She stopped talking and I said nothing because I didn’t know where this was going.

“He loved every minute of it,” she whispered.

The forlorn tone of her voice made my breath catch and reminded me that Al Zambino died only two years ago.

She kept going.

“My Al used to say that if he was a younger man, he’d make Enzo Concetti see sense—all the beauty he created, all that beauty he neglected.”

And that made my breath turn harsh.

“‘Nothin’ more precious,’ Al would say, ‘than your baby girl.’”

“Mrs. Zambino,” I whispered.

“Broke his heart knowin’ you and your sisters looked in the mirror and saw what your father taught you to see. Not what’s there. What a good man who was a good father would teach you to see.”

My breath still harsh, my heart started pumping fast.

“I—”

I stopped talking when, suddenly, her hand darted out and she grasped hold of my jaw again, jerking it her way, firm but gentle.

“You’re a good girl, Frankie Concetti,” she declared.

I felt tears sting my eyes.

“Good girls earn good things.” She let my jaw go, her eyes going beyond me toward Benny’s house, then coming back to me. “Let yourself have good things.”

“It’s not right,” I told her quietly.

“Know one thing on God’s beautiful earth, and that is” —she leaned into me— “love is never wrong.”

I shook my head.

She held my gaze. “You find yourself open to accepting wisdom, Francesca, got an old lady across the street who’ll give you some.”

I pressed my lips together.

Her eyes again went beyond me before they came back. “Benny’s waitin’.”

I turned my head and looked up to Benny’s house to see him standing on his stoop, arms crossed on his chest, uniform of tee and jeans on, but this time his tee was navy.

I looked back to Mrs. Zambino. “Thanks for today.”

“More league play tomorrow, you feel like another day of bein’ dazzled.”

I grinned at her.

She stared pointedly at my door.

I got out and barely had the door closed when her Caddy started cruising down the street on its way for her to park it in her garage off the alley.

Benny watched me make my way to him and didn’t move until I was one step away.

But he only dropped his arms to plant his hands on his hips as I joined him at the top of his stoop.

“What was that about?” he asked, his eyes flicking to the road before coming back to me.

I stared up at him. He was tall. He was beautiful. He was a good son. A good brother. A good guy. He’d be a good husband and an amazing father.

I wanted a shot at that.

I couldn’t have it.

“We need to talk,” I announced.

His eyes narrowed on my face and I watched them take in what was there and process it. I knew it when his entire face gentled.

Oh yes. I wanted a shot at that.

“Baby—” he started.

“Now,” I cut him off.

He studied me for long seconds before he nodded, moved to the door, and threw it open for me.

I walked in, went directly to the living room, and tossed my purse on the couch.

As I was doing that, I heard the door closing, and when I looked that way, Ben was in the room with me.

I had to do this now. I had to get this out.

Then I had to get gone.

“I loved your brother,” I declared, and his body jerked to a halt, his eyes leveling on me, his sudden intensity filling the room.

“I know that,” he said slowly.

“No, Ben, I loved your brother,” I stressed.

“I know that, Frankie,” he replied.

“When I was with him, I did not think of you this way,” I shared, lifting a hand and waving it between him and me. “Not ever.”

“Okay,” he said as a prompt when I quit talking.

“When he died, it broke me.”

He closed his eyes on a wince, opened them, and focused on me again.

“I know, baby,” he said quietly.

“It broke me because I loved him. It broke me because I missed him. It broke me because I wasn’t the kind of woman who was strong enough to stop him from throwing his life away.”

Ben’s voice was still quiet but firm when he stated, “You are not responsible for Vinnie’s death.”

“No?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

“You sure you don’t think that?” I pushed.

Understanding flowed through his face. He took a step toward me but stopped and said, “I deserved that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not punishing you, Ben, honestly. I believe you when you say you don’t think that anymore. But, just to say, I still do.”

“Frankie, Vinnie bought what happened to him.”

“A woman is supposed to have her man’s back,” I retorted.

“Not when her man turns his back on his woman,” he returned.

His words hit me like a bullet (and I knew that feeling) and I clamped my mouth shut.

“He did that shit to you and you know it,” Benny stated.

I looked to the side.

