I stared at him, leaning close. “What does that mean?” Was Frankie planning to tell me he was leaving the mob or that he made his men take the path of righteousness? Because I wouldn’t believe that at all. If he lied to me now after so much truth, how did I ever trust him again? If he thought sounding altruistic was how he got me to his side, he had it wrong.
Frankie moved the coffee cup toward him, struggling a bit as coffee splashed over the side. “It means that warehouse is located in Clearwater and it’s completely empty. I’ve suffered bigger losses in the past and I have an insurance policy.”
“That’s it? You have an insurance policy?” He nodded, but it left me stunned. “Won’t the police question why it’s empty? And how it mysteriously went kablam?”
“No.” It was a simple answer, but not enough. Frankie’s answers never added up properly.
“Why not?” If something similar happened in Chicago to my cousin, the police would be all over it. They’d use it as an excuse to raid his building and rifle through all his paperwork. They’d question everyone in the family. Why was it so different for Frankie?
He shrugged. “Because I’m Frankie Zanetti.
I sputtered at his answer, wanting more details but not knowing how to find them. An older man with long gray hair that reached his shoulders but was tied at the back of his neck stopped at our table, interrupting my train of thought before I demanded an explanation.
“Frankie,” he said, patting the mobster on the back, “are you coming over for game night on Thursday? We haven’t seen you in a while.”
Frankie stared up at the old man as if they were best friends. “Things got a little weird lately, but I’ll try to be there. Make sure and tell Pearl I want a few of her brownies, Roland.”
Roland leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “You want regular or special brownies?” he asked and then winked. He did it on the wrong side of his face, though, so I saw instead.
Frankie busted out in a chuckle, causing his fingers to smack the mug and more of his hot coffee to slosh over the side of his mug. “No, just the regular kind.”
After that, the waitress Trish returned to take an order for food I wasn’t ready to eat, but Frankie had me get a piece of pie. He added an explanation that everything was better at the bakery except the pie, although he made me promise to never tell Anessa. It was weird. The whole town and the people were weird, and the entire thing made me want a nap.
I nodded along. Everything in this town was just so freaking abnormal. The waitresses didn’t tremble at the sight of having to serve Frankie. Old men offered him special brownies. What world did he live in?
I finally settled into my seat, pondering the crazy happenstance that had become my life, as Frankie continued to sip his coffee.
“Now tell me, Cara Mia. Why are you really staying here with me even though you could’ve made a run for it multiple times now?”
Shit.
I didn’t have an answer to that question right then… or ever.
CHAPTER 15
I shoveled a piece of pie into my mouth and glanced at the floor, each of my chews happening slower than the last to buy me more time. The pie was exquisite even though the diner looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the fifties. The place was clean, and the food was good, so I didn’t question it. I’d seen weirder in Pelican Bay.
Everyone seemed to know Frankie, and judging by the size of his smile, he felt safe here. So that was good enough for me. I shoveled in another forkful of pie. My teeth scraped against the bent tong as I worked on getting a good thirty chews for each bite. Now was not the time to grow lax on food safety.
“Well?” Frankie persisted when he didn’t receive an answer from me.
Damn, he was going to demand an answer, and he was too much like my cousin to fall for a lie. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.
“I guess…” I cleared my throat and spoke softer. “I suppose I have grown to like certain aspects of this town.”
Frankie leaned forward, his elbows sliding against the laminate top of our booth. “What?” he asked in a regular volume. I knew he wouldn’t take my answer at face value. People like Frankie never did. They always demanded more, even if they were unwilling to give it back in return.
“I guess,” I started again, rattled at the way Frankie’s lips tipped too high on his mouth. “I guess I like the pie,” I said loudly that time, and a few patrons turned to glance in our direction.
His lips tipped up even higher. Before I realized it was happening, he wore that damn smirk of his. The one that said he knew my thoughts. “Only the pie?”
I swallowed hard, almost choking on my last bite. No, it wasn’t only the pie. I enjoyed Pelican Bay, but I’d only admit to the pie. No sane woman accepted the fact she had feelings for her kidnapper.
It’s not that I wanted to stay forever. People didn’t have relationships with their kidnappers. Yet, something about Frankie made me want to learn more about him. What made him tick? Why did people here accept him so easily?
I was so not ready for that conversation. First, I needed to find a highly paid therapist—someone to help me understand why, rather than fighting and trying to get free, I was sitting at a quaint little diner having pie with my jailer. Hopefully once Westley paid the ransom, he didn’t murder me after he found out exactly what I’d been doing in Pelican Bay.
None of that made sense, anyway. Rather than torture me for information about my cousin’s operation, Frankie fed me pie and kept me safe. I believed more and more that Frankie Zanetti did not know who I was. The more we were together, it felt like he was only trying to get me to admit I liked him. He never asked about the other stuff.
