The only time Beth saw Frank Bassalino was on Sundays. It appeared to be the only day he spent at home. Weekdays he was up and away before anyone was awake, returning late in the evenings after the household was asleep.
Sundays he spent with his children. In the morning he took them to the park, then home for a huge lunch of various pastas that Anna Maria spent the morning preparing. In the afternoon he played with them, absorbing himself in their interests. Cars and trains with the two boys, perhaps a game with his six-year-old daughter—his obvious favorite—and complicated building stacks with the two-year-old.
He was a good father, if you could call devoting one day a week to his children being a good father.
Anna Maria was a placid, almost stupid girl. She had no particular desire to learn English. Frank and the children conversed with her in Italian, and since they were her whole life, what was the point in learning to speak to other people? She spent her days baking, sewing, and writing letters to her family in Sicily. It was a rare day when she left the house.
Beth found the children to be well-behaved and easy to manage. She gave them an hour’s coaching in English a day, and they seemed to enjoy it, even the little ones. There wasn’t much else to do. The older children went to school, and the two-year-old slept in the afternoons.
After two weeks she met with Cass. ‘I don’t think it’s going to work,’ she said despairingly. ‘I never get to see him. And when I do he doesn’t even notice me.’
Cass had always thought Beth wasn’t the type to be involved in the revenge. She agreed. ‘It’s a crazy idea anyway. You should get out. We’ll find someone else to take care of Frank.’
Beth thought longingly of the commune, her own child, Chyna, and her boyfriend, Max. It was tempting to say yes to Cass, pack her things, and leave. But that would be admitting defeat, and she wanted to accomplish just as much as the others. She had to.
‘I’m not quitting,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll get to him somehow. How are Lara and Rio making out?’
‘Everything takes time,’ Cass replied evenly, wishing she had Margaret to turn to for advice. ‘I’m meeting with Dukey tonight. I’m sure he’s going to agree with me about you. Honestly, Beth, you shouldn’t be involved.’
‘Why not?’ Beth’s face flushed. ‘Don’t forget I’m Margaret’s sister. I want to do something just as much as the others. And I can—you’ll see.’
Cass sighed. ‘You aren’t cut out for this. I said so from the beginning.’
‘Well, I’m involved now,’ Beth said stubbornly. ‘And I have no intention of stopping until the job is done.’
* * *
That evening Beth waited. She put on a long white cotton nightdress, frilled and virginal. Then she brushed her straight blond hair loose. She looked very young and appealing.
The bedroom she occupied overlooked the front of the house, and she waited patiently by the window. At two in the morning a car drew up with three men inside. Frank and another man got out and walked over to the front door. Once Frank was inside his bodyguard returned to the car, and after a few moments it drove off. Frank was safely home.
Beth remained at the window, her mouth dry with anticipation. She knew Frank’s routine so well. First he would go to his dressing room, where he would change into his pajamas and robe. Then into the big, old-fashioned kitchen, where he would make himself coffee and toast.
Another car moved slowly past the house. Its headlights dipped; two men were inside. Frank seemed to have bodyguards to look after the bodyguards.
Still she waited, not moving, shivering slightly. What if she went to the kitchen and he wanted her? What then? She didn’t know how to maneuver people, pull the strings. She wasn’t like Lara or Rio.
Frank Bassalino was a hard, strong man. How did one destroy a man like that?
Thoughts of Margaret drifted through her head. And of Enzio Bassalino—the man who’d ordered Margaret to be assassinated.
Beth knew she had to avenge her sister’s death. And she knew exactly what had to be done.
* * *
Frank was brooding and thoughtful. There was trouble all over. The cops were tightening up, more money or further harassment. The Crown gang were causing disturbance; something would have to be done about those sons of bitches. On top of everything else, Enzio was driving him crazy, phoning to complain about this and that. The old man must have spies everywhere. Enzio Bassalino was supposed to be retired; why the fuck didn’t he keep his nose out of business that wasn’t his anymore?
There was also the protection problem. Several restaurants and clubs under the ‘security’ of Frank Bassalino and his organization were being leaned on to put their faith in other directions. There had been a few unfortunate incidents, and the owners of certain establishments were beginning to wonder why they should pay protection to Frank Bassalino, and the cops, and still get hit.
Frank suspected a black group headed by narcotics king Bosco Sam was behind the trouble.
Rumor had it Bosco Sam had big plans for muscling in on Bassalino and Crown territories.
Frank had sent out word he was prepared to meet with Bosco Sam to discuss things.
In the meantime the clubs and restaurants were persuaded it was in their best interests to keep up their payments. It was a problem Frank was confident he could deal with on his own.
At home there was Anna Maria, with her belly so swollen a man couldn’t even get a good fuck anymore, and Frank didn’t like to go elsewhere. The last time had been bad. Esther’s place, a new girl. Esther knew what he was like, so he figured the hooker would be prepared. She was a black-eyed girl, full-breasted and meaty-thighed. He’d turned her over and rammed it to her from behind. A slow count of ten, then wham—he’d pulled her head back and started to slap her, squeezing her breasts, hands paddling her buttocks.
As he got rougher the whore began to struggle and fight back. He enjoyed this action until she started to scream. Her nose was bleeding, and the whole thing was a mess. The bitch was yelling for the cops, and it took Esther some time to calm her down.
Frank left, angry and moody. It hadn’t been satisfactory. That had been two weeks previously, and now he would have to make do with Anna Maria.
