6.

TABBY

"Of all the situations I have ever been in, going on a first date at seven months pregnant has got to be one of the most stressful," I admitted as I leaned closer to the mirror to put on my mascara. I glanced at Simon's reflection and found him staring at me with a shocked look on his face. "What?"

"You're going with that and not, oh, I don't know, death and dismemberment?"

"I didn't dismember anybody!" Simon burst out laughing, and I said, "And I didn't technically kill anyone. Gravity and a sudden and abrupt landing did."

Simon burst out laughing, and I smiled even though the guilt of that night's events still ate at me, most especially in those few moments between sleep and waking when I saw them all happen again.

"You look pretty," Simon conceded, changing the subject. Of course he had to ruin it by adding, "Considering your size."

I turned around and frowned at him, but he didn't seem to notice or care, so I asked, "Are you trying to make me feel better or worse about myself because you just did both at the same time."

"Well, you are huge, Bumpkin. You weren't exactly small before you started baking the hoagies, but now . . ."

"I hate everything about you, Simon. Everything."

Simon shrugged and said, "Including my honesty, apparently."

"Speaking of honesty, you promised to tell me about that secret meeting you had at lunch yesterday. Spill."

It was as if shutters closed over Simon's eyes before he looked away. "If I told you about the meeting, then it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"

"What's going on, Si?"

Simon sighed and wouldn't meet my eyes before he changed the subject and said, "If anyone asks how we met, I want you to make sure you stick to the story."

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked.

"And if they ask how you got pregnant, I want you to stick to that one too."

"Again, why wouldn't I?"

"And I want you to forget your name was ever Tabitha Harbor."

"Why?"

"No matter who asks you, Bumpkin. And we don't need to joke about it anymore either. It's down to the wire, serious business, a lie that can't be wavered on."

"What's going on, Simon?" When he hesitated to answer, I asked, "Do Ember and I need to disappear?"

"I think it's okay right now but . . ." Simon bit his lip and then looked at me when I walked closer to the bed.

When I was standing in front of him, I said, "You love me. You love Ember. When you meet them, you'll love the hoagies. I know you will." Simon nodded as I picked up his hand, clasping our fingers together before I asked, "Are we in danger, Si?"

"I don't know," Simon answered. I could see that he was telling me the truth, and it terrified me that the answer was anything but an emphatic "no." "I think it's going to be okay, but the meeting was . . . odd. The owners called, which was weird because usually I only speak to the management company, and they were asking about employees. Specifically, you and Sara."

"What did they ask?"

"They asked if one of you was pregnant and if you were married or in a relationship. They also asked how long I'd known both of you. I told them that you were a family friend I'd watched grow up and you wanted to help me have a child, so you were my surrogate. I said you were in a long-term relationship but neither of you were ready for children yet."

My heart was racing, and I asked, "What did you tell them about Sara?"

"That I'd only known her for a few months and didn't know much about her private life."

"Did they ask if she was pregnant?"

"Yeah."

"But she's not."

"She is," Simon said with an exaggerated wince. "She's just better at hiding it than you."

"And the owner specifically asked . . ."

"Both owners were on the call, patched in from different places. I could hear two different kinds of background noises. It sounded like one man was calling from a car and the other had people speaking French in the background."

"I think I should run, Si."

"These men didn't sound Russian, Bumpkin."

"That doesn't mean anything," I scoffed.

"If you run that means we're both hiding something. If you stay and we keep things moving along like they have been, then nothing will pique their Spidey senses anymore than it already has."

"But why would they ask about us? Or my pregnancy?"

"The man with the French voices in the background said he was worried about insurance liability and some other bullshit, and I guess I can sort of understand that. He also mentioned that this didn't seem like the kind of bar where pregnant women would be very profitable, if you know what I mean."

"Is the owner of the bar connected to Darlene?"

"I don't think so. Darlene's boss is in Vegas and always has been."

"But she said there was a turnover. The leadership changed. I think those were her exact words."

"Yeah, but the guy that took over is a known entity. She's met him a million times. So have I. You have met him."

"Teddy right?"

