Chapter 53: Chapter Fifty-Three

“Ah,” Frankie said, letting go of her waist. “I was wondering when that would come up.”

“It was just surprising.”

“What was?” he asked, crossing his arms, bracing for the judgement.

“You know, he’s…”

“A man?” Frankie gasped in feigned shock.

“A homicidal maniac,” Gloria finished.

Frankie went back to the chicken, wanting his hands busy for this story. “I met Asher when I was fourteen. A few days after I met your parents and these scars were still fresh,” he said, waving the knife at his throat and his face. “I had just left home. Wanted to start somewhere new. I’d been running drugs in New York for a couple of years so I followed a friend to the mean streets of Chicago. Thought myself a big shot. Thought I could run my own gang,” Frankie said, looking up at Gloria’s curious expression. He shook his head, recalling how idiotic he’d been. “One day I went a street further than I should. Turns out I’d walked myself right into the wrong man’s territory. Any guesses who?” he asked, looking up.

“Ivan Rubanov?” Gloria guessed.

“Yahtzee!” Frankie started to season the chicken. “He got his goons to rough me up a bit. I got a little butt hurt. Thought I’d retaliate.”

“Oh, God, what did you do?”

“Now, I’m not proud of this…”

“What did you do, Frankie?”

“I may have kidnapped your mom…” Frankie braced. “And you.”

“Me?!” she yelled.

“Hey, now, you were like… two at the time, ‘kay?”

Gloria stared at him with her mouth open. “I… You…”

“Clearly everything worked out. Ivan found us within five minutes. I held a knife to your mom’s throat while you cried in the corner. Your mom was actually pretty strong. She overpowered me…”

“You were a skinny fourteen year old!”

“I was a skinny fourteen year old with vengeance in mind. Anyway. She overpowered me, gave me the scar on my cheek and your dad tried to take my head off by way of a knife to my throat. He threw me in jail. Used his power to have me tried as an adult and I was thrown into prison.”

Gloria shook her head and rubbed her temples. “I asked you about Asher.”

“Right, I was getting to that,” Frankie said, putting the chicken onto a baking dish. “I was a ‘skinny fourteen year old,’ as you so helpfully pointed out, in a prison with a lot of men with ‘carnal desires.’ I had to fight nonstop to protect myself. I got tired. One night some guys broke into my cell but my cellmate stopped them. Beat them to a pulp. Sent a message to everyone else in our block that I wasn’t to be touched.”

“Asher Thompson.”

“Asher Thompson,” Frankie said with a nod. “He was in for one of dozens of gun charges. I was young, thought our friendship turned to love of a sort. It was really just grooming but… I thought it was love.” He stared down at the chicken before sighing and putting it in the oven. “He got out before me. Said he would wait. And he did. Two years later he got me a job working for his friend.” Frankie scoffed. “We continued our relationship until one day I caught him in bed with his friend.”

“Sergei,” Gloria said with a nod.

“Yup.” Frankie washed his hands and leaned back against the sink when he was done. “Then Sergei found out about me.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over well?”

“Smart girl. Asher stepped in front of Sergei’s gun. Took a bullet to the shoulder. While he was on the ground and Sergei was applying pressure and waiting on an ambulance, I booked it out of town. Fled back home to New York. Went about my normal routine of selling drugs, picking fights for money. After one of those fights, a guy watching pulled me aside and said he had a job for me. I started working for Accardi within the week.”

“Wow,” Gloria walked around the island and wrapped her arms around his waist. She propped her chin on his chest directly under her name and looked upward. “I’m glad Accardi found you.”

Frankie barked out a laugh. “Oh, it wasn’t Accardi who got me the job.”

Her brow scrunched together in confusion. “Who then?”

“Leo,” Frankie said, brushing some hair away from her face before tracing his knuckles along her cheek.

“So, you were fourteen when I was two, huh?” she asked playfully.

He grinned. “That’s right. Leo isn’t the only old man around here.” He brushed his hand through her hair again. His fingers caught against the scar along her head and his grin turned into a frown as he felt around it, making sure it was healing properly.

