Chapter 87: Chapter Eighty-Seven

Gloria watched Frankie from the passenger seat. His fingers went from white-knuckling the steering wheel to drumming a beat she didn’t quite recognize against the leather. If he noticed her stare, he didn’t let on. His own gaze was focused on a dilapidated house a few doors down and across the street from where the car idled.

She wasn’t sure what part of town they were in. It was… not a safe side of New York City. The houses looked as though they were one harsh wind away from crumbling down on their foundations. Shingles hung haphazardly off the roofs and shutters clung to the windowsills like a ten-year-old’s last baby tooth. Trash was piled up on the curbs while children used planks of wood to bat around flattened basketballs into goals established by cans of beer.

She stifled a shiver and glanced back at Frankie, who continued to showcase the same expression of fury he’d worn from the moment Accardi told him Ivan had escaped. She recalled the ice lacing his voice as they’d left the apartment building with two suitcases and a duffel bag filled with… she could only imagine.

At the entrance to the building, Frankie grabbed Accardi by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him against his SUV. “One week. You have one week to use your resources to find Ivan and his little runt, Sergei. After that, I’ll bring my parents to your apartment and find them myself.”

Rather than angering the Don, it caused a spark to light in his eyes. As if Frankie had given him the challenge of the century, the perfect distraction from problems he couldn’t solve, a way to redeem himself to his men.

“Alright, I’m going in,” Frankie said, dragging her out of the memory.

“Okay, so what are we…”

“We aren’t going to do anything,” Frankie said, shoving the door open.

“What? You are not leaving me in this car, Frank,” Gloria hissed. She reached for the door handle and jerked only for the handle to snap back in place. “The frick?”

Frankie ducked his head back into the car and shook his head. “Stay.”

“Did you…” She tried the knob again. “Did you lock me in?”

The hint of a smirk. “I activated the child lock before we left. Stay in the car,” he ordered again before slamming the door shut and striding across the street.

Gloria crossed her arms and sighed. Her anger dissipated as she watched Frankie shove his hands in his pockets and stop at the end of a sidewalk; his head hung low, his shoulders drooped forward. She watched the slow rise and fall of those shoulders as he worked up the courage to look up. His shoulders snapped back, and he advanced on the house. The stairs under his feet dipped as he took them two at a time. Before his courage could evaporate, he took the four long strides needed to reach the door and knocked. Then he quickly stepped backward.

A moment later the door opened and an older man stepped out. His eyes tracked up and down Frankie before he slammed the door shut behind him, barring Frankie’s way inside. Even from this distance, she could see the resemblance. The older man had dark hair, made more salt and pepper due to his age. His shoulders hung forward from years of manual labor, while his fists clenched with strength not diminished by insults from customers and bosses alike. She couldn’t hear or read lips like Frankie could, but she could see the older man’s mouth moving as if spewing words meant to physically wound. Frankie gripped the back of his neck with one hand, while he held the other in front of himself trying to placate the gentleman. Suddenly, her thirty-two-year-old, scarred, tattooed second-in-command to one of the most powerful families in the world looked like a teenager who had been brought home by a police cruiser. Then the front door opened and a woman stepped out.

The older man tried to shoo her back inside, but she held her ground, her eyes set on Frankie. That’s when Gloria moved. She fumbled her way over the center console and tumbled out of the driver-side door. She walked on the balls of her feet toward the home and could finally make out the words being spoken.

“For the last time, you are not welcome here. I don’t care what kind of trouble you’re in or whatever it is your life has gotten us involved in,” the older man shouted.

“Frank,” the woman said, gripping the older man by his arm, though her misty eyes remained on Frankie. “I’ve already lost one son, and if he needs help…”

“No, Marge, we discussed this. Helping him has never done any good. I told him the last time he called us from prison…”

“Look, Dad,” Frankie growled. “I don’t care how little you think of me. It’s not new. What I do care about is keeping my family safe and…”

His father’s face was beet red with anger as he shouted, “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into that would make you think we’d…”

Gloria walked up the last step. “Hello,” Gloria greeted.

