“Me too.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I agree with all of that.” He idly twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “I never wanted this before because it would never have made sense with anyone but you.”
“It’s the same for me. Even if I was able to set aside my feelings for you and put effort into my marriage, Gino would never have wanted this. Not with me.”
“His loss is definitely my gain.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, hating how temporary this is. I try to enjoy my time with Leo and just live in the moment. But there’s this dark cloud hanging over my head all the time and a gnarly voice whispering in my ear that this can’t last and it won’t end well. A shudder works its way through me, and he bundles me in his arms. “We’re not ever being separated again, Nat,” he says, answering the thoughts in my head. “I told you. No matter what happens, I’m going to find a way to make this work.”
I don’t reply because I can’t let myself hope for too much. “This is enough, Leo.” The unspoken “for now” doesn’t need to be articulated.
“How are things with Caleb?” he asks, and I know he’s purposely changing the subject. “And did my little talk with Joshua help at all?”
We were all at Ben and Sierra’s last Sunday for dinner, and Leo took the time to pull Joshua to one side to have the safe sex talk. “Joshua hasn’t said anything to me,” I explain, “but he thinks about things deeply, so hopefully you got through to him and he’ll be careful.” I didn’t ask Leo if Joshua confided in him if he was having sex. I don’t want to invade his privacy, and I’m not sure I want to know. As long as they are using protection, that is as much as I need to know.
“And Mr. Broody, Moody Teenager?”
My lips fight a smile, but it’s fleeting as concern overshadows everything else. “Caleb is still moody and withdrawn, and I honestly don’t know how to deal with him. Everything I say rubs him the wrong way. I thought after he spent the weekend with his father he might be in a better mood, but if anything, he is worse.”
“It’s hard being a teenager. Especially when you’re part of thefamiglia.”
“I know.” I sit up straighter, sighing. “I just feel so helpless. Like I’m failing him as a mother.”
“You’re not, babe. Just be there for him, and let him know he can always talk to you. There isn’t much else you can do. You can’t force him to speak. Perhaps he will come to you when he’s ready.”
I shrug, feeling heartsore. “I worry I’m losing them,” I admit, and my voice cracks. “I love them so much.”
“Shush, dolcezza.” He kisses the top of my head. “You’re a wonderful mother, and they love you. They are just at an age where they can’t show you. They’ll come through this.”
Leo’s phone vibrates across the table, and he reaches for it. He straightens up, accepting the incoming call. “Boss, what’s up?” He stands, cursing. “What do you need me to do?” he asks as I lower my legs and slip my feet into my ballet flats. “I’ll meet you at the airport,” he says before hanging up.
“Trouble?” I inquire, gathering up our half-full glasses.
“You could say.” He swipes the empty bottle, and I follow him into the kitchen. “The Russians just attacked three of The Outfit’s warehouses. I need to go with Ben to Chicago.”
42
Leo
“Fuck, this is carnage.” I step out of the SUV with Ben at the plot on West Pershing Road where some of The Outfit’s supply warehouses once stood. Piles of rubble and simmering ash greet us, and the scene looks like something from a movie. Several blacked-out SUVs and cherry-red fire engines are parked out front and police—whom I assume are friendlies—are cordoning off the area with official tape. A fire of this magnitude couldn’t be kept away from the authorities or the media, which only adds to the problem. I can already predict tomorrow’s news headlines.
Thick plumes of acrid smoke shoot into the sky and stings the backs of my eyes. We cover our mouths, walking in the direction of Gino Accardi. He is talking with an older man in uniform, and he abruptly ends the conversation when he sees us approaching.
“Don Mazzone.” Gino stretches his hand out, shaking Ben’s hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly.” His eyes flit to mine for a second before dismissing me.
Trust me, asshole, the feeling is mutual.
I shove my hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throttle him, reminding myself of the warning Ben imparted when we were on our private plane. He made me promise to keep my cool because he knows I’m no fan of Nat’s husband and I’m prone to rash outbursts, on occasion.
“What’s the damage?” Ben asks, wearing his serious don face.
“It’s significant, but it could be worse.” Gino glances at the men milling around the scene. “We should talk back at HQ. The fire marshal’s on payroll, but I don’t want to speak out in the open.”
Another familiar man approaches. Thomas Barretta, acting don, carries his weariness in his gait and on his face. He nods solemnly at us. “It’s good to see you both. We should talk.”
“We’ll meet you at the restaurant,” Ben says, and we turn on our heels, back toward our car.
The Outfit has modernized in a lot of ways, but they are still old school at their core. Their HQ is in the basement of one of their Italian restaurants in midtown, and I always feel like I’m stepping onto the set of a Hollywood mobster movie whenever I’m there.
Barretta and Accardi pull up behind us when we reach the restaurant eight minutes later. It’s almost one a.m., so traffic is pretty much nonexistent at this time of night.
