Page 102 of Absinthe Minded

“Let me finish, please.”

I nodded again, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“My parents have been married for fifty-four years. We don’t do divorce. We have big families, we work hard, play hard, and love with everything we have. When I found out about Ella, I thought of you. Not because I wanted a place to dump my problems. Because I wanted to share my daughter with you. It killed me to stay away from you after Joe and Rebecca died. Knowing you were close, and I couldn’t see you was torture.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to tell him the truth. “Gabe, there’s something you need to know.”

He released my hand.

“I wrote an article about your family.”

He recoiled as if I’d struck him.

My brain worked faster than my mouth. I had to explain, to tell him what I’d written, to make him understand why I’d done it. “It isn’t what you think. It’s a personal piece.”

“I know.” He spoke in a shaky whisper.

“How do you know?” I leaned back in my chair to put some distance between us.

“That’s what the phone calls were about. My father’s contact at thePicayunegave him a heads-up.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck and shook his head. “What have you done?”

“My job. I did my job. What do you mean, a heads-up? What guy?”

He set his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Think about it. How many news articles have you seen published about my family or our business?”

“None.” My mouth went dry.None, because Papa Joe paid people to kill the stories before they went public.The part of me that believed in freedom of speech and freedom of the press balked, but damn it, this was Gabe and my principles would wait. “What I wrote, it wasn’t about Marchionni Corporation or the mob or any…”

His brows rose.

I’d said too much, or maybe I’d said enough at the wrong time. Either way, I needed a rewind button. “I mean… Has he read the article? I think you’re both overreacting. It’s about a first generation of Italian immigrants walking the line between—”

“It’s going to kill him when he finds out it was you.” He rolled his lips in and closed his eyes. “Fuck, Maggie.”

“You’re not listening to me. It’s not that bad. It’s more of a human-interest piece than an exposé, and I wrote under a pen name.” A little voice inside me screamed to ask him about the mafia outright. I knew the answer but knowing and understanding the implications were two different things.

“I need a drink.” He signaled to the servers.

One came forward with a bottle of wine. Another waiter brought two plates, which I assumed were dessert.

“Just the wine for now. Scotch if you can get it,” Gabe said to the waiter.

The man hesitated and turned, but not before I spotted the chocolate truffles.

I not only wanted them, I needed them with every fiber of my being. Chocolate would give me courage… “Actually, I would like dessert now.”

The waiter looked between us.

“Later.” Gabe motioned for the man to go.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Leave them on the table. No sense in making him walk back and forth.”

The waiter gave in and set a plate in front of me.

I popped one into my mouth.

Gabe groaned, sank back into his chair, and covered his face with his arm.

I froze mid-chew.

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