"Yeah. He seems on the up and up and not the kind who would give up control to anyone, especially some disconnected voice on the phone."

"That's good, right?"

"I think you should stay in the building, Bumpkin."

"Tonight?"

"For . . . a while."

"I think I should run, Si," I said. "If the owners are . . . were working with Rebecca, then that means they want these babies. I don't know why. I can't imagine why, but I know it's not for anything good.

"If they are, then running just lets them know for sure that you're their mark. Stay in the building."

"But . . ."

"Tell your date you want to see him here. Give him some pregnancy excuse. Tell him your ankles are swollen or whatever bullshit."

"None of the things I complain about are bullshit, Simon."

Simon waved his hand dismissively and said, "You know what I mean."

"There might be . . . I never told you . . ."

"Never told me what?"

"Could the men that own the club be Italian?"

"The last names on the paperwork I have don't seem Italian, but then again . . . Wait. Why does that matter, Bumpkin?"

"There's something . . . Shit."

"I thought some Russian was the problem."

"Rebecca had dealings with some Russian gangster, but when I argued with Brett, she said something that makes more sense now that I've had some time to think about it."

"What did she say?"

"It's hard to remember it all. She was so mad, and I was so upset that . . . and she was talking so fast."

"Try to remember."

"I think she said that Rebecca didn't want the babies because she felt maternal but because she wanted to use them to take control of their family. I didn't know what she meant, and then when I caught Rebecca on the phone, I assumed . . . but I had a random thought the other day that just keeps niggling at the edge of my brain."

"What does that have to do with an Italian?"

"We were watching this documentary about the mafia wars that happened here in New York years ago, and then they said that there was a truce or something recently. They're supposedly friendly with each other now."

"Do you think they're suddenly altruistic and will help you save the hoagies from . . ."

"Rebecca was living with a man with the last name Campana, Si."

Simon's eyes got wide, and he gasped. "Those babies are part of the Campana crime family? Are you fucking kidding, Tabitha?"

"I don't know, Si."

"Where did she get the sperm?"

"She already had everything arranged. As soon as I got the all-clear, they tried the first implant. It took immediately." Simon yanked his hand out of mine and bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stare at the floor. "Does this mean that the twins are . . ."

"Part of the Italian mafia? I don't know, Tabby. What do you feel like it means?"

"I don't know. I'm so confused."

"Do the babies feel Russian or Italian?" When I stared at him in confusion, he asked, "What are you craving? Borscht or minestrone? Pelmeni or ravioli? Vodka or . . ."

"It doesn't work that way, Si!"

"Why the fuck not?"

"If it did, that would mean Ember was Chinese because I could have eaten my weight in spring rolls! Have you ever taken a biology class?" Simon winced, and I remembered a little nugget of random trivia I'd heard this morning on a rerun of my favorite cooking show. "It's thought that the hoagie roll was adapted from the word the Italian immigrants in Philadelphia used for their sandwich bread."

"How do you know that?"

"Russo's Road Trip."

"Russo.Sure.Of course."

"Why is that a big deal?"

"Do you even know who the four families are, Bumpkin? Do you ever watch the news or . . ."

"No. It's depressing. Food makes me happy, so I watch shows about it. Why does that matter?"

My phone rang, and I jumped at the sound before I pulled it out of my pocket. When I looked at the screen, I inhaled sharply. "Luca is downstairs waiting to take me to dinner."

"Shit. I really don't want you to leave the building, Bumpkin. I need to process . . ."

"What do I tell him?"

"Tell him to come up here. I'll be right downstairs if there's a problem."

"He's a nice guy, Simon. There won't be a problem."

"Do you know what he does for a living?"

"He works with his family. They own a jewelry store or something."

"Ask him which one tonight."

"Okay."

◆◆◆

LUCA

"Hi!" Tabby said when she appeared at my side.

I looked over and smiled at her before I said, "Where did you come from? I've been watching the door."

"There's a private entrance through the back hallway," she explained.

"Well, are you ready to . . ."

"What's this?" Tabby asked as she looked at the basket in the chair next to mine.

"I thought that since there's always so much commotion around us every time we talk, I'd take you to the park for a quiet picnic."

