“That’s bullshit, Frannie. It’s in your blood, literally, to be a part of this.”
“Yeah, maybe, but my dad has already been through hell and back, and if Mom really faked her death, the last thing Dad needs is for me to tell him I’m working for Uncle Tony.”
“Just think about it. We don’t know if your mom is alive. I’ll check tomorrow.”
“I’m constantly thinking about it.”
“Alright, well, I’m going to get some sleep so I can be up in a few hours. I enjoyed this. Don’t be a stranger.”
I laugh. “I won’t, but you do know the phone goes both ways, right?”
“I’m sorry, but my phone is going through a tunnel.” She makes a static sound with her mouth before laughing. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.” I say before ending the call.
Turning around, I stare at the timer. Five minutes left.
“If he’s not back by the time I take the lasagna out of the oven to cool, I’m calling Dad.”
Leaning against the counter, I grab a chocolate chip cookie and take a bite of it. It’s gooey and soft, just like Mom used to make.
Just thinking about Mom makes my stomach want to revolt. I place the cookie back on the cooling rack and take the lasagna out of the oven.
All of this- the cookies, sauce, and lasagna- were Mom’s recipes. I watched her dozens of times, cooking this meal.
“How could she do this to us? To Dad? How can she live with herself, knowing her children mourn her every year on her death day and every holiday?”
Tears fall down my cheeks as anger and resentment build.
“God, if this is true, I’ll hate her for the rest of my life. I’ll never shed another tear for her. I’ll never tell my children about her. She will be dead to me, like she never existed.”
The front door swings open as I’m in the middle of my rant. I turn around and freeze when my gaze lands on a very unhappy Rhett Montgomery.
Chapter Twenty
RHETT
I walkto my bedroom door before turning around to look at her one last time before slipping through the doorway.
I hate leaving her like this, but we need answers about what went down tonight.
We need answers about how the Rossi henchmen knew Francesca was at the shipyard.
We need to know why they want her and what she could be hiding from all of us.
And we need to know how her ex-fucking-boyfriend knows the Rossis.
Most of all, Francesca deserves to have these answers.
Heading straight to my front door, I open it as quietly as I can before leaving her alone and naked in my bed.
The image alone will keep me from being away too long.
It’ll keep me from killing the fucker, too. I don’t want to be over here longer than necessary.
I climb into my truck and race the short distance to the Marino estate, not caring that I’m driving almost twice the speed limit. Most of the police force probably already know about the shitshow happening.
They might even be at the Rossi estate cleaning up the dead bodies.