It was while Frankie was smiling at Vinnie Senior that Asheeka made a move to leave.

Benny waited until the good-byes were said, hand squeezes were given to Frankie, hugs to Vinnie, then he stood and murmured, “Walk you out.”

Frankie gave him a look.

Asheeka gave Frankie a look before she moved her look to Benny.

But Benny held her eyes, and with nothing for it, she moved to the door, him following, her calling her good-bye to Theresa on her way out.

He walked with her to a flash black Land Rover parked at the curb.

“Sales are good,” he noted, eyes on her truck.

“I’m not complaining,” she replied, feet firm on the sidewalk.

He moved his gaze to her. “Got anything for me to go on in there?” he asked straight up. He had no time to beat around the bush, no inclination, and no skills with that shit.

She crossed her arms on her chest and studied him.

He read her as quiet, a little shy, but not dumb.

With what she said next, he’d learn he was right about the last, and she could get beyond the first two.

“You do know with that question, you’re askin’ me to break the sacred sister trust.”

“I know.”

“Don’t know you, but she’s my girl.”

“Know that too.”

She fell into studying him again.

He didn’t have time for that either.

“You don’t know me so I’ll tell you. I get I’m puttin’ you on the spot, and I mean no offense when I also tell you I don’t give a f**k because the reason I’m doin’ it is important.”

She didn’t study him after that.

She said, “You know that commercial where the guy wakes up in half a bed, eats outta half a bowl of cereal, and sits on half a couch?”

He heard her. He got her. He lifted his chin to communicate that and tell her to get on with it.

She got on with it. “That’s our Frankie. Livin’ half a life. Doin’ it by choice. Now, way I see it, before, it was penance. Punishing herself for somethin’ that was not her fault. You all pullin’ out the stops to say she needs to let that go, I still see Frankie goin’ to sleep in half a bed and watchin’ her shows on half a couch.”

Yeah.

He heard her. He got her. And what she said made him uneasy.

“Why?” he asked.

“I read you right with the way you’re positionin’ yourself to be in her life, that’s the part you gotta figure out, sort it out, then show me you can fill her full of life. I’ll tell you, you do that, you’ll have my gratitude ’cause I’ve known her years and she can fake it real good. But you watch. You listen. She laughs half a laugh, even as she’s tryin’ to convince you it comes full. And every breath she takes is half a breath. Nobody can live like that, half breathing. And no person like Frankie Concetti should.”

Benny felt his mouth get tight as his eyes moved to his house.

He then felt Asheeka get close and his gaze went back to her.

“It’s not your brother,” she said quietly. “She’ll use that as a shield to hold you back.” She shook her head. “It’s not him, though. It’s deeper. It’s why she chose him when, no offense, but the woman you and I know could have had more.” She held his gaze and whispered, “Think about that.”

She said nothing more and moved to the driver’s side of her vehicle.

Ben watched her pull out and his eyes remained on the road long after she was gone.

But his mind was on Frankie.

And his thoughts were troubled.

Because, suddenly, he couldn’t figure out if back in the day, when she was with Vinnie, if she was electric.

Or if she was desperate.

And he wondered, even back then, if every breath she took was half a breath.

By the time he made a move to his house, he had no answers.

All he knew was he had to find them.

* * * * *

Hours later, when everyone was long gone, Benny rested his back against pillows shoved up on the headboard of his bed, Frankie doing the same beside him. After thirty minutes of watching television, which was after ten minutes of Frankie bickering with him about why he was stretched out beside her and not downstairs on the couch, she declared, “I need you to take me home tomorrow.”

He turned eyes from the TV to her. “Why?”

“’Cause your ma brought me loungewear. I’m meeting Vi’s girls. I need better than loungewear.”

He turned his eyes back to the TV. “I think they know you were shot so I’d guess they won’t expect you in a ball gown.”

“I don’t want a ball gown. I don’t even own a ball gown. I want a nice dress.”

“I think they know you were shot,” he repeated to the TV. “So I’d guess they won’t expect you to be in a nice dress.”

“Do you have pressing matters to attend to tomorrow before they get here?” she asked.

“Nope,” he answered, feeling her attitude beginning to fill the room and fighting back a smile.

“So you aren’t making pizza for the governor?” she went on.

“Not that I know of,” he replied.

“Then it isn’t that your schedule is full that you can’t take me to my apartment to get a nice dress.”

He didn’t turn his eyes to her on that. He turned his whole torso to her and got her gaze when he did.

“You own a dress that won’t make my dick get hard?”

Her eyes got squinty, but her mouth stayed closed.

“Can I take that as a no?” he pushed.

“FYI, women don’t like it when men talk like that, Benny Bianchi.”

“Bullshit, Francesca Concetti. They f**kin’ love that shit.”

“Wrong,” she snapped.

“After our talk on Monday, when you come to your senses, I’ll give you more of that when I’m in the position to test the results of my theory.”

She straightened on her pillows. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

“When I’ve come to my senses,” she stated.

“Yep,” he replied.

“Do you try to piss me off?” she asked, and he grinned.

“You haven’t got that?”

“Why?” Her voice was pitching higher.

“You pissed is cute. It’s hot. And, just sayin’, it makes me hard.”

“Are you hard right now?”

“Be my pleasure, you wanna check.”

Abruptly, she leaned forward, pulled a pillow from behind her, swung it around, and slapped it against his chest.