"That's sweet."

I was glad she thought so because I couldn't think of any other way to go on a date with this woman without her seeing my men around me. It was one thing for them to make themselves scarce at the bar while I talked to her as she worked but completely different when they had to accompany us to a restaurant and stand at the door while we sat inside or, worse yet, move to another table in the restaurant that was near enough for them to spring into action if needed.

"There's a park down the . . ."

"Can we have a picnic in my apartment? No one else is home, so it's quiet there."

I smiled and admitted, "That sounds even better than the park. I was worried about it being uncomfortable for you to sit on a blanket in the grass. When I saw you the other day, your back was hurting . . ."

"I think that's a permanent condition," Tabby said with a laugh. She rubbed her hands over her distended belly and said, "Well, it will be for a while longer."

I stood and smiled at her as I picked up the basket and said, "I'm ready when you are."

"Good," Tabby said as she looked warily around the room. "Let's go up."

"Is everything okay?"

"I think so. I hope so," Tabby said mysteriously as she started following the bar toward the end where the employees could get through to go to the backroom. "Follow me."

I was surprised to find a brightly lit hallway after exiting through the back of The Cork. When I looked around in shock, Tabby laughed.

"I wasn't expecting it to be quite so . . ."

"You're very New York, Luca."

"What does that mean?"

"Let me guess. Considering the neighborhood and outward appearance of the building, you thought I was going to bring you back to a dingy hallway that was narrow, gloomy, and dark with steep stairs leading up to a tiny closet of an apartment."

"Possibly," I hedged.

"This place is a hidden gem," Tabby said with a grin. "Actually, when Si first moved in, the hallway was a lot like I described, but he's a pretty handy guy, so he's been working on getting it fixed up little by little."

"He's not just a bar manager then?"

"He's an all around fix-it guy too. You'll see when we get upstairs."

"Did he do any work on your apartment?"

"Technically, it's his apartment. Ember and I are just crashing there until the kids come, and then we'll figure something else out."

"About custody?" I asked, playing into the lie she'd told me about the conception of the twins she was carrying.

"Uh . . . yeah. You know. Parenting decisions and all." As we turned the corner to get to what I assumed would be a staircase, she asked, "Have you ever thought about having children?"

"Actually, I hadn't really thought much about it until my friend started dating a woman who has a child. She's cool and a whole lot of fun to hang out with."

"Is that the first child you've ever spent much time with?"

"Not at all," I said as we stopped in front of an elevator door. I looked up at it in shock and said, "You are really living the high life in this building. I thought all of the apartments around here were walk-ups."

"They are," Tabby said with a grin. "This place is a hidden gem."

"I've spent plenty of time around kids," I told her, going back to our previous conversation. "I was not quite thirteen when Stefania was born, and then Junior was born when I was fifteen, and Mario when I was sixteen."

"Oh. You really do have experience."

"Most of the time, they're pretty cool. When they're babies, they're smelly and loud, but they're still cute. When they start learning to get around on their own and talk, they can be a little bit annoying, but the good outweighs the bad." Tabby burst out laughing and then laughed even harder when I said, "I love teaching them random shit too."

"Like what?"

"I taught my little sister how to give people the bird when she was barely old enough to walk. My mom didn't talk to me for a week."

The elevator door opened, and Tabby walked ahead of me and then turned so she could scan a key card before she pushed the button to take us to the top floor. Once the doors swooshed closed, she asked, "Have you ever taught your sister anything good to balance out that little skill?"

"I taught her how to hit with a closed fist and headbutt someone without injuring herself."

"Why would you do that?" Tabby asked in outrage.

"So she can protect herself when we're not around to help."

"Oh." Tabby looked thoughtful for a second before she said, "No one has ever taught me anything like that."

"I can," I offered. I glanced down at her belly and said, "Maybe we should wait a few months, though."

"You'll teach me self-defense after the babies are born?"

"I will," I promised, trying to ignore the doubt I had that we'd still be speaking after she found out that I was a plant being used to feel her out before I brought her into the fold and helped my friend connect with her so he could protect the babies that she insisted were her own. "That is if you still want me around by then."

