27. Diana

27

DIANA

I ’d be an idiot if I didn’t at least have an interview with Peter. A week later, I walk into the small café where we’d agreed to meet for the interview. I arrive early, armed with my resume and my stomach fluttering with anticipation and nerves. I approach the counter and order an herbal tea, hoping the warm drink will help soothe my anxiety.

Finding a quiet table near the window, I sit down and wrap my hands around the steaming mug. The comforting aroma helps calm my racing thoughts as I wait for Peter to arrive. This job could be exactly what I need for a fresh start with good pay and benefits. It would give me stability as I prepare for the baby.

My hand drifts to my stomach. I'm not showing yet, but knowing there's a new life growing inside me fills me with excitement and fear. Can I really do this on my own?

I push my doubts aside. I have to focus on nailing this interview. It's my chance to prove I'm capable even if I’m not fully qualified. I’ve never worked an office job. All my other work has been in the food service industry. Restaurants and kitchens, making meals, that’s what I know. But an office job can offer regular hours and less strenuous work, ideal for a growing belly. Of course, being pregnant could be reason enough for Peter not to hire me.

The bell over the door chimes, and I turn to look over my shoulder at the door expectantly. Peter enters, striding toward me, a warm smile on his face. My potential new boss. I stand, smoothing my skirt nervously. There’s no hiding how old and worn my clothes are, but my shirt and white blouse are clean, and having found an iron in the laundry room, pressed.

"Diana. I’m so glad you called and agreed to this interview,” Peter says, extending his hand. His grip is firm but not overpowering, and his easygoing demeanor instantly puts me at ease.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

“I’m going to grab a coffee and we’ll talk.”

“Of course.”

He orders his drink and brings it to the table, sitting across from me. "I appreciate your meeting me here. I find coffee shops much more conducive to honest conversation than stuffy offices. Of course, we don’t have a local office yet. That would be one area you’d help me out in."

I nod. “It is a bit less daunting for me.” I wonder if I should admit that. Then it occurs to me that I don’t know what business he’s in. But he’s the boss, so I’ll let him lead. Surely, he’ll explain the company and the job duties.

Peter’s eyes sparkle with interest as he regards me. "Let’s get right to business, shall we?”

"Of course," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm eager to hear more about the position and how I might be able to help. Here is my resume.”

He takes the paper and scans the page. "I see you worked for the D'Amato Family."

My breath hitches at the mention of the D'Amatos. I’d vacillated on whether to include it knowing the D’Amato’s reputation. Could working for them hurt my chances? But I couldn’t figure out how to explain the work gap from when I was south. Nor do I want to lie.

"Yes, I was employed as an assistant chef in their household."

"Interesting," Peter muses, leaning forward. "The D'Amatos are well-known in Chicago business circles. What was it like working for such a prominent family?"

I study him, wondering if he’s truly wanting to know as part of the interview or if he’s curious about the inner workings of a Mafia family.

“It was like any other job. I showed up, did my work, and went home.”

He seems almost disappointed. “There must have been more to it. Why the sudden departure? Not that I blame you… I can only imagine the things you witnessed or overheard.”

A rush of unease washes over me. I hadn't anticipated talking about the D’Amatos beyond my cooking for them. How can I explain my departure without mentioning Lazaro or the turmoil surrounding his return?

"I… well, it was a personal decision," I stammer, trying to find the right words. "They were quite generous, but I felt it was time for a change. To explore new opportunities."

Peter’s interest seems to sharpen at my vague response. "I see. And did this decision have anything to do with the recent return of Lazaro D'Amato?"

My stomach drops at the mention of Lazaro's name. My cheeks heat, and I hope Peter doesn't notice. "I… I'm not really at liberty to discuss the family's personal matters.”

"Like I said, I don't blame you. A family with a reputation like theirs."

I offer a vague smile, trying to keep my composure. "Sometimes, we all need a change of pace, don't we? The culinary world can be quite demanding."

But I can see in Peter’s eyes that he's not satisfied with my answer. His gaze is too keen, too interested. It makes me uncomfortable, like he's trying to learn about Lazaro, not interview a prospective employee. I’m probably paranoid. Being around the Mafia can do that to a person.

“You seem to know a lot about them,” I say.

He lets out a small chuckle. "Ah, you caught me. I apologize if I came across as nosy. The truth is, in Chicago business circles, it's hard not to know about the D'Amatos. They're famous, or perhaps infamous."

I don’t respond.

"I should probably lay off the gossip, but I can't help it. They're our very own reality show."

His bemusement lessens my unease. "I suppose they do make an impression."

Peter nods, still smiling. "Indeed, they do. But I shouldn’t be gossiping when I’m supposed to be finding a new assistant. Let's get back to your qualifications, shall we?"

“Of course.”

“So, you need a change of pace and this job could be that for you.”

Doubt resurfaces. Yes, the job could be a change, but what skills do I have to be an assistant to a businessman? It’s nothing like being a sous chef or kitchen aide. I need to be upfront with him on why this job interests me. Getting it out in the open now could save us both time.

I clear my throat. “My life circumstances have changed. I'm… I'm pregnant."

The words hang in the air between us, and I watch Peter’s expression carefully. His eyebrows rise in surprise, but I can't quite read his reaction.

"I see," he says slowly. "And how far along are you?"

"Not long. Six weeks or so.” That’s a guess, as I haven’t been to the doctor yet. "I know it's not ideal timing for starting a new job, but I want to be upfront about it. I'm committed to working hard and proving myself valuable to your company, but I’d need a short maternity leave.”

Peter leans back in his chair as he considers my words. I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

"I appreciate your honesty, Diana," he says finally. "Many women would have tried to hide their pregnancy, at least until after securing the job. Your candidness speaks volumes about your character."

I feel a glimmer of hope at his words, but I'm still unsure where this leaves me in terms of the job opportunity.

"Thank you. I’m a hard worker. Adaptable. I’m calm in a storm.”

Peter nods, a reassuring smile on his face. "I have no doubt you are. Your work ethic is clear from your resume and our interactions at the diner. As for maternity leave, we can certainly work that out. Our company prides itself on being family-friendly. Perhaps we can even negotiate some teleworking."

My chest fills with hope and excitement. This job will be perfect for me and my new life. “That would be wonderful.”

He reaches out and puts his hand over mine. “You and the baby will be well taken care of.” His gaze shifts to something behind me. The light dims in his eyes. There's a flicker of… recognition? Surprise? I'm not sure, but it makes me uneasy.

I turn to follow Peter’s gaze. Lazaro. His imposing figure stands just a few feet away. For a fleeting moment, joy surges through me at the sight of him. Has he come for me? Did he choose me over Ava, after all?

But as quickly as that hope rises, it's crushed by the fury I see burning across his face. His eyes, usually so warm when they look at me, are now cold and hard. I've never seen him direct such anger toward me before. It sends a chill down my spine.

"You," Lazaro growls at me, his voice low and dangerous. "I should have known."

Confusion washes over me. "Lazaro, what?—”

He cuts me off, taking a menacing step forward. "Save it. I know what you are now. A spy for this motherfucker."

I recoil, shaking my head in disbelief. "What? No. I’m on a job?—”

"Don't lie to me!" he roars, causing nearby patrons to turn and stare. "It all makes sense now. How you always seemed to be there, always knew what to say. You were planted to keep an eye on me, on my family, weren't you?"

I struggle to comprehend his words. How could he think this of me after everything we've shared?

Fear begins to creep in as I watch Lazaro's hands clench into fists at his sides. I know what those hands are capable of when he loses control. What is he going to do?