“Why did you stop when you felt it the night you came for me?” she asked quietly.

He lifted her hand to his own scalp and ran it over the scar that mirrored her own. Her mouth opened in a gasp as she felt the scar more boldly.

“He tried to keep me from leaving for Chicago, when I was fourteen. Little fucker stole my gun and knocked me over the head. I was in the hospital for days. When I woke up, I waited for my family to leave the room and I ran.”

“Why? What was so wrong with your parents?” she asked.

“Nothing, Vixen. There was nothing wrong with my parents. They just wanted… more for me. Wanted me to stay in school. Go to college. Get a nine to five,” he shrugged, the intimacy of the conversation starting to make him uncomfortable.

“Somehow I can’t see you sitting at a desk with a little tie, answering calls and emails while sipping on coffee,” she said with a smirk, alleviating some of his discomfort.

“Yeah, blood, guns and mind games are more my forte,” he agreed.

“Have you…” She looked down. “Have you spoken with your parents since…”

“Gloria,” he said, his voice filled with warning.

“They probably want to see you.”

“They don’t.”

“How would you…”

“I called them from jail. They refused my call. I am responsible for his death. They don’t want to talk with me,” he assured her.

“They might have been angry at first but…”

“Gloria.” He raised her chin. “Stop.”

Gloria pulled away from him and he let her. He didn’t want to talk about his parents. He certainly didn’t want to be forced to. They’d been disappointed in him since the first time a cop dropped him off at their front door. He couldn’t recall what his father looked like when he wasn’t disappointed. He watched Gloria bend down and open the oven.

“You want to be a nurse because of your mom, don’t you?” he asked.

She straightened and turned to face him, her mouth dropped in surprise. “How did you…”

“There’s a reason my scars aren’t nearly as deep as they should be, Vixen,” he confessed. “Your mom was a kind woman.” Gloria took a shaky step toward him, her eyes misting over. “She doctored my face and neck when she could have let me die. When your father would have preferred if she did. After she found out about what Nora and I had started, she donated millions. She sent over women your father was abusing, women who her husband was sleeping with.” Gloria was in front of him now and he clasped her hands between his. “She wanted to be a nurse, didn’t she?”

Gloria nodded and a single tear slid down her cheek. “It was her dream.”

“What’s your dream, Vixen?” he asked, pulling on her hands so she would move closer.

“I want to make my mom proud.” She whispered the confession as if speaking it too loud would make it tangible enough that someone could snatch it.

“You don’t need to be a nurse in order to do that.”

“I can’t carry on my father’s business. I know that’s the one thing she would have…”

Frankie shook his head. “Your profession isn’t what will make your mom proud. What you do with it will.”

“I could say the same about your parents,” she tried.

Frankie tightened his hands on hers in warning. He shook his head. “Our parents are two different monsters entirely,” he assured her.

“Stephen talked about them a lot,” she whispered, treading carefully.

Frankie scoffed. “Stephen was a good boy,” he said with a laugh that didn’t carry to his eyes.

“What were you dreaming about when you called out to him, Frankie?” she asked.

“I think that’s over twenty questions,” he teased, hiding behind his humor as he’d always done.

“You can talk to me,” she told him.

Frankie finally released her hands and placed his hands on the counter beside him. “There’s nothing to talk about. Sergei killed my brother. I will kill him. End of story.”

“There’s more to it than that and if you refuse to talk to your parents, you refuse to talk to me, it’ll fester and…”

“Fine!” he bellowed, the humor no longer enough to hide the hurt. He shoved off the counter and stalked away. “You want to talk about it so much? You want to delve into the day I broke the only promise I ever cared to keep?” He swiveled and glared across the room at her. “Tell me what happened that day, Gloria.” She immediately stiffened. Her shoulders rose to her ears and her eyes darted between him and the door. He leaned over the island on his palms. “Tell me what happened to my brother. Let’s hear why my parents will never forgive me and why I’ll never ask them to.”