Francesca didn't have a chance to scream. The big man had a thick muscular arm around her neck, choking her and her hands and nails frantically scratching him weren't making a difference. A few more moments and she would pass out.
Petey kicked air after the other big man went down and yelled at Francesca to do the same. "Kick him, signorina!" he shouted, afraid to get too close for fear the man holding her at knife point would slit her throat.
She couldn't kick him; he had her in such a tight grasp her feet had left the floor and just when she thought she'd die, she pushed her hands up... behind her head, her nails digging into the behemoth's eyes.
Grabbing his eyes and shrieking at the pain, the big man dropped her and Petey moved in for the kill, his steel-tipped boots felling the giant and leaving permanent and blood filled impressions on his back.
Grasping her by the hand, Petey pulled the Godfather's future wife to his side and they ran for the safety of his car. Without a backward glance, they sped away before the police arrived.
"Who are you?" Francesca asked when she could draw breath, the adrenaline surge making her nauseous. "How did you find me? Giancarlo sent you, didn't he?"
"Yes and no, signorina," Petey replied, happy to be the one who would reap the reward, happier when he looked at the woman his Godfather would marry. She was a spunky one; the Godfather had made a good choice. He smiled at her.
"I am Petey Petrale. Don Batali put out the word that he was worried about you. I was checking all the malls and just got lucky and I have your picture," he added.
"My picture?"
"Si, in my pocket. Il Padre del Dio's lieutenants passed your picture around - everywhere. There is a reward for your safe return to him," he admitted shyly. "I am a poor man; the reward is something I need to move up in life. I have a wife, bambinos. Capisca? You understand?"
Francesca understood. He might have a wife and children and might need the money Giancarlo would offer but the biggest reward would be the favor Giancarlo would return to the man.
"Would... would my favor be important to you, Signori Petrale?"
"Being favored by the future wife of the Godfather is a very good thing," he answered slowly, puzzled by her words. "Is there something I can do for you, signorina?"
"Yes."
~~~
Petey's wife was warm and welcoming when her husband arrived with the young and beautiful signorina. She herself had an arranged marriage - a good one, but an arranged one nevertheless. She understood Francesca's concerns. On the one hand, she was a lucky girl to be chosen to be the Godfather's wife; on the other... this was America where women had choices she had not had in Italy.
"Come, you must eat," she bustled Francesca into the kitchen where her children were playing. They were curious about their guest and drawn to her side and in return, Francesca found solace in their antics and their need to take turns on her lap.
Petey and his wife smiled at the picture they made; Francesca was a natural with children and would make a good mother for the many bambinos they were certain she and Don Batali would have.
~~~
"What do you mean she needs a few days?" Giancarlo's sharp retort was loud enough for Petey's wife to hear the Godfather though she stood several feet away from the phone her husband held to his ear.
Softer conversation continued, Petey explaining, Giancarlo muttering, Petey's wife wringing her hands, and Francesca blissfully unaware as she napped with Petey's children, exhausted from her ordeal.
"I am not unaware of the manner in which you saved mia amore from untold harm," Giancarlo said in gratitude. "And I will reward you richly for your swift action and your courage, but I want her back. You do not have to bring her to me," he continued. "I will come for her."
"Don Batali..." Petey began. "If you will forgive my blunt words, I would beg you to let the girl stay with us a day or two, no more. Let her taste whatever it is she seeks. She will be a willing bride... otherwise, I fear things will not be as harmonious as you would wish. I hope my words do not insult you, Padre Del Dio Godfather," he said with great respect.
Giancarlo knew the man was right. It galled him. He could drive to the man's house and get Francesca this very minute... He would show her who was in charge. He would... She successfully evaded me for two days... almost came to harm... I'm going to burn her butt!
He knew she would be safe with little Petey Petrale. The man had infinite courage and had proven his loyalty; it was time to find a permanent place for him in the Batali familia.
"I will come for her in a few days," he said quietly. "Keep her from harm."
~~~
"She doesn't want to marry me," Giancarlo told his mother at dinner that evening.
"Yes, she does," his mother assured him.
"She ran from me," he replied.
"She wants you to chase her," Mama Batali nodded, understanding Francesca's doubts, remembering her own doubts the first time Giancarlo's father had spanked her. She had run from him but he had given chase, informed her that he was the only man for her and forced her hand in marriage by implying that he had already slept with her. Her father had been outraged; they had married a few short weeks later and it had been a very good and loving marriage cut short by his untimely death.
"She says she needs a few days alone," Giancarlo bemoaned, an empty feeling consuming him that she might not want him.
"You miss her, don't you?" his mother smiled, thinking it was a good thing that Francesca was not the sweet compliant girl who would always do his bidding. He needed a challenge, not a woman to be ignored when he tired of her and he would tire of her if she was a doormat.
"She is to be my wife; she should be with me," was the response. "I am the head of the house, the head of la familia. I am Godfather! She should respect that!"
Like father, like son, Mama Batali mused as she rose from her chair and patted her son's hand in passing. "Respect comes from one of two sources, mio bambino," she told him. "You can be respected out of fear of retaliation or you can be respected because you have earned it. Make sure you know which you want from your wife, from your life-long companion and mate."
He grasped his mother's hand before she could step away from the table. "Were you born with wisdom, mia madre? Will I ever be as wise as you?"
"You are very wise and very good at what you do, mio bambino, but when it comes to the one who would share your life, you are like the professional guerriero warrior with a drawn sword, always looking for battle. You are strong and you are fierce and you may win each and every battle. Be careful not to lose the war."
I've been too hard on Francesca, he thought. I've rushed her into this relationship. A long sigh escaped as he pondered his mother's words. He wanted Francesca like a child wants an immediate treat and has a tantrum when he doesn't get that treat when he wants it. She's young yet. She needs time to adjust to this. It's too much for a young woman to take. I need to be more patient with her.
He felt better about their future happiness when he analyzed his actions. His confidence grew as he sat there, pondering what he had done, what he should do to make their relationship stronger and more harmonious. He remembered he had planned to woo her, court her, wine and dine her and give her frequent gifts, gifts that would let her know he was thinking of her even when he wasn't in her company.
And he remembered... her sweet mouth... her very sweet body... the way she felt in his arms... her budding sensuousness... and he grew hard with desire.
"Francesca," he murmured, wanting her, picturing her in his arms.
Then he remembered... her sassy mouth, her impulsive behavior, her defiance... and that she had put herself in harm's way and by the grace of God and only the timely intervention of Petey Petrale... "Sto andando bruciarsi la vostra estremità! I am going to burn your butt!" he muttered, standing, ready to bring her to heel, to do battle!
Mama Batali arched a brow at her son's stormy departure from the house. It had taken him close to forty minutes to make his decision. She chuckled. Her Gianni thought Francesca would give in to his macho ways but if she had been right about the bella ragazza beautiful girl, there was more to her than her outer beauty. She picked up the phone to call Angelina and tell her what beautiful high-spirited grandchildren they were going to have one day.