DeLuca (Mafia Romance)

Age 24

6 years earlier…

Twelve months.Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

It’d been twelve long months since I’d seen her. Anticipation buzzed through my body as I made the four-hour drive from Seattle to Spokane to see her.

My wife.

I loved the way that sounded, but only in my head. If I said it aloud, she’d laugh. To be fair, she’d probably think I was joking, but it still stung. As much as I wanted her, as much as I wished one day she’d be mine in every way, I knew it was impossible. I’d made a promise to Eddie, my cousin, my brother in every way that counted, that I wouldn’t be with her.

It’d been four years since I’d made that promise and I’d been kicking myself every day since. I married her two years ago, but aside from the innocent kiss we’d shared in front of the judge and our parents, I hadn’t touched her. A marriage of convenience, her mother had called it, but it was anything but convenient to me. No, being legally bound to your best friend that had grown up to be the woman of your dreams and being forbidden to touch her was most definitely not convenient.

Pulling off the interstate, I followed the directions the electronic voice on my GPS was giving me. The last time I’d come up for a visit, she was still living in the dorms. But while I was away this past year, she’d moved into a small apartment off campus. At least this time I wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel. I sent her a quick text to let her know I was five minutes out and popped a breath mint.

My knee was bouncing and my heart was thumping double-time when I pulled into her complex. I didn’t know why I was so nervous; we’d played this game for years. I’d go away, then come back, and after the initial excitement wore off, all was exactly as it’d been before. Except this time, we were older, married, and unsupervised. I pulled my truck into a guest parking spot and hopped out, grabbing my rucksack from the back.

Frankie was hurling down the stairs as I walked up the sidewalk to her unit. On the third step from the bottom, she flung herself at me and I had to drop my rucksack in order to catch her. She laughed as I spun her around and around. I kept going until I was dizzy, just so I could hear her laugh a little bit longer. Less than a minute with her in my arms, and the dark cloud I’d been carrying over my head for the past two years was already starting to fade away.

I am such a fucking sucker.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she squealed when I finally put her down.

“It’s good to finally be back home,” I said, pulling her in for another hug.

“Come on,” she insisted, pulling me up the stairs to her apartment. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

She pulled me through the crowded pub, not stopping until we reached the far end of the bar near the small dance floor.

“I don’t really go out very often, but I thought we should celebrate,” she yelled over the music.

“You going to tell me how you got your hands on a believable fake ID?” I asked, leaning down to speak directly in her ear.

“Never,” she laughed and turned to waive down the bartender. The place was so packed that I had to stand directly behind her in order to stay out of the way of the cocktail waitresses that were running from the floor to the bar and back again.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

“Four shots of tequila and two coronas,” Frankie called out slapping cash on the bar.

“Don’t do this often, huh?” I whispered in her ear.

“Shut up and drink,” she said turning in place and handing me a shot. She sprinkled salt on both of our hands and handed me a lime. “On the count of three, one, two, three!” she screamed.

I winced as the liquor burned my throat, but Frankie didn’t look like it’d fazed her at all. She immediately handed me another shot and repeated the same process as before. Once both shots were down, she handed me my beer and led me to a table in the corner between the jukebox and the dance floor.

“I call bullshit,” I said as soon as we were seated.

“What?”

“I call bullshit,” I repeated. “This isn’t your first rodeo,” I said pointing to the bar.

“I said I didn’t go out much. I didn’t say anything about not drinking,” she laughed and took a swig of her beer. The light from one of the neon signs reflected off the ring she was wearing. When she put her beer down again I caught her hand, inspecting it.

“You’re wearing your wedding ring?” I asked, confused. I was certain I’d never seen her wear it after I put it on her finger two years before. My mother had insisted that we exchange rings; it was the only thing she’d put her foot down about.

“I wear it on the rare occasion that I do go out so guys won’t hit on me,” she explained.

“Why don’t you want guys to hit on you?” I asked, praying she answered in a way that didn’t make me want to commit murder, because if she told me she had a boyfriend, I might just do it.

She shrugged. “Just not interested.”

I could live with that response.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you ever wear your ring to ward off the hordes of women that flock to you?”

I barked out a laugh. “I can’t say that I’ve ever had hordes of women flock to me, but if I ever do, I’ll make sure to slip on this bad boy,” I said, patting my chest.

Frankie cocked her head to the side and eyed me curiously. Reaching into my shirt I pulled out the necklace I’d worn since my first communion. On the chain right next to my Saint Christopher medallion, was my gold wedding band. She smiled softly at me, holding my gaze a fraction of a second longer than usual before taking another drink and looking out over the dance floor.

I wanted her to look at me like that again, like I was good, like I was worth something. I hadn’t felt like a good person in a really long time. Pulling the chain off I unclasped it and let the gold band drop into my hand and slipped it on my left hand before tucking my medallion back under my shirt.

“What are you doing?”

I shrugged, “I don’t feel like getting hit on.”

She tried to hide her smile, but I caught it.

“Do you want another beer?” I asked.

“Yes, please, and two more rounds of tequila.”

“Are you sure?” She was tiny after all.

“I’m fine. I promise, I’m not going to get sloppy drunk and make you hold back my hair.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I called over my shoulder before getting swallowed by the crowd. The number of people in the bar had nearly doubled in less than an hour. No wonder Frankie insisted on getting a table right away.

It took me nearly twenty minutes to get our drinks and navigate my way back to our table. When I finally broke through the crowd, I saw that Frankie was no longer alone. There was a guy sitting next to her at the table. He’d leaned in to say something in her ear, and she was straining her neck to get away from him.