He was vague about the details, which makes sense if those “shipments” were trafficked women or guns…but at the same time, I’m confused as to why the news hasn’t picked up the story. If the police and the fire department showed up, wouldn’t all the media outlets be talking about it? About the illegal cargo that was found? But there hasn’t been a peep.
Still, I guess I should just be glad that Armani is convinced it was Kaspar who leaked the location of the warehouses to the Bellantis’ enemies. Armani hasn’t suspected me for a second. Thankfully. I was sweating bullets when he came home smelling like a campfire and told me all the details about the fire.
Hoping Frankie won’t push the topic, I pull a laundry basket toward me and start folding more pastel onesies. I wish I could fully confide in her, but I can’t. She knows her husband is a mafioso, but it’s obvious she’s not fully aware of what the family does. Because I know Frankie, and I know for a fact she wouldn’t marry, or stay married to, someone who’s into trafficking and gun running. Dante must be hiding the extent of his criminal double life from her. Just like Armani is hiding it from me.
Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly stopped taking me with him to learn all the nuts and bolts of the winery business. Because he’s got some new dirty job going on right now.
“Is Armani being…kind of an asshole?” she asks.
The question takes me by surprise, and I can’t help but laugh.
“That’s part of the problem, yes. He’s definitely rough around the edges.”
She smirks. “And also totally self-centered, judgmental, and kinda scary?”
I nod. “You nailed it.”
She’s making light of things, but she’s not completely wrong. There’s always been something about Armani that unsettles me. A razor-sharp edge, a calculating coldness just under the charming surface. I’m no expert in reading people, but you don’t have to be a professional profiler to know there’s another, darker Armani behind the face he wears every day.
Frankie holds up a onesie with sleeping bunnies on it and grins before folding it. She seems so content and in her element right now. A pang of longing tugs at my heart.
“I know the Bellantis come across pretty tough, but you have to remember…they grew up without a mom,” she says. “They didn’t have a positive female presence in their lives when they needed it most, and…I don’t know. From what I’ve seen, it’s given all of them a scary exterior. They had to build up a bunch of walls and defense mechanisms as kids. But that’s all it is. Self-defense. And when I first moved in here, you know who was kindest to me?”
“Who?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Armani.”
“No.”
“Yup. I swear. You know how my marriage was a contractual one, and how Dante was ice cold to me at first,” she explains.
“I remember,” I say, nodding along. Frankie used to cry on my shoulder about it.
“Armani was the one who’d pour me coffee and chat with me at breakfast, or compliment my outfits in front of Dante to set an example. And when I wanted to take on a more active role in the winery, Armani backed me up and pushed Dante to give me more free rein.”
“Wow. I don’t think I knew any of that.”
This version of Armani definitely does not jive with the one I’ve slowly put together in my mind. Nor the one he’s shown himself to be in the past. Which is…hard to reconcile, to say the least. He’s a dangerous criminal, a trafficker, aliar. How can all of this be true?
Frankie shrugs. “Anyway…I’m not trying to sway you one way or the other, but if you stick it out, you might realize that these brothers…they’re amazing underneath. Strong and protective and loyal and kind. Don’t give me that look, Candi! It’s true.”
“Even Marco?” I scoff. “I adore Karina, and I’m sure she’s been a good influence since they got married, but he’s always struck me as such a little brat with his race cars and his women and his…flashy designer sunglasses and his shiny shirts.”
We both start giggling.
“Even Marco,” she reassures me. “I think he might be the softest hearted of them all. You should ask Karina about him sometime. I bet you’d be surprised.”
I am surprised. In fact, I’m reeling. Given what I’ve learned over the past week or so, I’m finding all of this hard to believe. But I know better than to voice my concerns to Frankie. Not when she’s blissfully pregnant and just moved into her dream home with her sexy millionaire husband.
“These Bellanti men will put you through hell before they let their walls down and show even the tiniest speck of vulnerability,” she adds. “But it’s worth it. So worth it.”
She lets out a happy sigh and rubs her belly.
“You’re lucky,” I say wistfully, surprising myself.
“Iamlucky. I’ll be fumbling my way through the next eighteen years, but I’ll do my best and she’ll always know how wanted and loved she is. That’s all we really can do, you know?”
“Yeah,” I agree, wishing my own mom had been even a fraction of the kind of mother that Frankie intends to be.
