“Oh, my gosh!” I shout, thinking about my own parents for the first time. “I have to call my mom.”
“Just a minute,” Marlena suggests. “It’s still pretty early.”
I glance at the clock on the stove and see that she’s right. There’s a lot I need to tell them, but I’m okay. I don’t need to worry themby calling at the crack of dawn. I finish my eggs, expressing my gratitude multiple times.
“Kyle!” Marlena shouts out when we’re through.
A burly-looking twenty-something-year-old pokes his head into the kitchen. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a gun strapped to his hip.
“Can you find Sofia something to wear?” Marlena asks.
“Sure thing,” he says.
“It’s no trouble,” I attempt to argue, but Kyle doesn’t listen. Clearly, there’s a ranking system in the household, and Marlena trumps me.
A moment later, Kyle returns with a folded piece of fabric. I accept it with a smile and shake it out so I can see what I’m dealing with. The dress is made of an expensive poly-blend that feels light and comfortable. I walk to the downstairs bathroom to put it on, finally able to release my hold on the pajama bottoms.
I take Frankie’s clothes back to the kitchen, where I fold them and set them aside. I’m much more presentable now, and I have Marlena to thank for it.
“Is this yours?” I ask.
“Pre-pregnancy,” she agrees. “That’s one of the perks of being a mafia wife, you can have all the clothes you ever dreamed of.”
“Sounds nice,” I observe.
“I have tons of clothes in my bedroom, but there are so many that I’ve also branched out to several other closets throughout the house. Don’t worry, Kyle didn’t have to disturb anyone to get it,” Marlena explains.
“Good,” I decide. I don’t know if Francisco Senior is up and about yet, but I definitely don’t want to interrupt his beauty sleep. There’s nothing in the world that’s more important than our complete recovery. Frankie and I got the worst of it, but I’m sure yesterday was no picnic for Francisco either.
Marlena and I are still talking when Frankie comes downstairs. He’s wearing another set of pajama bottoms, but his fit perfectly. I appreciate the fact that he’s chosen to remain shirtless. It gives me a full view of all the valuable assets he brings to the table. His chest is chiseled, though it bears the marks of the beating he took. I start thinking about the next time I can run my hands across it, even though it hasn’t been that long.
Frankie comes straight toward me, bending down to give me a good morning kiss. “That’s a great dress,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply. “It’s Marlena’s.”
“I assumed,” he says. “How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead,” I tease.
Frankie doesn’t think that’s very funny. He wrinkles up his nose, only to discover that it still hurts. Wincing slightly, he goes straight to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. He brings it back to the table, choosing to abstain from creamer just like me.
He links one hand with mine, as if we have been dating for a long time. The morning is nice and slow, just about the speed I’m prepared to move at the moment. The three of us talk until Frankie’s father joins us. I can feel my heartbeat quicken at the sight of him, not so much because I’m afraid, but because I still feel guilty for going through his stuff.
“Good morning,” I announce, standing up. I want to get ahead of this, to apologize before he says anything. But he cuts me off, making sure I know that all debts have been forgiven.
“Sit down,” he instructs, circling Marlena from behind with loving arms.
I sit back down, knowing instinctively that it would be best to follow his lead.
“I hope you’re feeling better,” Francisco says.
“Yes,” I agree. “Much.”
“Good,” he replies. “We rounded up some of Carlo Andretti’s men last night.”
“You were busy,” Frankie observes.
Francisco smiles, but there’s not a lot of joy in it. “It had to be done.”
