Vinnie had one life plan: to live large. He just didn’t know how to get that.

So he saw a good thing—the thriving success of his father’s restaurant—and tried to convince Vinnie Senior into franchising the pizzeria, telling his father it would make them millionaires.

That didn’t go over too good. Vinnie Senior was vehemently against it, feeling Vinnie’s Pizzeria was about quality and tradition, both of which would no doubt get lost in an attempt at nationwide franchising. Vinnie Senior went so far as to be disappointed (openly) that his son didn’t get that and would even suggest franchising.

In order to show his father, Vinnie Junior washed his hands of the pizzeria and opened his own sandwich business. He had no idea what he was doing, even though I told him he should learn before he dumped his time and limited money into that kind of thing. In the end, unsurprisingly, it failed.

A dozen other schemes, all half-baked, either died an ugly death or never left the starting gate.

Enter Sal and his business, something that Vinnie took to with scary ease, something I should have read as what it was when it happened.

Through all this, the Bianchis cast their eyes to me as the woman behind the man pushing Vinnie to do stupid shit in order to hand her the world. They didn’t judge outright. They didn’t say shit. But as time went on, I felt the blame I didn’t deserve.

I didn’t say a word.

I didn’t say a word because I loved their pizzeria. I loved what it represented. The solidity of their family. Their history. Their loyalty. Their teasing. Their warmth with each other. Their spice when one of them would get pissed, but it was okay because it was based in love and loyalty and it felt good to be around, rather than shaky and dysfunctional.

So I held on when I knew I should’ve let go. I held on thinking that Vinnie would eventually get his head out of his ass and give me what I wanted. I held on because I loved being a part of the Bianchis, something I always wanted.

And I held on because I loved Vinnie. He was loud and loved life and I understood that. I’d lived it with my parents. I felt comfortable there, even though I knew it was dangerous.

I held on.

Then there was nothing to hold on to.

I was too young to recognize I’d found my father.

I also had no clue at the time that I’d picked the wrong brother. I had no clue I’d be forced to watch from up close, and then afar, as Benny started to settle down.

First, he quit his job in construction and went to work at the pizzeria. This meant he stopped carousing at night because he was working at night.

Then he bought that house.

A row house in the middle of the row, built up from the sidewalk. Front stoop. Back stoop. Nonexistent front yard. Backyard big enough to play catch in and house a two-car garage and another spot for family parking. There were four bedrooms in all the other houses, but Benny’s was three, with a converted master bath. Living room/dining room up front. Kitchen, den, utility room in the back. Small powder room downstairs. Family bathroom upstairs.

It was settled—had been there over a century and the surrounding inhabitants were mostly Italian American families whose relatives had lived in that ’hood for generations and weren’t going to give it up.

Once he got the house, he got rid of his muscle car and bought an SUV.

And he eventually took over the pizzeria from his old man.

He still fucked everything that moved, but I paid attention to the talk. I knew some of the women he took to his bed. I knew exactly when it went from being about getting off to being about finding the right one.

Sure, he would have his times that were just about getting laid.

But Benny started to move down the path that I knew was leading him to find someone who would help him build a solid family and create a good home.

Vinnie never did that. Vinnie had no interest in that path. He only was interested in his path, however murky, and he dragged me along with him.

The problem was, I let him.

On this thought, I sensed movement and cast my eyes down my body to see Ben walking in. He was carrying a pint glass filled with ice and purple liquid in one hand, a little pharmacy pill bottle in the other.

I pushed up to sitting as Benny hit my side of the bed. He put the stuff on the nightstand and leaned into me in order to arrange pillows behind my back. When he was done, I scooted up the bed to rest on the pillows and Ben went to the bottle.

I had the glass by the time he handed me the pill.

I took the medicine and decided not to argue when Ben sat his ass, hip to mine, on the bed.

“Pizza’s comin’,” he stated.

“Okay,” I replied, putting the glass on the nightstand.

“Read your doctor’s notes,” he told me and I looked his way.

That was none of his business and he knew it.

