Page 108 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

According to Stef Gallo, her daughter says Fischer is gay, partying a lot. Men in his apartment, etc. The daughter Raven lives at Eastmoor. Slept with him apparently???Belongs to the club. Friends with Nicole. Assuming something got miscommunicated? Lmk what you find out, and I’ll keep digging.

I thumbs up the message once I have a clearer picture and knock on my friend’s door.

Fischer is not half as well put together as the doorman. “So,” I say. “I made a few calls. You want to tell me what the hell you did to piss off the Gallos?”

“The Gallos? Are you fucking kidding me? Ravenna did this?”

“She seems like the type who likes to stir a pot,” I say. I’m familiar with some of her more salacious escapades at my club. She’s a brat and proud of it.

Fischer runs his hands through his tangled curls and stomps his cane against the floor. “I am such a fucking idiot.”

“Settle down. Let me grab some glasses, and you can tell me what you know.”

We take the vodka to the terrace, and he explains that he knows almost nothing—just that Nicole filed paperwork for full custody of their six-year old son, alleging abuse and neglect, regarding which, he’s as mystified as I am.

Information from Marianne continues to filter in. It’s not much, but it gives me some avenues to pursue in the morning. For now, though, I need to make sure Fischer isn’t going to do something stupid—like try and talk to Nicole himself. I establish his lawyer is good, but so is Nicole’s. We talk about his last few visits with his son Vaughn, which inevitably leads to the topic of Matthew.

I get that whole story, too, and it’s not as alarming as it sounds in terms of their legal status as brothers. What it is, however, is sad. And it adds a layer of complication that will make solving this problem harder without turning it into a full blown scandal. Fischer’s minor celebrity doesn’t help.

While I’d like to talk about how to neutralize Ravenna Gallo, Fischer’s primary concern is how to keep seeing Matthew.

“You’re in deep,” I say when he totally breaks down.

“How does it go? It happened slowly then all at once?”

“Something like that,” I say, reminded of Christian. Nothing, then everything. Or nearly.

Though, what Fischer’s going through as it dawns on him that he can’t be with Matthew—at least for the foreseeable future—reminds me of Marianne. Twenty years of pain compressed into one intense moment of pure agony. I scoot my chair closer to his and put a hand on his shoulder. He rests one of his hands on top of mine and looks out at the park, eyes shining with tears. He takes a deep, ragged breath. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“It’s worth this,” I tell him, remembering the kisses they shared—the love. “It’s worth all of it.”

Christian isat the front desk when I return to Gramercy. He glances at me, holds my gaze a moment, and looks down at the computer on his desk. I cock my head to the side, certain I’m hallucinating from lack of sleep.

Gramercy has an automatic door, so I don’t necessarily expect him to hop up and walk me to the elevator. His job is to acknowledge me, let me know if I’ve had any deliveries, and smile.

I get nothing.

“Are you pouting?”

“I’m not jealous, and I amnotpouting,” he says without glancing up. “You know your way to the elevator. You own the building.”

“Good morning?”

“Oh, is it morning?” He whips his hair out of his eyes and finally looks up at me. “I barely noticed.”

“Christian.”

He flinches. Noticeably. It takes me aback.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working for me this morning?” It’s Wednesday. I think.

“I’ll be up at nine. But I did want to let you know I picked up a few overnights at The Eastmoor next week, so I’ll need next Wednesday off.”

“You—why? Am I not paying you enough?”

“Day shifts are easier to cover, I don’t mind pitching in a few late shifts down there.”

“Imight.”

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