Chapter Forty One
Salvatore
Fighting with Francesca over her family is not how I expected to spend the evening I proposed to her, but we aren’t really fighting over her family. She just doesn’t know that.
I can’t even defend my own stance, though. I could, if I didn’t have so many goddamn secrets, but as of now my hands are tied. I could give her clear-cut examples to show her that Mateo and I are making the right call by letting the women we want to love us believe a lie here and there. I could show her exhibit A, Vince, the idealistic schmuck who tried exactly what Francesca considers the right way. Without having to, Vince went home and told Mia about his fuck-up. If he hadn’t told her, she’d still be a functioning girlfriend. Because he made the massive fucking mistake of telling the ugly truth when he didn’t need to, her feelings for him hit a wall. He did something she couldn’t accept. He told her. Two totally separate things. Kid could’ve got away with it if he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
Like Mateo. Mateo’s smarter. Mia covered his ass, so he took advantage and kept his mouth shut.
Like any sane fucking person would do. What possible benefit could there be to telling on himself? Sure, maybe Mia could deal with it, but we aren’t all in relationships with Mia. Even the guy who is managed to fuck it up, so I don’t think Mia’s love is as unconditional as Francesca thinks it is.
I know Francesca’s love isn’t unconditional. I’m not a mentally abusive asshole like Mateo, so I don’t expect unconditional love. I only expect Francesca to love me so long as I’m loving, respecting, and treating her right, but I’m pretty sure she would file “being complicit in a plot to kill her brother” under the mistreatment category.
It’s also a matter of practicality. When you make a move like that against a guy like Mateo and you fail, but you get away with it? The less people who know, the better. It’s bad enough Vince knows. The more people there are who know, the greater the chance it gets back to Mateo. That would be the end of the line for me. Vince may be alive because of whatever feelings Mateo has for Mia, but Francesca doesn’t have that kind of pull. He wouldn’t hesitate to take me out if he knew the truth, and I couldn’t blame him, because I wouldn’t in his place, either.
I don’t like lying to Francesca, but that was a lie I had to tell. It’s a secret I have to keep. It might count for something that when I realized it would absolutely come between us, I pulled out. Turned my back on my own father to keep Francesca’s morally corrupt brother safe. But it might not. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take.
I’ve never let us go to bed angry, but tonight when we climb into my bed, I can still feel a gulf between us. I knew Francesca hated liars right off the bat, so I knew she would ultimately not love if I ever had to lie to her. I just also knew I’d only ever lie to her if I absolutely had to.
I can’t sleep for shit all night. Francesca falls asleep after we lie there for a good half hour, side-by-side but not touching, not speaking. It’s fucking torture. After about an hour she rolls over in her sleep, making me look at her peaceful face while I stew. She’s so beautiful in so many ways. I love her heart. I love the way she looks out for everyone she loves. I try to convince myself that the way she was raised would benefit me, that even if I did tell her the truth and she was furious at me, it would blow over. It might not blow over fast, but it would still blow over. Only I don’t know if it would. Protecting Mateo is pretty much what she was raised to do.
I want all her loyalty for myself, but I don’t think I’ll ever have it. I can respect that. Loyalty to family is important, and once we get married I’ll be her family, too. The same unbreakable loyalty she has to Mateo, she will eventually have for me—but she’s not there yet, so if I come clean now, I stand a chance of losing her. I stand to lose even more, if she reacts badly enough. Mateo is sharp. If she broke our engagement, he would want to know why—especially because our wedding is linked to a public statement of peace between our families. Even if she didn’t want to tell him, he might figure it out.
I can also see the aggravating merit in one of the points I don’t think she meant to make: Mateo is wrong for tricking Meg into a life with him, because the man she wants to marry doesn’t exist. I don’t live in their house, I haven’t mingled with those people enough to have a full picture, but judging by what I’ve seen with my own eyes and what I’ve heard from Francesca, Meg is a firecracker. Surely she doesn’t know that Mateo clearly still has a vested interest in Mia. She doesn’t know he did the awful things that he did to her. He’s selling Meg a cleaned-up version of himself that just isn’t fucking real.
That’s wrong.
And I guess I’m doing that, too.
Maybe it’s unavoidable for guys like us. I’ve never come this far in a relationship before, and if I would’ve with anyone else, it would’ve been different. I would’ve always kept business separate from any woman I ended up with, but in this situation, business and personal bled into each other in a big way.
The sky begins to brighten again and I still haven’t slept. My eyes burn. Francesca is off today for my father’s funeral so at least her alarm isn’t blaring at me, but thinking of Dad’s funeral just makes it worse.
Everything about today is going to suck.
Every decision I’ve made in getting and keeping Francesca has come at a high cost to someone, and today I have to pay more debtors than I’m prepared to handle.
I give up on sleep and go out for a run. I’m hoping the physical activity will help clear my mind and give me a burst of energy, but the complete lack of sleep just makes my vision wonky. When I get back and take a shower, the exhaustion hits me. I’m never going to get through this day without any sleep.
Francesca is still asleep, so once I’m clean I climb back in bed with her. I’m tired and sad and frustrated now, and I want the comfort of the woman I love, so I drape an arm around her waist and pull her close. She shifts, half-asleep, and curls up close to me. It hurts and feels good at the same damn time.
When I wake up a couple hours later, Francesca isn’t in bed with me anymore. I managed to make myself feel even worse with two hours of sleep than I felt with none, so I feel like shit, peeling myself off the bed and checking the time. I should be up and getting ready. We have an hour to get to the funeral home, then there’s a church service immediately following before we go to the graveyard and deliver my father to his final resting place.
Final resting place. What a bullshit phrase. He’s not resting. He’s dead.
