The days and weeks that followed were harmonious in the Batali household. Francesca was more at ease by Giancarlo's side, participating more fully in the role of the Godfather's wife. She listened to the women who occasionally sought her out, was noncommittal at their requests and respectful and deferential to the women who were older than she was. In that, she had Angelina to thank; her adopted mother had ingrained respect into her and it had been an easy lesson for Francesca to learn. Listening to her elders with patience had not only been respectful, it had been returned ten-fold. Receiving positive attention from adults was something Francesca had never experienced until she came to live with Angelina and it had become a welcome change in her life.
She always told Giancarlo of the requests made to her and let him decide what he chose to do about it, if anything. In his attempt to modernize his views and be more accepting, he often asked her opinion on matters and was pleased to have these discussions with her. More and more, Francesca was the helpmate he hoped she would be and having her at his side showed the world that he was a legitimate and successful businessman rather than a notorious leader of a crime family.
And his businesses were legitimate... except for the brothels... and the once-in-a-while buried body... a fact of life among the leading Familia of the region.
~~~
As much as Mama Batali and Angelina wanted grandchildren, neither pressed Francesca or Giancarlo to have children. When they were ready to have children, they would have children was Mama Batali's philosophy. Angelina had stronger thoughts - when God was ready to bless them, it would happen.
"It's not as if we have to wait and see if there is a new star in the East," Angelina had quipped one afternoon when she and the Batali matriarch were having lunch. "According to Francesca, Giancarlo cannot keep his hands off of her for too long."
Laughter bubbled up in both women, both of whom had witnessed the fierce and handsome Godfather practically paw his wife when he was anxious to get her alone. "The entire household knows that my Gianni is head over heels in love with your feisty ragazza girl," she told her long-time friend. "And what a good match we made! Those two were meant for each other."
Angelina agreed, happy to see Francesca married to a man who adored her. "But I have to say that I hope the good Lord blesses them soon. I would like to bounce a bambino on my lap before I get much older and don't have the strength to do so."
"Since when did you get older so fast?" Mama Batali scoffed at the woman who was a few years younger than she. "The way you keep both of your lovers happy... I believe you will have more than enough strength to keep up with a bambino."
The women embraced when they parted ways, both content with their lot in life.
~~~
Francesca wasn't sure she was content. Giancarlo loved her, gave her everything and what did she give him in return? True, she knew she probably loved him, was extraordinarily fond of him, enjoyed his company immensely, missed him at odd times in the day and sought his arms every night. Was that love?
She felt an urgent need to give him more.
Giancarlo was content. He had a beautiful and loving wife who was a sensuous lover and every day, she was maturing into the companion he wanted. He would move heaven and earth to keep her happy and was astounded that he wanted her in his arms more often than sane men should want their wives. He was more than aware that she was his Achilles heel. Was he too consumed with her?
Perhaps... if she had a child...
~~~
"A bambino in the house would be nice," he said casually when they retired for the evening. "What do you think?"
"When it happens, it happens," Francesca replied, then turned to her husband with a small look of dismay. "I have done nothing to prevent having one," she said softly, wondering if he thought she had.
"I know," he smiled tenderly, pulling her into his embrace. "I did not mean that you had. The Catholic Church frowns on artificial birth control, bambina, and I would gladly fill our home with many bambinos if God blessed us with them."
"Our children will be raised Catholic, si?"
"Si."
"Even though I am not a believer?"
"Si."
"I will not oppose you on this," she said quietly, but I will ask one favor."
"Che cosa? What?" he asked. "If it is in my power to grant that favor, it is yours. You know that."
"If I become incinto pregnant, I do not want a Catholic doctor or Catholic midwife and I do not want my child born in a Catholic hospital."
Giancarlo, the devout Catholic, arched a brow.
"If I say no, bambina?"
"I will not bear a child," she said softly.
"If there is a choice to be made between you and a babe," he said, pulling her into a tighter embrace. "I choose you. In that, I will go against the Church. Siete cosi preziosi a me You are so precious to me. Siete la mia tesoro. You are my treasure. I will do everything in my power to keep you well, to keep you safe. My word, bambina, my solemn word."
"Grazie Thank you."
"Now..." he murmured as his mouth sought the sweet spot between her breasts, his hands wandering to silky thighs. "Let us see what we can do about making our first bambino."
"It might be a girl," she teased. "La bambina."
"Una ragazza del bambino bella come la sua madre, A baby girl beautiful like her mother," he agreed. "I will love her and spoil her and she will be la mia principessa piccola my little princess. Siete... You..." he groaned softly as he pushed between her thighs. "Siete la mia regina. You are my queen."
Several days later, she was dismayed to discover that her monthly cycle had arrived on time - no bambino in the making. He consoled her with gentle arms, rocking her on his lap and murmuring his love. Later, he took her into the shower with him, his hands stroking her lower back to ease her cramps, his hard shaft pressing into her belly.
"I'm going to make love to you, bambina," he told her, two fingers slipping into her to pull the tampon from her body.
"Gianni!" she gasped, shocked at his fingers probing her most intimate place at this time of the month.
"Francesca," he chuckled. "I have kissed every inch of you. Removing this barrier is nothing to be ashamed of and..." his voice growing huskier with each word, "our loving will feel good. You will see."
She didn't know what to say; Angelina hadn't told her this could happen. They had been married for months and this was the first time he had touched her like this during her cycle. She was uncertain but knew Gianni loved her... she trusted him not to hurt her.
He turned her... an arm around her waist, the other under her full breasts... lifting her slightly. "Relax mia amore," he murmured as her thighs parted and he fitted himself within her. "Bambina, mia preziosi, my precious, he groaned when her inner walls tightened around him.
Slow gentle thrusts soon had Francesca moaning, the feel of him inside her comfortable and full and delicious. She pushed back into him, her hands braced on the shower walls as his arms surrounded her, his body joined to hers. The shower enclosure was hot and steamy, their bodies wet and warm and slick with their need. Her smaller form was enveloped in his larger one, her head alternating between leaning forward with her brow on the tiles and rocking back to lean on his shoulder.
Giancarlo's mouth lingered on her neck, his breath hot and hurried against her skin, each thrust into her core bringing soft satisfied growls to his lips. Her own moans of pleasure went from her lips to his groin and he thought there was no greater joy than loving this woman he had married.
Later, when they were abed, he held her while she slept and vowed to continue loving her regardless of her monthly cycle. Eventually, God would bless them with a child. For now, they were blessed to have each other.
In the morning, Francesca was irked to discover that she had not protected herself while she slept; the bed was streaked with her flux. She cursed... "Maledizione! Damn! Maledicalo al hell! Damnit to hell!
"What?" Giancarlo opened startled eyes when he heard Francesca's sweet voice cursing like a fishwife.
"This is *your* fault!" she hissed, angry at the stains on the bed sheets. "You did this!" she yelled and grabbing her pillow, swatted him with it... hard.
He arched a brow.