“Hello, this is Alexis Wright,” I answer.
“Hello, Alexis Wright. This is Clara Fitzgerald.”
I chuckle. “Hello, Ms. Fitzgerald. How can I help you today?”
“Someone wanted to say hi,” she explains. “Harry, want to say hi?”
“Hi, Momma,” Harry says, almost shyly.
“Hey, baby!” I grin, though my heart aches a little. I’m not used to being away from Harry. Jessica is a great nanny, but I feel much more comfortable with Auntie Clara looking after him during the day, and it gives Clara something to do other than hours of yoga and self-reflection.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask.
“We’re making cookies with Victoria,” Clara says. “They’re in the oven right now. They smell good, don’t they, little guy?”
“I’m hungry!” Harry complains.
Clara and I both laugh.
“Are you still okay to bring him into the city for lunch?” I ask.
“Yes, indeed,” Clara replies. She adds in a husky voice, “Angelo said he’d drive and hang with me while I wait. He says he knows the best falafel truck in the city.”
I am about to remind Clara that Angelo makes bank, and he can afford to take her somewhere a lot nicer for lunch, but then I remember who I’m talking to. Clara cares about fancy grub and money about as much as I care about yoga. Also, when did I get so picky? I guess I’ve developed expensive tastes.
“Be gentle on him,” I say instead.
“Absolutely not,” she snorts. “He’s a big, strong mafioso. I reckon he can take whatever I put out.”
“You make a good point,” I say with a laugh.
“How is work going?” Clara asks.
I spin my chair to face the wide window. “You know what? Really good. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and it felt good publishing that article and spreading the word about purple heroin, but I’ve been able to do more good over the past two weeks than I did working on that for months. I control a lot of funding, and I feel like I’m really making a difference. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon to finalize the reopening of all the rehab centers Gabriel closed a couple of months ago.”
“I’m glad,” Clara says. I hear beeping in the background, and she adds, “Whoops, that’s the timer. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“See you soon!”
Clara hangs up, and I spin back to face my desk and hang up the phone. Then, with a happy sigh, it’s back to work.
Gabriel let me pick out the restaurant for lunch, and I chose a historic bistro near Central Park with a stained-glass domed ceiling and reputedly the best clam chowder in the city. As we walk through the front door, I chuckle to myself, thinking it’s certainly no food truck.
The hostess must recognize us as she leads us to our table right away, which is already set up with a high chair. Gabriel frowns at his watch once we’re seated.
“They’re late,” he mutters. “If she and Angelo are wasting our time canoodling…”
I laugh. “You need to relax. They’ll be here any minute.”
I can tell Gabriel doesn’t like the fact that Angelo and Clara are spending time together, and I sense it’s because Clara is the new wild card in his life. He has absolutely no control over her, and she has more and more sway over Angelo every day. Gabriel doesn’t like to share. He’ll get over it, though. I’ll make sure he does. I’ve never seen Clara so happy.
As if on cue, Clara breezes through the dining room toward us, toting our son. Angelo walks a step behind, keeping a wary eye out for threats. That’s one of the reasons I like the two of them together—it’s like Clara has a personal guard at all times. I suppose I could assign her one if I wanted, though I don’t think she’d thank me for doing so.
“Sorry we’re late,” Clara says, leaning over to set Harry up in his high chair. “Harry decided he was against wearing pants.”
I laugh and lean over, stroking my finger over Harry’s chubby hand. “Like father, like son.”
“I wear pants,” Gabriel objects.
I shoot him a side-eye. “But you wouldn’t if someone else was telling you to.”
“Cheeky,” he says in a warning, sexy tone. He shoots me a half grin that makes my heart beat erratically, and I clear my throat and sit back up.
“Right,” Clara says brightly. “Have a good lunch. I’ll be back for Harry in an hour.”
She turns to leave, and I call after her, “Enjoy your falafel!”
“Is that some sort of code?” Gabriel asks.
I grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The waiter comes around to take our drink orders, and Gabriel leans over to play with Harry while we wait. Harry giggles appreciatively, and I watch the two of them, totally in their own little world, wondering if life will always be this perfect.
Well, I shouldn’t say perfect. Gabriel has committed to trusting me and involving me in his operations; however, I can tell that he is not yet totally comfortable doing so. He gives me these looks sometimes, when he’s showing me something, or asking me something, like he’s waiting for the moment when it all becomes too much, and I explode.
I refuse to disappoint him.
I assume that all he needs to settle into our new normal is a little time. Hell, I need some time to adjust too. A few months ago I was a single mother, doing everything on my own, completely unaware of the city’s underbelly and the nefarious machinations of people like Gabriel Bellucci.
Now I’m a part of it, and a part of a family, too. A family that will grow soon.
I drop a hand to my belly and stroke it absently. Gabriel’s eyes track the movement, and he sits up stiffly, brow creased.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“It’s fine,” I reply with a light chuckle. “You don’t have to freak out every time I touch my belly.”
Gabriel frowns at me across the table, but I can see he’s suppressing a smile. Harry, distressed at having his father’s attention diverted, starts to chatter on about the cookies he and Clara made. Gabriel turns and joins the conversation with enthusiasm.
I watch them for a while, happy just to see them interacting, without needing to be a part of it. I note their matching dimpled grins and the way Gabriel’s eyes light up at the sound of Harry’s laugh.
We’re going to be okay, I realize. More than okay. We’re a family again. And this time, I won’t let anything change that.
My receptionist, Laura, buzzes my phone just as the sun is beginning to set, painting the skyline in swathes of cobalt blue.
“Ms. Wright,” she says. “Debbie Harris here to see you.”
Crikey. I nearly forgot about the interview. I reach over and press the buzzer.
“Let her in,” I say, heart picking up. I try to calm it. There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just Debbie, after all. Our respective roles have changed dramatically since I handed in my last assignment two weeks ago, but it’s still just Debbie.
My former boss waltzes through the door a moment later, looking resplendent in a deep raspberry pantsuit. Possibly one of her finest. Her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed around her cheeks, and her eyes are lined in ink black. She purses her magenta-colored lips when I stand to greet her, evaluating the office.