I don’t know if the roiling in my gut is from lack of sleep or the shit with my dad, but the breakfast I can smell cooking as soon as I open the bedroom door is the last thing I want.
Francesca stands at the island splitting food between two different plates. She’s already dressed in a solemn black dress, funeral-ready. Her head pops up when I come in, a tentative smile gracing those perfect lips of hers. I hate that tentativeness. I know it’s not a good day, and last night wasn’t a good night, but I don’t want anything weighing on her shoulders.
With that end in mind, I grab her around the waist and pull her in for a kiss to let her know whatever we’re supposed to be mad about, I’m not. She relaxes slightly when I pull back, resting her hand on my bare chest. Her ring catches her gaze since she’s not used to it being there, and she softens a little more.
“I made breakfast,” she tells me, unnecessarily.
“I see that. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but I figured you need nourishment to get through the day.”
I need alcohol to get through this day. Instead of saying so, I just walk over and open the cabinet where I keep my liquor and grab a bottle of whiskey. “I think I’m going to skip the orange juice,” I tell her, nodding at the glass she already poured.
Francesca goes to the cabinet and grabs another glass, handing it to me. She bites down on her lower lip uncertainly, leaning against the counter. “I don’t really know how to be supportive about this,” she admits. “I don’t know how you feel. When my dad died, I felt nothing.”
I nod, dumping some alcohol into the glass and screwing the cap back on. “That’s understandable; your dad was a monster.”
If she thinks mine was too, she refrains from saying so. I wouldn’t be able to defend him, so I’m glad. I can’t defend myself, either. Maybe we’re all our own kind of monsters in this life.
Dread weighs on me as I start to take a sip. I immediately correct and slam the whole thing back, then pour myself a little more.
Francesca rests a light hand on my shoulder. “You should probably eat.”
I pour myself a more generous serving this time so I can put the bottle away, then I join Francesca at the island to choke down the breakfast she made. She’s a good cook so I’m sure it’s delicious, but I feel like I’m swallowing soggy cardboard.
We’re the last of the family members to show up before the guests start arriving. Ma is not impressed. I haven’t told her I proposed to Francesca yet and that’s not what I want today to be about, but I also didn’t want to ask Francesca to take off her ring and hide the fact, so right now I’m just hoping for the best.
Maddie steps forward to hug me, then Francesca. Ma hugs me and refuses to so much as look at Francesca. My brother errs on the side of neutrality and settles on nodding at each of us.
“She doesn’t have to stand up here with us,” Ma states.
“Yes, she does.”
“The receiving line is for family.”
“Francesca is my family,” I state.
Ma stiffens like someone just shoved a splint down her spine. Her lips press together with anger, but she refrains from saying another word about it.
Leaning in my ear, Francesca whispers, “I don’t have to stand up here.”
“You don’t know anybody here,” I point out, glancing over at her. “You belong here next to me.”
“I know Mark. I could follow him around.”
“No.”
She doesn’t argue further.
Twenty minutes into receiving guests, I’m already drained. Ma is angry on top of being hurt, and some fucking woman named Betty catches sight of Francesca’s ring.
Turning surprised eyes to me, she says, “Oh, I hadn’t heard the news.” Then she clasps my hand between hers, patting the top. “I’m so glad you have someone to help you through this difficult time.”
Ma leans forward, frowning. Betty grabs Francesca’s hand to inspect the ring, and Ma turns so red, I don’t even know what to expect. I thought Francesca handled the news of Mateo’s engagement indelicately, but the look on Ma’s face as she glares daggers at Francesca makes that look like well-wishing.
Finally her gaze travels to me, her eyes dark with a mix of emotions I don’t even want to dig into. “You didn’t.”
Wrapping an arm around Ma’s shoulders, I give her a sideways hug. It’s stiff as hell, like hugging a tree trunk. “Ma, can we please talk about this later?”
She’s my mom so she doesn’t shrug my arm off her shoulder, but I think she wants to.
“I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make today easier on you. I want you to like Francesca. You will if you just give her a chance—she’s great.”
“She’s the reason we’re burying your father today,” Ma snaps, now shrugging my arm off her shoulder. “Her filthy family murders your father and you give her a ring. God forgive you, Salvatore. God forgive you.”
Her words have the intended impact of piling guilt onto my shoulders, but not because I proposed to Francesca. If Ma knew how involved I really was in Dad’s death, she’d never forgive me.
It’s purely selfish defense, but I’m exhausted and emotionally beaten down, so I can’t stop the words that shoot out of my mouth. “If God can forgive Dad for all the horrible shit he did, I think He’ll find a way to forgive me.”
She looks at me like I just slaughtered an entire family in front of her. “Don’t you dare speak ill of your father, Antonio Salvatore Castellanos. Don’t you dare.”
I feel insensitive, but I’m fed up with the unquestioning loyalty various women have to such awful fucking men. Francesca doesn’t see it because she hasn’t lived it like I have, but this would be Mia at Mateo’s funeral. Who cares if he spent years tormenting her and putting her and everyone else through immeasurable pain? He’s the boss. He’s her husband. He’s my father. His position warrants unwavering respect whether he does anything to deserve it or not.
It’s not what he deserves, and it’s fucking bullshit.
I know it’s the way things are in our families, I know the women are only doing what they’re supposed to do, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. It doesn’t mean I have to be like that, now that it’s my turn to create my own legacy. I want to deserve it.
I make the decision here and now never to tell Francesca the truth. She’s better off not knowing, and I’m better off not doing things I can’t tell her about. I just have to bear down and push through it this time, then all this will be in the past and we’ll never have to think about it again. I don’t care what Francesca says; I made the right call. I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who loves me regardless of what an awful shit I am; I want to be in a relationship with someone who motivates me want to be good enough for her.
I want exactly as much respect as I earn, and that’s it.