Page 52 of Tailored for You

First, she convinced me she needed a double chocolate muffin. It wasn’t hard when she looked at me with those big, disappointed eyes and a frown. How did Serena say no to her?

She demanded a song about big girls not crying, belting out every third word. It wasn’t until she was buckled in that the meltdown hit. One I never, ever want to experience again.

I held her tiny hand as I walked her into the reception area. She skipped along, unaware of the eyes that were on us. Moms wearing pearls smiled at me. The teachers eyed me with more scrutiny.

At least I knew Harper was in good hands. Anyone who eyed me with suspicion was good to teach Harper.

“Bye, Enzos.” Harper hugged me and ran into her classroom. I chuckled to myself at her mispronunciation of my name, which was slightly different each time, and left. I could correct her, but I liked it.

It was our special thing.

Donovan drove in silence while I reviewed a report on my phone.

Two men were in my office. One sat behind my desk. The other lay out across the small couch in the corner.

Both men looked up from their phones when I entered, stood, and started clapping for me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We wanted to offer our congratulations on finding your balls in person,” Marcello said and started clapping for me again.

I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling, hoping I could find my patience there.

“And you?” I asked Rafael.

“Bored. And someone has to keep him in check when Adrienne is gone,” Rafael said.

“What’s Mrs. Parisi up to this week?” I asked, pushing Marcello away from my desk and standing behind it.

He shrugged. “Saving the world or scaring a dictator. It’s Wednesday.”

Rafael laughed. “She’s been gone for a few days and hasn’t called him. He was going stir crazy.”

A bored Marcello was a recipe for disaster.

“Since both of you are on this side of the country, let’s run the numbers,” I said, pulling out my laptop.

We went through Panorama’s numbers, new projects, and what was about ready to sell.

“The shipments?” Marcello asked. “Our men back in Augusta ran into some problems getting our cargo on the ships. Then we lost one or two containers in transit.”

I let Marcello rehash information I already knew. He was unaware of the misplaced loads because they had been found. He stressed over the smallest details.

“Yes. Everyone is playing nicely right now,” I said.

Must have been the sunshine, or the fact that most of the leaders had fled to the Hamptons—either way, no fighting, no broken arguments.

We had something like NATO, where we agreed to terms, including who ran which territories and the like.

When I first heard about it, it sounded ridiculous. But having lived with the rules for a bit, I realized it worked.

There was none of the ‘80s fighting, where people were killed on the street because they were selling the same products on the wrong blocks. Bribing was easier, and if something went wrong, everyone knew who was responsible.

No one wanted the government to keep track of us. We were already under enough surveillance with our phones and cameras at every light, recording our movements.

“We just need to make sure the money is getting washed through the new construction sites. Is Giulia still gone?” Marcello asked.

“Yeah. She’s still in Sicily, I think.” I shrugged. “Haven’t you spoken to her?”