It wasn’t until he stepped outside on the sidewalk that Frank replayed in his head what had happened in the butchershop. If he hadn’t come in when he did, there was no doubt Guillermo’s employee would’ve continued selling drugs without his boss’s knowledge. Not only was Guillermo getting older, but he also wasn’t as alert as he’d been a year ago. Most times Frank dropped off a written order, then returned the next day to pick it up.
He had to thank his mother for suggesting Gio move to East Harlem and take over running the butcher shop; he knew he had to tell his brother about what he had witnessed with the exchange of drugs and money, and his decision to keep the assistant on the payroll. Frank knew his brother wouldn’t have let the man off so easily; he’d taken their sister’s overdose harder than anyone in the family, because he and Donella were only eleven months apart, and they were almost inseparable. There were a few times when Gio had admitted to Frank that he’d planned to kill their father for his mistreatment of their sisters, yet had been spared from murdering him when someone else did it for him.
Frank walked the four blocks to his apartment building, and up the staircase to the second floor. He didn’t mind living above a laundromat, because he had come to savor the smell of clean clothes spinning around in the dryers. He unlocked the door to his apartment and elbowed it shut.
He’d never invited any of his business associates into the apartment, because it had become his private sanctuary that he’d made known only to the members of his immediate family. And his sexual encounters were always conducted in hotel or motel rooms. Sleeping with a woman at her apartment was a no-no for Frank. It was too personal, and for him, personal translated into a commitment.
He stored the meat in the refrigerator and then crossed off some of the list of ingredients he’d left on the kitchen table. The list was complete, because he picked up fresh sage and parsley leaves from his mother, who grew them indoors duringthe colder weather. During late spring and summer, her outdoor garden was a cornucopia of different varieties of peppers, tomatoes, squash, melons, eggplant, herbs, carrots, zucchini, and cucumbers.
Frank emptied his pockets of his keys and money clip, leaving them on a shelf in a kitchen cabinet, then ran a hand over his face. “I’m losing it,” he whispered, as he made his way into his bedroom. If he hadn’t met Justine Russell, he knew he would’ve reacted differently to the man dealing drugs out of one of his family’s businesses. If he hadn’t beaten him to a bloody pulp, then he would’ve had someone much more accomplished do it.
It had been a while since he’d had to resort to physical violence, and the older he became, the more he’d come to abhor it. Exacting revenge and retribution were now a part of his past, and that was where he wanted it to stay, because the last time he’d physically hurt another human being, he’d been sickened and repulsed by his actions for weeks. Then, he vowed never again would he allow himself to cross the line where he would be responsible for whether someone lived or died.
It had become a wake-up call for Frank that he was turning into his father where physical violence solved all of his frustrations. He was becoming more tolerant, and he enjoyed settling down to do what he wanted to without anyone else’s approval. If Pasquale Festa had shown up at the family’s Sunday dinner a year before with his outburst, Frank would’ve ignored everyone in the room and strangled him where he stood. Then he would have had Father Morelli give him the last rites as he drew his last breath.
Smiling, he walked into the bedroom, slipped out of his shoes, then stripped off his clothes before he lay completely nude across the bed and closed his eyes. Suddenly he was tormented by confusing emotions, wondering if he should’ve letthe assistant butcher off so easily. Just because he’d been caught dealing drugs, there was no assurance he wouldn’t do it again, and if he were caught by the police, then his family business would be implicated. Guillermo needed an experienced butcher, but not one ballsy enough to deal drugs out of the shop.
Frank opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Becoming involved in the trafficking and sale of drugs was risky, because when a person was caught, it meant long prison sentences. Even if his sister hadn’t overdosed on heroin, Frank still wouldn’t have become involved in drugs, no matter how much money could be made.
Sitting up, he reached for the telephone on the bedside table and dialed a number. Frank didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the drug dealer couldn’t be trusted. He spoke in rapid Italian when a familiar voice answered the phone, telling him what he wanted him to do. The call lasted less than fifteen seconds, and when Frank hung up, he felt better than he had since walking out of the butcher shop.
It took a while for him to relax completely, and when he fell asleep, his dreams were filled with the image of a slender woman with large eyes in a flawless nut-brown complexion who was smiling and holding out her hand to him. But when he reached out to take her hand, she disappeared as if she were an apparition. He saw himself running and searching for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Then he stopped running, and she reappeared. This time she wasn’t smiling. She was yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then she was gone again. This time for good.
Frank woke up, his body drenched in sweat. The room was warm enough for him to turn on the air-conditioning unit he’d recently installed in the bedroom window. Then he realized he hadn’t had a dream, but a nightmare. The woman in his dream was Justine Russell, and like the girl with whomhe’d fallen in love in high school, she would only be in his life for a brief moment—and when she left, he would only have memories of what they shared.
Times were different.
He was different.
Frank smiled. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old boy pining for a girl, but a thirty-seven-year-old man who was ready to accept the inevitable. And that was there would be no future with him and Justine Russell.
CHAPTER17
Frank leaned forward, and using his elbow, rang the bell to Justine’s apartment. He’d managed to carry a large picnic basket and two shopping bags up the staircase in one trip. If he’d been able to park closer to her apartment building, then he would’ve gone downstairs a second time, but he hadn’t wanted to waste time. He hadn’t been able to shake the images in his dream where he’d lost Justine—forever. And if it was meant to be, then he wanted to spend as much time with her until she’d cease being a part of his life.
The door opened, and Justine looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “What on earth are you carrying?” she asked, stepping back and opening the door wider.
“Everything I need for our dinner,” he said, walking in and heading for the kitchen.
“Can I at least take one of the bags?” Justine said, following him.
“No, doll. I have this.” Frank set the picnic basket on the table, then slowly lowered the shopping bags on the floor.
Every time he saw Justine, she looked different. Today her hair was a mass of tiny curls framing her face and fallingaround her shoulders. It was the first time he’d seen her wear a dress—a flower-sprigged sleeveless A-line shift ending at her knees. Frankie forced himself not to stare at her shapely bare legs and slender feet in a pair of black flats.
He’d called her doll, and that was how he had started thinking of her. A delicate, beautiful, Black doll who’d unknowingly spun a web from which there was no escape, because he didn’t want to wake up from the sensual spell that had held him captive the instant he first laid eyes on her.
Frank winked at Justine before he opened the basket and took out the ingredients for his Bolognese and soup. “Your hair looks amazing.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I went to the beauty shop early this morning. I was lucky, because I was the first one in line before they opened up.”
He gave her a sidelong glance as he continued to empty the basket. “What happened to making an appointment?”
“This shop doesn’t take appointments. It’s first come, first serve.”
“Where is it?” he asked.
“It’s inEl Barrionear One-Eighteenth.”
