Page 35 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
KARINA
“If she pusheshim off the platform into the water before he pushes her, she gets immunity from being eliminated in the next round.”
“Okay, but weren’t they sleeping together in last week’s episode?” I ask.
Frankie drops a palm full of popcorn into her mouth. “Yep.”
“Rude.”
I help myself to more popcorn. The bowl is almost empty at this point, but I’m too lazy to get up and remedy the situation.
“Why would anyone willingly get locked down on a deserted island with twenty assholes out to get you for a payout that the government’s gonna take a huge chunk out of anyway? Seems a bit extreme.”
Frankie shrugs beneath two layers of blankets. All I can clearly see is her baby belly and most of her face. “Money speaks pretty loud to some people. They’ll do anything to get it. Just look at Jessica.”
She snickers and takes another handful but pauses when she looks at me.
“Sorry. I was just trying to make light of the—”
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to shrug it off.
Frankie sighs. “Marco might act like a dick sometimes, but I don’t think he would actually cheat on you…I mean, would he?”
I shrug one shoulder. The last thing I want is to admit that I think he already did.
“It was just a bad dig on my part,” she says, trying to smooth things over. “Besides, Marco is smarter than that… I mean, he’d never…well.” Her voice trails off into a nervous laugh before she turns back to the television. “Oh look, they’re pushing each other.”
“I hope she shoves him right into a shark’s open mouth.”
Frankie side-eyes me, then turns inside her blanket nest. “We’re supposed to be keeping our minds off what our husbands are doing without us and I’ve ruined it. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s hard not to think the worst. She was in the limo waiting for him.”
“She would be,” Frankie says. “But it doesn’t mean anything, except that she’s desperate. She’s always had her sights set on the Bellantis, and it’s been one failure after another for her.”
“He should have kicked her out of the limo before he left,” I say, my voice breaking as I fight back a sob. “But he didn’t. He left with her.”
Technically, both he and Dante left with her. But I don’t say it. Frankie knows. The difference is, she trusts her husband. I don’t.
“Hey, hey, Karina. Listen to me. I’ve been down this same road with Jessica. She and Dante had a thing before I was in the picture, and the second I set foot on Bellanti property, she threw down the gauntlet and made it very clear that I had no chance at winning him over. And look what happened.”
Picking at the edge of the blanket that covers my knees, I shake my head. “Marco isn’t Dante. I’d like to think he’s committed to keeping his vows, but…”
“Believe it or not, Marco is one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met,” Frankie says. “I know he acts like this…adrenaline junkie playboy with no self-control, which, fair enough, his history with all of that isn’t great, but…he’s got a good heart. And he’s your husband now. I’m telling you, Jessica was in that car because she invited herself. She’s a master manipulator, and she’s good at weaseling her way into things and pushing people’s buttons. Trust me.”
The conviction in her voice is ironclad. She sounds so confident that I can’t help but believe her.
“The truth is, women like Jessica will always be lurking around our husbands. They have looks, power, money—it draws gold diggers in like a beacon. But we’re strong enough to handle it, and we’ll always be prepared to fight for our men. Oh, like that! Did you just see that?”
The woman on the competition show smacked her male opponent with a long pole, trying to topple him off the stump he’s perched on.
“We should take notes,” I say with a laugh.
“Oh yes. We totally should.”
Such a roundabout conversation, but I do feel better. It’s been nice cozying up with my new sister-in-law on the couch, watching trashy reality television and talking about our men. It’s hard to believe that soon, there will be the soft coos and demanding cries of a newborn in this house. I know absolutely nothing about babies, but I’m excited to meet Frankie’s.
“Oh, I think she’s going to win! Look at that hit!”
The female contestant wallops the man with her pole. He flails as he tips backward, waving his arms for balance on one foot.
We lean forward to see what happens.
But the screen switches to a commercial break, and just as I’m about to ask Frankie if she wants more popcorn, an ad for the local news comes on. A graphic below the two anchors shows spooling headlines, the font in all caps inside a red stripe.
“What the hell? We were just about to see him get his ass kicked!” Frankie groans.
“We have a breaking news alert,” one of the anchors says, a serious look on her face. “Reports are coming in about an apparent drive-by shooting in Sonoma that resulted in injuries to at least three people on their way to an afterparty at a private residence following a car race at the Sonoma Raceway earlier today.”
Frankie grabs my hand. Both of us lean forward.
The screen cuts to live footage, an overhead shot of a limo parked in front of a security gate on a gravel driveway, the car doors flung open, the rear window glass shattered like diamonds on the black leather of the seat, police flooding the area with their cruiser lights flashing. There is blood on the ground outside the limo’s rear door, and along the sides of the vehicle I see…metallic blue and green stripes. My entire body goes cold.
“No…” Frankie whispers, the color draining from her skin.
“That’s Marco’s limo,” I choke out. “Oh my God, that’s Marco’s limo!”
The news anchor gives a vague description of the suspect’s vehicle—a black SUV, as if they’ll ever catch the shooter—and then finishes with, “Police units and ambulances are still on the scene, but officers have yet to release a statement. We’ll have more as the story develops.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as I jump off the couch. I’m shaking all over.
“What do we do? Jesus, what if it’s Marco who got shot?”
Frankie’s chin trembles. “What if it’s Dante? Fuck! First Livvie, now this. I just can’t.”
We both scramble for our phones. When I dial Marco’s cell, it rings through to voicemail. One look from Frankie says she got the same result. She takes a deep breath and shakes her arms, as if shaking off her emotions. Closing her eyes, she takes another long, deep breath, then nods.
“Sonoma Hospital. Now. I’ll drive,” she says, her voice gone strangely calm.
So this is how a Bellanti wife acts during an emergency.
I nod. “Let’s go.”
I don’t know how we make it in one piece. Frankie speeds the whole way, knuckles white on the wheel, weaving in and out of lanes because traffic is terrible. Neither of us speaks. I can hardly focus on anything except the fact that my husband—and hers—could be dead.
