Page 45 of Nine Years Gone

“Daddy, look whatZiaStella got us. Cannolis and cookies from the pastry shop,” Lucio squeals.

“And I got a lobstah tail,” Leandro chimes in.

“Wow, they look delicious. Why don’t you get your things together, and you can have your pastries before we go home,” I tell them. They scurry out of the kitchen to go get their stuff.

“What did Dr. Bova say?” Stella inquires. Stella is two years younger than me. We’re close, have been since we were young. I have always been fiercely protective of her and consider her my best friend. She’s my go-to person when I’m in a dilemma or making a big decision. It was Stella who put me back together after Lena left. To get me out of my funk after Lena ghosted, Stella made me start running with her. She’s an avid runner and has run the Boston Marathon several times.

I bring Stella up to speed. When I tell her that Ma could leave us any day now, her tears break free, and I hug her.

“I’ll call Rocco and tell him. We need to be here for Pa. Need to make sure he isn’t alone when it happens. I’m worried about him,” I say.

When the boys finish eating their pastries, I start gathering their things to go home. Today has been a fucked-up day, and I need some peace and quiet. We say goodbye to my parents and sister and walk out to the car. I buckle them in and get into the driver’s seat.

“Daddy, is Nonna gonna be okay?” Lucio asks.

“I don’t know, buddy, but I hope so,” is all I can muster telling my kids tonight.

Before I start driving, I turn the radio dial to WZLX. It’s 9:02 p.m., and I am just in time to listen to “Getting the Led Out,” the nightly installment of playing three back-to-back Led Zeppelin songs. Led Zeppelin is always good for the soul.

It’s 9:45 p.m. when I pull into the driveway. I see Camila open the front door. She waits on the porch as I unbuckle the boys and help them out of the car. When they see her, they’re excited. “Mommy, Mommy,ZiaStella bought us pastries,” Leandro yells as they both run to her waiting arms.

CHAPTER 15

Mr. Gentile

MARIALENA

One Week Later

“LENA, YOUR 3:00 P.M. APPOINTMENT, Mr. Gentile, is here, and he’s completed his intake sheet. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take him back,” my assistant Natalia tells me over the speakerphone.

“Okay, thank you. Give me a minute to finish up these edits,” I tell her.

After law school and passing the Iowa bar exam, I worked for a local firm there doing Immigration Law, working in their criminal division, helping clients that were facing deportation. Because my mother is an immigrant, I was drawn to Immigration Law. This practice area also allows me to work in states other than Iowa with only my Iowa bar license because it’s a federal practice. This permitted me to move back to Boston when I was ready without the necessity of taking the Massachusetts bar exam.

Before returning, I reached out to a female attorney who was a regular at the bar at Massimo’s restaurant. I remember she had her office a few blocks away. When I spoke to her and reminded her where we had met, she instantly remembered me. I had told her of my intention to move back to Boston and that I would be looking to rent an office and start my firm. It turns out, she had an available office in her suite, which is how I ended up here on the 27thfloor of 60 State Street.

When I finish making edits to the document I’m working on, I place it in the work folder to give to Natalia when she comes back with the client. I pick up the phone and dial her extension. “Natalia, you can bring the client back now, thank you,” I say.

Moments later, I hear Natalia’s knock on the door and look up. Natalia is petite and has shoulder-length, light brown hair. When I decided to move back to Boston, a friend of mine recommended her to work as my assistant. She’s been a godsend.

My face goes slack when I see him stride into my office behind her. Massimo has a smug look of satisfaction on his face, yet anger is still prominent in his eyes.

“Mr. Gentile, this is Ms. Lopez, the attorney. Please, have a seat,” Natalia tells him, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the chairs across from me. She hands me the client intake sheet.

“Natalia, here—” I extend my hand and give her the work folder with the documents I was working on “—it’s ready to be filed.” She takes the folder and walks out, closing the door behind her.

I glare at Massimo. “Mr. Gentile, huh?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him as I speak. “I should’ve known you’d show up here like this.” I crumple up the client intake sheet and toss it into the trash barrel to my right.

“I always get what I want, but you know that already, don’t you, Attorney Lopez?” he says, leaning back into the chair, a smirk gracing his beautiful face. The stubble growing along his jawline is sprinkled with grays, his eyes rimmed with dark circles and crow’s feet in the corners.

I stare at him for several moments before saying, “Why are you here, Massimo? This is my office. You can’t be doing this.” I rest my left elbow on the armrest of my chair and adjust the frames on my face.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. His eyes never break away from mine, and he smirks before asking, “Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not.” I am trying to keep myself calm, but it’s not easy with him being in such close proximity. I can smell his unique scent, and just like it did the first time I met him, it makes my skin tingle.

“Have you forgotten that I know everything about you, and fidgeting with your glasses is your tell?” he says more than asks and licks his lips.

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