We stepped out into the hallway, another brightly lit space, and Tabby turned left. I looked around the foyer area and saw that there were four apartments here on the top level. I was sure there were more than four on each of the floors below, considering the size of the building. In essence, Tabby was living in the penthouse suite or as close to it as you could get in Marble Hill.

"Why wouldn't I want you around?" Tabby laughed before she said, "Maybe you won't want me around. I'll have a curious toddler and two newborns. You should probably turn and run now. I wouldn't blame you if you did."

I should run away. I knew that. Not because I was afraid of dating a woman with children but because I knew in my heart that when Tabby found out that this friendship had been started so that I could spy on her, she would probably never forgive me. In the course of our friendship so far, she had mentioned loyalty and honesty as being two of the traits that she cherished most in the friends she kept close. She had fought back tears when she explained how she'd been neither loyal or honest in her dealings with Rebecca behind Brett's back.

Of course, she didn't explain how she was involved between Rebecca and Brett or even mention them by name. She just gave a vague explanation of choosing the wrong side in a family dispute that left her alone and so far away from her best friend that she wasn't sure they'd ever be able to find their way back to each other. She'd carefully avoided the subject of surrogacy, other than to lie and tell me that Simon was the father of the twins she was carrying. When one of the waitresses in the bar downstairs made a reference to the mafia, Tabby had laughed about "a bunch of old guys and their stogies gossiping like old hens while they sat under the patio umbrellas outside the cafes in Little Italy."

Little did she know that I had no appreciation for smoking cigars, and although I loved Little Italy, I'd never once sat outdoors at a cafe and lit up - but I was the mafia that Tabby scoffed about. So was my brother. And my cousins. And all of my friends.

"Are you okay, Luca?" Tabby asked.

I suddenly realized that I'd come to a halt in the entryway of the apartment and had somehow zoned out long enough to worry her, so I shook it off and smiled when I admitted, "I was thinking about work. I'm sorry. What did I miss?"

"What's there to think about?" Tabby asked. "No offense, but neither of those businesses are something that should weigh heavily on your mind when you're not at the office. Although, I have to admit that it's a good thing you're related to the owners because you take way too many afternoons off to be considered a solid employee."

"That's the cool thing about being part of the family business, I guess," I lied.

When Tabby asked, I told her I worked for my family but only mentioned my parents" jewelry store and my stepmother's event planning business. I didn't say anything about the high stakes poker events we held, the gambling machines we owned, or the laundromats and car washes we used as fronts to launder our money. We had our fingers in quite a few other pies too - real estate, cab companies, and construction, of course. That one wasn't exactly on the up and up either, but when had it ever been?

We also owned several bars and even some of those cafes she'd mentioned as gangster hangouts. Of course, I didn't even think about telling her about The Castello - one of the most exclusive hotels in Manhattan that I owned along with my brother and the other three families and where I also happened to live. If things went well, she'd find that out soon enough whenever she reconnected with Brett and my friend Zach about the babies she was carrying.

When I thought about those two and the babies, it was hard not to laugh. It sounded like something off of an old daytime talk show that was known for its outrageous guests and their antics and drama. But this was our reality - two adults that were almost step-siblings falling in love with the promise to raise their siblings together. So hard to believe when you saw it on television, but now it was happening right before our eyes.

"I know you mentioned having a picnic, but would it be okay if we ate at the table? I'm anxious to see what you brought."

"If you don't like what I have, we can always have something delivered," I assured her as I set the basket on the table. "Have a seat, and let me serve you, bellissima."

"How did you learn to speak Italian?"

"My family is Italian."

"One of those mafia things?"

"I can assure you that no one in my family sits in front of the cafes in Little Italy and smokes cigars," I hedged, telling the truth while still not answering her question.

"That's for the best. Nothing good ever comes from being aligned with criminals," Tabby said firmly. She wrinkled up her face before she said, "Well, I guess that depends on who you think are criminals."

"What does that mean?"

"Some things the law frowns on are . . ." Tabby shook her head. She didn't even try to disguise the change of subject when she asked, "What's for dinner, Luca?"