Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

May

Gloria sat at her kitchen table, completely drained from the day. Another fully loaded night at Accardi’s club had wrung her out. She picked at the cup of ramen noodles in front of her, wishing it were the ramen her private chef used to make her. How life had changed for her in the past few months. From Russian royalty to part-time nurse living in hiding in the slums of New York. She smiled down at the styrofoam cup in front of her. At least she was free.

A banging started on her door and she jolted upward. She stared across the small space as the door rattled under the force of the knocks. Gloria quickly maneuvered around the furniture and crouched beside the sofa where Nora had stowed a small Smith and Wesson pistol. She made sure it was loaded as she walked toward the door nearly coming off its hinges. She cautiously looked through the peephole and gasped.

Gloria tucked the handgun in her waistband and unlocked the various methods Nora had installed to keep people out. Frankie Donati stumbled inside without a word. He looked like hell. His face was smashed in, blood coated his clothes, there were cuts on his head and arms and he could barely stand. He also wasn’t alone. A younger man who looked too similar to Frankie to be a coincidence held him up under his arms.

“What the heck is going on?” Gloria asked as the two men grunted and cursed their way inside. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?” Gloria asked in quick succession, following in their wake toward the couch.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph she’s chatty,” the mystery helper announced.

“You know what they say about chatty Cathy’s,” Frankie wheezed out through blood soaked teeth. His helper flung him down on the couch and Frankie released a long groan.

“Good with their mouths,” the man recited with a roll of his eyes.

“What is going on? You look like heck warmed over,” Gloria said, standing beside the couch to take stock of his injuries. She hadn’t seen him for a couple weeks. Something was going on in the Accardi compound and most of the lower-level crew, such as herself, weren’t privy to know what. Judging by the state of Accardi’s second… it wasn’t going well.

“Did she say ‘heck’ twice?” the mystery man asked Frankie.

Frankie smirked. “Yeah, she doesn’t cuss. It’s cute, huh?”

“Good luck with that shit,” the helper said with a shake of his head. “I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning, Frank.”

“Thanks Steve-O,” Frankie said with a dismissive wave.

Gloria’s head swiveled from where Frankie sat on the couch looking as though he were two seconds from passing out due to blood loss and ‘Steve-O’ heading for the door.

“Wait, wait, wait, where are you going?” she asked, frantically, walking toward Steve as if she could stop him. He was smaller than many men in the mafia, similar to Frankie’s height. While he didn’t have that dangerous edge that made most people avert their gaze like Frankie did, this man had a more subtle aura of chaos surrounding him. “He needs the hospital, not a two-bit nurse.”

The man held the doorframe in one hand. “He won’t go to the hospital. He wanted you.”

“I don’t have the supplies here. He’s bleeding out. He probably needs a blood transfusion, antibiotics, maybe even surgery…”

Frankie barked out a laugh behind her, earning him a glare.

“He’ll be fine, Sweetheart. Just patch him up the best you can. He’s had far worse, right, Frank?” the man called.

“Don’t call her ‘Sweetheart,’” Frankie warned, his expression dangerous despite the paleness of his skin.

Steve-O rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Brother.”

Gloria continued to try to convince the man to stay but her pleading fell on deaf ears and within only a few moments, the door closed in her face. The apartment was quiet apart from Frankie’s rattling attempts to bring air into his lungs. She turned to face him and he grinned though his lips were tight around the edges. He was in pain, though he’d never admit it. Gloria sighed. The sooner she got him tended to, the sooner he could leave.

“Fine,” she said on an exhale. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure thing, Toots.”

As Gloria walked around her apartment, gathering what medical supplies she could find, she could feel his eyes on her… Well, technically one of his eyes was swollen shut. Luckily over the past few weeks she’d forgotten certain things were in her pockets before returning home from the club: a couple rolls of bandages, some suture thread, a couple alcohol swabs, etc. She piled them all on the coffee table and then went to the bathroom for the last thing she might need. She took the bottle of morphine from the bathroom cabinet and found the needle. She filled the needle to the appropriate dose and then added a few extra milliliters to account for Frankie’s stubbornness. She tucked the needle into her back pocket, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it, but knowing she might.

She sat down on the coffee table and placed her legs between his knees.

“Can you sit up?” she asked.

Frankie closed his eyes and released a long groan as he sat up from the back of her couch. Just that simple act had his breathing labored. Instead of complaining though, he winked as if he’d just won a gold medal in marathon sprinting.

Gloria sighed, unimpressed with his antics. “So, what did you do this time?”

“Stood up to a mob boss,” Frankie wheezed as she started cutting the blood-soaked t-shirt from his frame.

She snorted. “Didn’t learn your lesson last time?”

“That was a cute noise,” he told her. Gloria ignored the way the praise made her stomach tighten. “He needed someone to tell him the truth. That’s my job. Bea was in trouble and if I hadn’t gone to Gen and…”

“Bea is in trouble?” Gloria interrupted, finally managing to peel the fabric from his chest. Bea and Nora were known for being on again, off again.

Frankie smirked as he helped her get the shirt off while his eyes creased and narrowed with each move of his muscles. “Not anymore. I got her.”

“And that earned you a beating?” she asked, surveying the damage inflicted by Mr. Accardi. She winced herself as she noticed the level of bruising along his face, shoulders, and torso.

