Page 19 of Convenient Mafia Vows

Pistachio?

“Sure. It’s a fancy hotel. They’ll have every flavor ice cream you can think of.” Please, God, I thin,k let them have fucking pistachio or at least let them have a chef who can whip some up in five minutes.

“What flavor doyouwant?” The question takes me by surprise.

“Sweetie, I have to go to a meeting with the man who owns the hotel, so I won’t be getting ice cream.”

“Is it a meeting about a job?” She jumps off the bench and waits for me to do the same.

Tears sting my eyes. Abigail doesn’t miss a thing. “Yes, it is. So, I’ll need you to be extra-good for my friend Denise.”

“Who’s Denise?”

She slips her hand into mine and we walk through the park heading towards Manhattan. “A nice lady I’ve known all my life.”

“How come I’ve never met her before?”

“Because she’s very busy.”

This seems to satisfy her, and I try to quell my racing pulse the closer we get to the gleaming black spear of a hotel looming above the skyline.

“You’re not wearing your interview clothes,” she says when FAO Schwarz comes into view.

I peer down at my faded jeans and puffer jacket. She’s right. But I don’t have the time or the energy to go home and come back again; I’m afraid that I’ll talk myself out of what I’m about to do, and Abigail needs this. Sienna needs this.

We all do.

Because now that Caleb Murray has offered me a lifeline out of this way of life, I can’t imagine an alternative future without it, much to my own chagrin. But you know what, he chose me for a reason and, like the poker player bluffing his way through a round, I’m going to play it for all I’m worth.

“This is a different kind of interview.” I grip her hand more tightly. “I can… I can wear whatever I want.” Abigail isn’t the typical five-year-old who will buy into any story I tell her; it has to be believable.

Fifteen minutes later, we stand outside the Wraith, and she tilts her head back to stare at the top. “Why is it black?”

“I guess the owner wanted it to look different than all the other buildings.”

Abigail looks all around and shrugs. “They should’ve made it smaller then.”

I can’t argue with that kind of reasoning.

My heart is racing when we step inside. The young woman behind the reception desk takes one look at Abigail and her eyes widen as if she’s already imagining fingerprints on every surface.

I approach her with a chin-jutting confidence that I don’t feel and hope that Abigail doesn’t mention ice cream. I don’t want to freak the woman out any more than she already is.

“I’m here to see Denise Cartwright.” I smile like this is a regular occurrence. Nothing to worry about at all.

She scans her computer screen, deliberately avoiding eye contact with either of us. “Ms. Cartwright isn’t on site today.”

“She isn’t? Where is she?”

She turns gray-blue eyes my way. No smile. “She’s at the Titan until six p.m.” It’s obvious from her tone that she thinks it’s none of my business.

“Okay.” My mind is galloping at an even faster pace than my heart.

What do I do now? Turn around, walk away, and hope that Caleb Murray doesn’t find someone else to replace me? There must be hundreds of women better suited to the role of a billionaire’s wife than I am, and he probably knows all of them. But I can’t do that.

One glance at Abigail’s huge brown eyes peering up at me, and I know that isn’t an option. This is her future at stake here too.

I have no choice. “I have a meeting arranged with Caleb Murray.”

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