White Lines III (38 page)

By the time he arrived at his former mother-in-law's house and sensed a similar sadness in the air, Frankie had made up his mind that he wouldn't stay long. But the moment Bria saw her father walk in the door, she got excited. It seemed that his consistent visits over the past few weeks had paid off. Bria had insisted that he sit at her little table with her and eat dinner. It was the first time that she was happy to see him, and it made Frankie smile so hard that his cheeks hurt. Camille and Eli encouraged him to stay and indulge her, and Frankie had relented and enjoyed the best Thanksgiving dinner he'd had in years, as well as the company of his baby girl. It was strangely like old times spending the holiday with Camille and her family—although watching Eli steal kisses from Camille when he thought no one was looking was somehow unsettling for Frankie. He still thought of Camille as his own, though he knew that he'd forfeited those privileges long ago.

He had been surprised when he got the call from Gillian after dessert. She called from an unfamiliar number, taking no chances in the wake of the crew's legal troubles. She asked him to meet her at
Conga
in Midtown Manhattan, and he had happily come to meet her there. Gillian was in a tough position, and they had to be careful not to be seen together with all of the police surveillance lately. They were taking advantage of the holiday, the late hour, and the familiar location to finally have a chance to talk now that all of the smoke was beginning to clear.

“I thought you might be lonely,” she said. She looked him in the eye. “The holidays are a tough time for both of us. Me, without my father and Baron; you without your brother. I figured we could find some comfort in one another considering that we've both lost so much.”

Gillian's eyes were downcast, her voice soft and sad. “I can't believe Baron is gone,” she said. “I think about the holidays … what it used to be like.” She shook her head.

Frankie understood completely. Everything had fallen apart. He nodded. It was true that the two of them were existing in fractured families. He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “I spent time with Bria today. For once, she was happy to have me around.” He looked at Gillian seriously. “That wasn't always the case. I was a stranger to her, really. But since the raids, I guess … I put some things in perspective. Started spending more time with my daughter, and now we're finally building the relationship we should have had all along.”

“That's great, Frankie,” Gillian said. “It's never too late for a new beginning.”

Frankie's smile faded a little. “Is that true for us, too?”

Gillian sipped her water rather than respond right away. She was grateful when her mother approached the table, at that moment.

“Frankie!” Mayra's smile outshined the candle flickering in the center of their table.

Frankie rose to greet her, wrapping Mrs. Nobles in a warm hug.

“How are you, Mayra?” he asked, smiling down at her.

“I'm good. I'm praying that everything works out for you, too.” Mayra was no stranger to the turmoil going on within the family. “I'm glad you stopped by today. Gigi and I had an early meal together this afternoon, and then we came in here and got to work.” She touched him gingerly on the arm. “I'm glad you're here, Frankie.” She smiled at her daughter. “So now, Gigi can have some time to relax.”

Gillian smiled back at her. She was happy that the two of them had worked through their differences. It was nice having her mother back in her life again.

Mayra gestured toward Frankie's seat. “Sit down. I'm going to send Javier over with a bottle of wine.”

Frankie thanked her, and sat back down as she hurried off. Gillian smiled after her mother.

“You're not the only one whose parental relationship is improving,” she said. “Me and ole girl are closer than ever these days.”

Frankie laughed. “If she heard you call her ‘ole girl,' she'd be pissed.”

“I know!” Gillian laughed in agreement.

“That's good, though,” Frankie said, nodding. “It's long overdue. Your father would want it that way.”

Gillian's smile faded, hearing Frankie mention her father. Javier arrived then with a bottle of 2008 Emilio Moro red wine. Ceremoniously, he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine in both of their glasses. He set the bottle down on the table and hurried off, leaving them shrouded in silence and candlelight.

Frankie took a sip of his wine and sat back in his seat. “He'd be so proud of you. You realize that, don't you?”

She nodded. “He always was. No matter what.”