Ah, in the beginning his wife had been so sweet. Ripe and lovely. Young and untouched.
As he was thinking this, Beth entered the kitchen. She was like a dream come true.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Bassalino,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I didn’t realize anyone was up. I couldn’t sleep and thought I would make some warm milk.’
‘Warm milk is for old maids,’ he said slowly. Christ! He’d never realized how delicate and pretty she was.
With a nervous laugh she took the milk carton from the fridge.
He watched her as she bent to take a pan from the cupboard and began to pour the milk into it. She wore no makeup. He liked that. Women who plastered on the gunk always reminded him of hookers. Hot, dirty tarts in black bras and garter belts. The kind his father liked. The kind his father had introduced him to when he was thirteen years of age.
‘The job workin’ out?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you, Mr. Bassalino.’ She concentrated on stirring the milk, a curtain of fine blond hair falling across her face.
‘The kids treatin’ you okay?’
‘Yes, they’re lovely children.’ She turned to look at him, and he got a whiff of virgin skin.
At that moment Beth knew everything was set. If only she could go through with it and hide her revulsion.
‘Uh… you’re a nice-looking girl,’ he said. ‘How come you’re hidin’ away watchin’ someone else’s kids?’
‘I enjoy leading a quiet life, Mr. Bassalino.’
‘You do, huh?’ He stared at her reflectively.
The milk began to boil. Beth watched it bubble and froth to the top of the pan until it finally cascaded over the top and onto her hand.
She screamed out in genuine pain.
‘What the f—’ Frank started to say. Then he saw what she’d done and smothered her hand in great globs of butter.
‘I’m sorry.’ She stared at him with very blue vulnerable eyes. ‘I guess I wasn’t concentrating on what I was doing.’
They were close, so close that the very smell of him made her want to run. Instead she forced herself to lean even nearer.
Without warning he picked her up, holding her under the arms the way you lift a child, and commenced to kiss her—slowly at first, and then stronger, harder.
She didn’t say anything, allowing her lips to stay dry and closed, puckering them only slightly.
‘Christ!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re so light, like one of the kids. Shit! You don’t even know how to kiss. How old are you, anyway?’
She was a captive in his arms. He had such enormous strength she felt he could crush her to bits if he wanted to.
‘I’m twenty,’ she whispered.
‘Have you ever had a man?’
Valiantly she attempted to push away from him. ‘Mr. Bassalino—please—you’re hurting me. Let go.’
He released her abruptly. ‘You know what I want to do?’ he said thickly. ‘You know what, honey?’
She nodded, lowering her eyes.
There was no stopping him now. ‘We’ll go to your room,’ he said gruffly. ‘Nobody’s gonna know. You ever done it before?’
He was hoping she would say no. He hadn’t had a virgin since Anna Maria. In fact, the only other women he had been with had all been prostitutes.
‘I’m not a virgin,’ she said, the rehearsed lines flowing easily. ‘Once before, when I was very young—only twelve—my stepfather came to my room. He was drunk. I didn’t understand what he was doing. Later I had a baby. There’s been no one since.’
Frank digested this information silently. It appealed to him. One time with a drunken relative, it hardly counted. And only twelve at the time.
He slid his hand beneath the bodice of her nightgown.
‘Mr. Bassalino, I can’t.’ Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘Your wife, the children, it’s not right…’
‘I’ll pay you,’ he said, watching her shrewdly. ‘One hundred dollars—cash. How about that?
Shaking her head, she said, ‘I don’t think you understand. I do find you attractive, but the circumstances are wrong. I’m employed by you. I have your trust and your wife’s. If we—well, you know—how could I face myself tomorrow?’
He was impressed with the girl’s honesty. He didn’t come across many people who had scruples; it made a refreshing change. However, it still didn’t solve the problem of what he had for her. ‘How about if I fire you?’ he suggested.
‘That’s a silly idea. Besides, I need the job.’
He was fascinated by her soft blond hair, virgin hair. He had an urge to wrap it around his feet—other things. He wanted her now. Nobody got away with refusing Frank Bassalino.
‘What do you want?’ he asked thickly. Experience told him there was always a price.
‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘I knew when I first saw you I shouldn’t have taken the job. You’re the first man I sensed was different. I knew you’d understand.’ She paused, playing him like a fish. ‘You’re also the first man I’ve felt anything for.’ Her eyes were downcast. ‘But you’re married. So it’s impossible.’
‘Nothin’s impossible,’ he said, wrapping her up in his big arms again, and smothering her with kisses while his hands roamed over her body.
She struggled—a futile act; he was even stronger than the men who’d raped her.
Exhaustion overcame her, and a feeling of relief. It would happen soon, it was what he wanted, and it was exactly what she had planned.
She hardly noticed him carrying her to her room. All the while he was mumbling, ‘It’s gonna be all right. Nobody’s gonna know.’
She was glad she’d smoked a joint earlier; it had certainly taken the edge off things, made her as relaxed as she could be under the circumstances.
Roughly pulling off her nightgown, he locked the door and struggled out of his clothes.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he promised, crawling all over her. ‘It won’t be like before. You’d better believe it.’
Recoiling from the weight of his body, she shut her eyes as he pushed her legs apart. And then she felt him, and the tension slipped away, and she almost smiled.
Frank Bassalino was endowed with no greater gift than a ten-year-old boy.