I decided not to share that that irked me, and just how much, and stayed silent.

“Wants you to make a checkup appointment next week. I’ll get Ma on that.”

I did not want Theresa “on that.” I was quite capable of making a phone call to set an appointment with my own freaking doctor.

I decided not to give him that information either.

“He wants you movin’ around. Not much at first, but he wants you active.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“And he says for a few days you can’t shower without someone close.”

Again, we were in dangerous territory. Dangerous for Benny because he was not going to go there. He could kidnap me (because he did). He could put me in his bed (because he did).

But he wasn’t getting anywhere near me in a shower.

“If you think—” I started.

“I don’t,” he cut me off. “But I want Ma around when you do it. I have a friend whose woman had surgery. They weren’t livin’ together then and she’s independent, thinks she can do it all, she decided to take a shower by herself. But when she took off the bandage and saw that shit, she freaked and passed out. Hit her head on the tub. Gave herself a concussion and another hospital stay. So you let Ma help you out and you let her dress your wound. You don’t want that, you got a girl, I’ll let you call her. You don’t let Ma do it or make a call, not fuckin’ with you, Francesca, you’ll shower with me in this room, the door open, and I’ll dress your wound.”

I was about to serve the attitude when it hit me this was an excellent idea.

If I called one of my friends, I could enlist her in helping me escape.

“I’ll phone a friend,” I told him, but I forced it to sound annoyed so he wouldn’t cotton on to my game.

“Good,” he muttered.

“Did you buy my tapioca?” I asked.

His eyes lit with humor, and when they did, I remembered how very much I liked that in a way that made me wonder, if I had a different kind of life—in other words, I’d made smarter decisions in the life I had—if I would ever get used to that. Watching Benny Bianchi’s eyes light with humor. Feeling that light shine on me, making me warm all over, even on the inside. If that would ever become commonplace.

But I’d never have that life.

Still, I knew if I had it, if Ben and I had a year together or fifty of them, I’d go for that light. I’d work for it. I’d do it every day for fifty years.

And I’d never get used to the warmth it would give me.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“A trashy novel?” I pushed.

More humor in his eyes and a, “Fuck no.”

“Benny, TV and magazines aren’t gonna get me very far.”

“Seein’ as you got my company tonight, Ma and me tomorrow, not to mention one of your girls comin’ over to help you shower, you’ll be good. After tomorrow, I’ll send Ma out to buy you some smut. That’ll mean she’ll do it after goin’ to church and lightin’ a candle in aid of your soul, but she’ll do it.”

She would. There was a breach to heal. She’d frown on my smut, but she’d buy it for me.

“I was kinda hopin’ that tonight you’d bring me pizza, leave me alone, and go watch the game downstairs,” I noted.

“You’d be hopin’ wrong since your ass is walkin’ down the stairs to have dinner with me at the kitchen table so you can get some exercise in. After that, we’re watchin’ whatever we watch up here together, in my bed, ’cause I know you. I know you’re fuckin’ crazy. I know a bullet to the belly will not stop you from crawlin’ out the window. So my ass isn’t on that couch downstairs until you fall asleep.”

He intended to sleep on the couch.

This made me feel relief.

It also made me feel a niggle of gloom.

I’d been alone a long time. Living alone. Sleeping alone. Keeping myself to myself.

I knew Ben was dangerous and I knew prolonged exposure to him would increase that danger significantly.

That didn’t change the fact that he was not hard to look at, it was not a hardship to watch him move, I got a kick out of squabbling with him, and it far from sucked waking up with my cheek to his chest, his arm wrapped around me, the feel and smell of him everywhere.

Obviously, I not only didn’t share this, I didn’t let these thoughts show.

Instead, I mumbled, “Whatever. Until you release me from captivity, I’ll go through the motions to avoid the hassle.”

“You’ve never gone through the motions to avoid hassle,” he returned. “You’ve gone through the motions to deflect attention so you can carry out whatever scheme you’re hatchin’.”

I focused on him. I did it intently and with some annoyance I didn’t bother to hide because it was annoying that he knew I was plotting.