Frankie agreed. “Doug Nobles was a great man. He raised a great daughter.” Frankie held up his glass as if to toast. Gillian slowly raised hers and they clinked their glasses together.

Gillian's eyes bore into his over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. Setting her glass down, she licked her lips, frowning slightly. “My father loved you, Frankie.”

He nodded. “I know he did. I loved him, too. The man practically raised me.” Frankie had nothing but the utmost respect for Doug Nobles.

“He told me once that he had failed with Baron,” he continued. “His only son, and he was nothing like him. Doug was strong and in control. He was honorable. He commanded respect without being resented for it. Baron was nothing like that. Baron was weak. He thought he should be respected just because he was Doug's son. That was never enough. With you, Doug felt like he got it right.”

Gillian didn't respond.

Frankie silently chastised himself for speaking so negatively about her brother, who was so newly deceased. He stared at her for several long moments. “I still love you, you know?”

Gillian met his gaze. She nodded. “I know.”

Frankie waited, hopeful that she would return the sentiment. When she sat silently, he sighed. “We had a good thing, Gigi. Don't act like we didn't.”

“It was good while it lasted,” she deadpanned.

Frankie didn't respond, but his expression was grim.

“Things got twisted. We lost focus, and let our hormones take over. A lot of people got hurt. We never should have crossed that line.”

Frankie disagreed. “Everything was fine until Camille got pregnant. Once Bria was born, you…” He paused and looked at Gillian. He didn't want to rehash the past. “We were good before that.”

She stared back at him, searching his demeanor for answers to questions she hadn't asked yet. “Is that what you think?”

He nodded. “It's what I know.”

“Is that why you took it out on them? On Camille and Bria? Because you think they're the reason why we didn't work?”

Frankie shook his head, but then stopped and thought about it for a moment. “Maybe … at first. Maybe that's why I wasn't there in the beginning.” He shrugged. “But really I think it had more to do with me not having a good example with my own father. But I'm changing that.”

“Everything is different now, Gigi.” Frankie leaned in closer. Although the restaurant was nearly empty, he still kept his voice low so that only she could hear him. “I'm about to disappear.”

Gillian's brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? You can't go anywhere. You're out on bail.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but I have a plan. I'm not waiting around for them to lock me up. I'm getting out of here.”

Gillian stared at him, speechless. After a few moments of silence she sighed and stared at her hands, which were wrapped around the stem of her glass.

Frankie watched her. “Do you still love me, Gigi?”

She looked away. The years had taken their toll on her relationship with Frankie. Once inseparable best friends, she had begun to lose respect for Frankie. His handling of his marriage's demise and Camille's pregnancy, Misa's trial … it had clouded the lens through which she viewed him. Still, she couldn't deny that she still had some strong feelings for him.

She sighed. “You'll always be special to me,” she said. “But I know that we could never go back to the way it was.”

“Why not? Everything is all fucked up now, so what have we got to lose?”

Frankie reached across the table and took her hand in his. She didn't pull away.

“Come with me,” Frankie whispered, anxiously.

Gillian shook her head, frowning. “Frankie, I can't just pick up and leave town for good. Neither can you.”

He nodded, and his eyes widened as if their intensity might convince her otherwise. “We can! What if we just pack a bag and leave tonight? We don't have shit to lose.”

Gillian shook her head again. “What about your daughter, Frankie? You just finished telling me how you're finally bonding with her. Now you want to just up and leave her behind?”

Frankie let out a long breath and sat back in his seat, seemingly defeated. “I can come back and visit her. Or I can send for her to come to us.” He shrugged. “I don't know how, but I'll see her.” Frankie watched Gillian's facial expression and sensed that she was apprehensive. “Listen, I have to get out of here, Gigi. Come with me.”

Gillian shook her head. “Frankie, have you lost your mind?” A look of genuine concern was etched on her face.

“Listen—”

“No,
you
listen!” Gillian spoke in a hard whisper, and Frankie could tell she meant business. “Nobody's going anywhere. Shit is bad right now. I'll give you that. But running would only make it worse.” She sighed, frustrated. She took his hand in hers across the table. “I care about you, Frankie. I don't know what the future holds for us. But I can't stand by and watch you run away.”

