see the error of your ways and crawl up her ass. Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Natalia,” Vinnie Senior replied. “And perhaps you should see this as a lesson in family: you mess up, you fess up. Make amends. And if you can do that bein’ there for someone you care about in her time of need, all the better. Somethin’ my son tells me you didn’t do, her lyin’ in a hospital bed for days without a visit from her sister.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I work nights so I gotta sleep days,” she returned.
“That is not an excuse and you stand there sayin’ those words knowin’ it,” Vinnie Senior replied.
Nat opened her mouth to speak, but Benny had gotten a lock on it.
That said, he was also done.
“Pop, get her out before I do it,” he warned.
Nat’s eyes shot to him just as Vinnie moved to her and he saw she was at least smart enough to read his look and know her time was up.
This was why she yelled, “Shit! Fuck! I got no place to go and no money to get there!”
“Not my problem,” Benny told her.
She looked to her sister. “Frankie, seriously—”
“I did not kill Vinnie.”
This was unexpected. It was also whispered. And it sounded tortured. Hearing it, everyone in that space went still except Ben, who looked to Francesca at the same time he moved up, crowding her on the step.
Her eyes stayed glued to her sister. “That you would say that to me, even think that about me…you’re dead to me.”
Fuck.
“Frankie, babe—” Nat started.
“Dead,” she whispered, turned, and rushed up the steps.
Benny cut his eyes to his father and ordered a growled, “Get her the fuck out, Pop. Now.”
Then he turned and took the steps two at a time, following Frankie.
He hit his bedroom to see Frankie pacing, face pale, visibly deep breathing. He was concerned about her state of mind, but he was downright worried when he saw she had her hand resting where her wound was.
Uncertain about getting physical when she was so clearly agitated, he called, “Baby, come here.”
Her eyes moved to him. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it before she got a word out.
He still caught the look in her eye and it was one he couldn’t read again. This one was bad.
“Francesca, come here,” he repeated.
“I need alone time,” she stated, her voice dead, her feet still moving her around the room in a twitchy way he did not like.
“Cara, you don’t need that,” he told her. “You need more coffee, breakfast, and to sit down at the kitchen table with people who give a shit about you.”
“Everything okay?”
This came from the door where Asheeka was standing, eyes on Frankie.
They moved to Benny when he said, “Got this, darlin’. Be down in a minute.”
She bit her lip, looked to her girl, hesitated indecisively, then nodded in a way that Benny knew she didn’t like doing it. After that, she disappeared.
Frankie paced throughout this.
Benny approached, gently pulled her in his arms, and put a stop to it.
She didn’t put her arms around him, nor did she remove her hand from her middle.
“You got pain?” he asked.
“I was premature in upping my doctor-ordered exercise to a dramatic dash up a flight of stairs,” she answered.
Fucking Nat.
“Right. Then I’ll carry you downstairs, you’ll lie on the couch, eat Ma’s pancakes, visit with people who give a shit about you, and after they’re gone, you can give me what’s right now fuckin’ with your head.”
Her gaze moved to his and he could easily read what was in it before she hid it.
Panic.
He didn’t get that, but he did get he had to conquer it. Not later.
Now.
So he drew her cautiously closer. “Frankie?”
She looked to his shoulder. “You’re right. Pancakes would be good.”