“No. Bringing his woman in to help earned me a beating… and maybe saying some shit I shouldn’t have,” he told her with a light shrug that opened a recently closed wound on his neck.

She tried to remain professional with his torso on full display, under her fingertips. He was brawny, she couldn’t help but notice. His muscles were well defined, earned from a combination of fighting in the club and working out. His body was built for protecting what he saw fit. His bones were thick enough to take a hit or two. He was a strong man… and he came to her for help. She swallowed as she started dabbing the blood from his face and neck. By the time she was done, a mound of bloodied cotton sat beside her. She took the needle and thread she’d found and started suturing up the deeper cuts.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” Frankie whispered as she punctured his skin for the first time. Her eyes remained on what she was doing.

“Hm?”

“The other night. At Mirrors.”

The needle dug in sharply as she glanced up, her eyes wide. His mouth was slightly parted, his breathing low and shallow. He licked his lips as his nearly black eyes threatened to swallow her whole.

“We don’t need to talk about that,” she said, diverting her gaze and fighting the heat on her cheeks that was always so difficult to alleviate around him.

“I think we do.”

“No,” she answered back, her suturing becoming a bit more harsh than necessary.

“What were you thinking of?” he asked, not for the first time since he’d cornered her in the hallway after her little show. “What were you thinking of when you were touching yourself, Lilah?”

Frankie sat forward and gripped her knee, startling her. She reached for her back pocket and the syringe she’d already filled. When his hand skimmed up her thigh, she reacted. The needle punctured his thigh, making him grunt in surprise. He sat back and stared down at the needle sticking out of his leg. His eyes went from the needle to her in disbelief. He yanked the needle out and glared at it. Gloria stumbled up to her feet.

“It’s only morphine,” she explained.

“You really don’t want to tell me what you were thinking of? You know that is an answer in and of itself,” he told her, his hot glare following her slow retreat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The morphine will take effect soon. Some of those cuts are really deep. You’ll pass out and I can work in peace and then you can leave.”

She walked away toward the kitchen to pour herself some water. She counted in her head as the silence stretched on. Once she got to sixty, she knew he would be out. The amount of morphine she’d given him was enough to take any man down. She nodded her head, ready to get back to work and turned.

Gloria gasped as Frankie stood right in front of her, swaying, but on his feet.

“H-How are you standing right now?” she asked.

He smirked and leaned toward her, crowding her against the kitchen counter. “I have a high tolerance, little Vixen.”

“Vixen?”

“Yeah, cause you thought playing this little game would make me tire of you.” He leaned forward. ”You miscalculated.”

“You need to sit down before…”

“I’ve decided something,” he announced, his speech becoming slurred as he placed a palm to the counter to keep himself upright.

“Okay?”

He touched the tip of her nose. “You’re mine.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm, and you know how I know that?”

“I am curious.”

“Because ever since that first night when you saw that slut sucking my dick, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else doing the job,” he informed her.

Gloria rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “How poetic.”

“You’re right… I should do something more... Romantic. Shouldn’t I?”

Gloria went to make a witty remark when his free palm cupped her neck. Her thoughts stalled. His fingers were soft, cold, gentle as they formed around the curve of her neck. His head fell forward, his lips touched hers. Gloria gasped. Frankie ignited. His other hand wrapped around her neck as he pressed his lips more firmly to hers. She tasted copper on her lips and something primal within her came forward. Her reaction was pure instinct. She gripped his shoulders, earning her a low rumble of approval that carried up her arms.

Frankie moved backward, pulling her with him as his mouth continued to skillfully maneuver hers through the motions. His teeth nipped her lips, sending a rush of anticipation down her spine and between her legs. His fingers wove through her hair as he turned them so that he was pushing her backward. Her knees hit soft cushion and she fell back on the couch with a squeak. He smirked, full of intent as he lowered himself over her. He kissed the top of her chest where her shirt stopped and worked his way up.

“Tell me what you were thinking of, Vixen,” he whispered against her collarbone. Her feet worked against the couch, trying to find traction as her body felt as though it were resting on needles. “Tell me you were thinking about this,” he said, brushing his lips against hers one more time. “Fuck, this shit is strong. Just… say… you…”

Then he went limp. Gloria grunted as his full weight fell on top of her.

“Frankie,” Gloria called, shoving at his chest. She pushed his face up only for it to be relaxed in sleep. “Dangit. Frankie, come on.”

Gloria rolled and shoved until she was able to wiggle out from underneath Frankie’s heavy body. She fell to the ground with a thud. She stood up and let out a long breath. She ran her tongue over her lips and froze. She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. She pulled them away and stared down at the drops of red blood that ran down her fingers. Blood, that was not her own.

Her eyes went to the unconscious man laying on her couch, finally taken down by the ample dose of morphine she’d administered. It was the first time she’d ever seen Frankie Donati be… vulnerable. Even in sleep though his lips were turned up in that trademark smirk as if even now he knew her next move and had already thought of four ways to counteract it. She looked over his swollen face, the bruising around his eyes, the cuts into his cheeks from the beating he’d received from Accardi. She had a lot of work to do. He needed tending to. Instead, she looked at the liquid still inching down her fingers while swiping the rest from her lips with her tongue. Her first kiss… and it tasted of blood.