“He did that shit to you, you knew it, and you were done with it,” Benny went on.

I looked to him.

“Weren’t you?” he pushed.

“Yes,” I whispered, then admitted my horrible secret, “I was giving up on him.”

This time Ben shook his head. “Cara, he took away everything so there wasn’t anything to give up.”

His words hit me again, hard, and I drew in a sharp breath like I’d sustained a blow.

“You got a point with this talk?” he asked.

“This is between us,” I explained. “It always will be.”

“How?” Benny asked before he reminded me, “He’s dead.”

“I loved your brother, Benny,” I repeated.

“Yeah. You did. He was lovable. He was a good guy. He loved you too. Fuckin’ besotted. I was glad my brother had that. Then I was fuckin’ pissed he shit all over it.”

And still more goodness from Benny.

I couldn’t take it.

“This can never work between us,” I declared.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because people will see us at Giuseppe’s and they’ll think, ‘There she is, Frankie Concetti. Dating her dead boyfriend’s brother. Latching onto another Bianchi.’”

“Anyone thinks that shit can kiss your ass, and while they’re at it, they can kiss mine.”

He had an answer for everything, but I was losing it, so I leaned in and shouted, “It isn’t right!”

He leaned forward to, his voice rising, and threw out both arms as he asked, “What about the last four days hasn’t been right, Frankie? Tell me. What hasn’t been right? You gigglin’ at Pop bein’ Pop and me bein’ me? You sharin’ words of wisdom with one of Cal’s girls? You in my bed handin’ me shit I like, then cuddlin’ up to me to watch TV? You eatin’ my pie and lovin’ every fuckin’ bite? You sittin’ at the kitchen table havin’ lunch with my ma? Pop havin’ your back when your bitch of a sister comes callin’? What about any of that isn’t right?”

That was when I lost it.

“I don’t want you to ever think I’m with you for any reason other than you’re Benny!” I yelled. “Not ever, Ben. Not ever. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve ever to think something like that!”

As I was yelling, his torso jerked back, even as his chin did it into his neck.

When I was done yelling, he whispered, “What the fuck?”

“You’re right,” I snapped, throwing out a hand. “I came onto you after Vinnie died. You kissed me, but I made the first move.”

“I know that, baby,” he replied, still whispering.

“It was a slutty thing to do.”

“You were drunk.”

“It was slutty.”

“Francesca, you were plastered, outta your mind, totally blotto. So was I. You lost your man, I lost my brother, you’re a woman, I’m a guy, and shit happened seven years ago. It wasn’t right. We both fucked up. We both knew it. And now it’s over.”

“That’s it?” I clipped.

“That’s it,” he returned immediately.

“And you don’t think I’m a slut.”

His body went solid and my heart squeezed hard.

“You think I’m a slut,” I whispered.

“No,” he bit out.

“You do. I can read it, Benny Bianchi. It’s written all over you.”

“Babe—”

I shook my head, looking toward the door, demanding, “Take me home.”

“Babe—”

I looked to him and shrieked, “Take me home, Benny!”

“Frankie, baby. Fuck. I know Vinnie took your virginity.”

I took two steps back and stared.

He watched my feet move and his eyes cut to my face. “Yeah. This would be the awkward, uncomfortable shit we’ll be needin’ to get through.” He lifted a hand, tore it through his fabulous hair, looking to the side and finishing on a mutter, “All a’ this shit.”

“Vinnie told you that?” I whispered, and Benny looked back to me.

“Yeah,” he ground out.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Loved him. He was a good guy until he turned bad. But he had a big fuckin’ mouth.”

“Oh my God,” I repeated.

I wanted to die. I wanted to rewind to the forest and not make it out.

Vinnie talked about me, as in about me.

To Benny!

“Frankie—”

“How much do you know?” I asked.

“Babe—”

I leaned toward him. “How much do you know, Benny Bianchi?”

He answered in a way that seemed he was forcing the words to come out, “I know I got some work to do to get you to enjoy goin’ down on me.”

I looked to the ceiling and cried, “Oh my God!”

“Babe, come here.”

I looked to him and shook my head. “No. Take me home.”

“Frankie, come here.”

“This is humiliating,” I hissed.