Frankie looked like he was on the verge of tears. Gillian studied his face, aware that he was struggling to keep his composure.

“Frankie, what's wrong? What aren't you telling me?”

He shook his head and avoided her gaze. He watched a couple chatting with Mayra as they made their exit. As he watched the couple, Gillian watched him.

“Let's go downstairs where we can have some privacy,” she suggested softly.

Frankie looked at her, his eyes searching hers. For the first time in months, he felt a glimmer of hope that Gillian might be willing to be more than business associates. The thought of being alone with her made his heart leap in his chest. He nodded.

Gillian waved Javier over. “I'm stepping away for a little while,” she said to him. “Let my mother know that I'll be back in a few.”

Javier nodded, and collected the wine bottle and their glasses. Gillian led the way to the back of the restaurant and down three flights of stairs heading to the quiet and seclusion of the wine cellar. As they reached the landing, Frankie grabbed her from behind and spun her around to face him. Caught off guard, Gillian gasped.

Frankie covered her mouth with his own. Gillian didn't protest. Their tongues intertwined as they kissed each other passionately. Frankie's jeans could barely contain his erection as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, and tilted her head back. A soft moan escaped her as he licked and sucked her neck. Frankie's touch, his scent, his lips were all so blissfully familiar to Gillian. Reluctantly, she pulled away, took his hand in hers and led him down the long, dark hallway to the wine cellar.

Frankie was familiar with this room. The ultra-exclusive space had been the venue for many of the crew's big meetings over the years. The large room was insulated to protect the many expensive bottles of wine lining the walls and shelves.

Gillian led the way to the back where a sturdy, round oak wood table stood near one corner. He scooped her up into his strong arms easily, and sat her on top of the table. Gillian spread her legs apart and Frankie positioned himself between them. His lips found hers again, and his erection grew stronger as she tore at his clothes, peeling him out of his blazer and frantically tearing at the buttons on his shirt. She ran her fingers across his chest and gripped his back. Eagerly, she unbuckled his belt while his hands slid beneath the turtleneck she wore. She unfastened his jeans and pulled them down, then his boxers. Boldly, she took his hard dick in her hands and felt it grow even harder, until it felt like steel in her hands. Frankie closed his eyes and let out a sigh of pure ecstasy. Gillian's touch still had the power to make him weak.

Suddenly, she stopped and pushed him backward so hard that he practically fell, tripping on his pants around his ankles. Frankie's eyes flew open in shock, and he stood speechless, staring at the silencer on the end of the Taurus 9 millimeter in his face; confused until he saw Biggs holding the gun, and it finally occurred to him that he had been set up.

Gillian stood up from the table and wiped her mouth, her expression one of pure disgust as if she had just been kissing a monster. Frankie's mind moved in slow motion. Aware that his erection was gone and that his limp penis hung sadly between his legs, he reached down to pull up his pants.

“Don't move,” Biggs warned.

Frankie froze.

“Step out of your clothes, your shoes, everything,” Gillian ordered him, calmly. Gillian's voice had the cold ease and nonchalance of a doctor instructing her patient to disrobe. Frankie stood speechless, his gaze alternating between Biggs and Gillian. Slowly, he did as he was told, aware that his only chance at getting out of this was to talk his way out.

“Gigi, what's going on?” he asked, although he already knew. His heart galloped in his chest, and sweat pooled all over his body, despite the cool temperature of the wine cellar.

Gillian calmly pulled up one of the leather chairs surrounding the table she had just been spread eagle on. She placed it in front of Frankie. “Sit,” she ordered.

Nervously, Frankie sat down while Biggs kept the gun trained directly on him. Frankie looked up at him. “Biggs, you know me—”

“Don't talk,” Gillian sternly. “None of us knows you. Not really. Do we, Frankie?”