Three pairs of dark eyes swiveled to her. Frankie’s mother and father gaped. Frankie scowled and pivoted to block her from view.

“What are you doing? I said I could handle this,” Frankie yell-whispered.

“Frankie, who is this?” his mother asked from behind him, her voice soft.

“She’s…”

“I’m Gloria,” Gloria said, stepping around him, making him tense even further. “Frankie is my… Well, I’m the trouble he’s gotten himself into.” Gloria placed a hand on her completely flat stomach.

Both of his parent’s eyes shot down to her hand. His mother gasped and covered her mouth. Tears started to spill before she looked back at an equally shocked Frankie.

“Frankie, is this true? Are you…”

“You got a girl pregnant?” his father raged.

“Frank,” his mother hissed, her eyes sharpening to daggers, telling Gloria exactly who Frankie got his glare from.

His father’s face pinched, but did as his wife instructed. Marge’s dark eyes pivoted back to Gloria. She took a step forward. Frankie’s hand clasped Gloria’s arm and pulled her back slightly as if to shield her, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by his mother. She smiled and lifted both hands to Gloria’s face. Marge cupped her cheeks before using her right hand to brush her hair away from her forehead. While his mother studied her face, Gloria took the opportunity to do the same.

While Frankie was a mirror of his father, she could see his expression reflected in his mother. Her dark eyes could cut glass but soften enough to provide shelter for someone with even the sharpest edges. Her cheeks were plump, matching the rest of her figure. She was short, around Gloria’s five feet two inches. Worry lines edged her face and the brunt of bearing the stress inflicted by her sons weighed down her dainty shoulders.

“You’re having my grandchild?” Marge asked, tears continuing to flow. Gloria nodded, overcome by the emotion she saw in the older woman’s eyes. “And you’ve done the right thing, Frankie?” She looked down at Gloria’s left hand and clicked her tongue, the sound so similar to Frankie’s click of disappointment it made Gloria blink in astonishment. “Frank Juliano Donati the Fourth, why does this girl have your child in her belly but no ring on her finger?”

“I…”

“And this is the first time you bring her to our house? You love a woman enough to get her with child and didn’t think we should meet her?” his mother continued to chastise. She cuffed his ear and he ducked out of the way before she could repeat the maneuver.

“Jeez, Ma, let me at least explain!”

“There is no explanation that could…”

“He proposed. He just hasn’t given me a ring,” Gloria interjected. Frankie’s jaw became unhinged as his wide eyes connected with hers. His father looked at him with eyes that missed nothing, while his mother stopped trying to beat her son and redirected her energy to Gloria.

“You’re getting married? When?”

“Uhh…” Gloria looked to Frankie for help and he just shook his head from side to side, still grappling with the turn of events.

“Next week,” his mother decided.

“Ma!”

“Wha-what?” Gloria asked.

His mother clapped her hands. “Yes, we can have it here! A beautiful outdoor wedding in the backyard.”

“Ma, you can’t be serious. We need more time to…”

His mother swiveled and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare, Frankie J. She’s pregnant. She deserves to have a beautiful wedding with any dress she wants while it will fit. Our first grandchild will not be born a bastard. We will celebrate and if you want a big fancy to-do later on, then so be it. But you will do this for us, for me. You owe us that much. Hm?”

Frankie gulped and looked quickly from Gloria to his mother. He nodded.

“Good,” his mother announced. “You,” she said, turning to Gloria. “You will call me Marge. Come in. We only have a short time to plan and get to know each other.”

Without further ado, Marge turned back into the house. She patted Frank Senior on the shoulder before strutting inside. Frankie gestured for Gloria to go first before letting his hand slap back to his thigh. Gloria stepped forward, but Frankie’s presence behind her quickly disappeared. She glanced back to see Frank Senior holding Frankie by the shoulder.

“Go on inside, young lady. We have some things to discuss,” Frank Senior announced.

Frankie’s face hardened before he gave her a nod to go ahead. Gloria walked into the ramshackle house and was immediately enveloped in the warmth of a house that was far from glamorous… or from passable inspection codes… but filled with more love seeping through the cracked walls than she’d ever felt emanating from the mansion she was raised in.