Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,14

Harry while constantly looking over my shoulder, and it has been exhausting. To suddenly have someone swoop in to take care of me is an icy shock to my system.

“Debbie, this is too much,” I say, blinking back tears.

“Don’t get all emotional,” she scolds. “You’re going to write an article for me that will break this purple heroin crisis wide open and put the Union back on the map.”

Despite her words, there is a softness in her eyes that I don’t understand. She has been my boss for years, but our relationship has always been strictly professional. We sometimes chatted when the office went for cocktails after work, but for the most part, Debbie was my boss and I, the journalist struggling to climb higher up the ladder.

I wonder if this can all be attributed to guilt, or if maybe she is still a little raw from the threats against her daughter and perhaps sees a little of Lily in me. I doubt she will ever tell me.

“I’m just glad you’re giving me some actual news to cover,” I chuckle, grabbing mine and Harry’s bowls.

“You should be,” Debbie says, following me into the living room. “We’ve had Vicky Oberman covering the so-called puff pieces for the past couple of months and she’s utter shite.”

Laughing, we sit and eat, and I savor every mouthful. I cannot remember the last meal I had that tasted this good. When we finish, Debbie clears the bowls away and announces her departure for the shops.

“Shall I take the wee-un with me?” she says. “It could be nice for you to have a little time to yourself.”

My initial reaction is a resounding no. Harry has been attached to my side for weeks and the thought of dislodging him, if only for a couple of hours, drives a spike of horror through me.

Then again, Harry has been attached to my side for weeks. And it has been exhausting.

The prospect of a brief respite from motherly duties is tempting, but ultimately I can’t stomach it, especially not with someone who has betrayed me before. I trust Debbie, but with things as they are, I just don’t feel comfortable letting him out of my sight.

I thank Debbie for her offer but decline. She nods understandingly, and in a few minutes, Harry and I are alone in the apartment. Harry is struggling to keep his eyes open, so I take him to the crib and lay him down for a nap, standing over him as he falls asleep.

The more he grows, the more Harry looks like his father. He has Gabriel’s eyes—chocolate with specks of golden caramel—and dark curly hair that really could belong to either of us. Distinctly Gabriel, however, is the dimple in Harry’s little left cheek. I will never hold this resemblance against my son. He’s perfect.

Once Harry sinks into a deep sleep, I sneak away to the living room with my laptop, intent on doing some more work. I check my emails and am tempted once more by the email Debbie sent me a few days ago. It contains a link to a video of a press conference where Gabriel announced the cutting in funding to Belluci Inc.’s rehabilitation program, and according to Debbie, once it reached the question period, it descended into madness.

I have been avoiding the video for reasons I don’t quite understand. Am I worried that it will make me miss Gabriel? Or that it’ll make me hate him even more? Or maybe I just fear that he’ll crawl through the screen like the little girl from The Ring.

I know that I’m being ridiculous. This conference is important, especially given his reaction. I don’t know the kinds of criminal enterprises Gabriel’s mafia engages in, and I do wonder if drug distribution could be part of it. But if he’s bringing the purple heroin into the city, why is he closing his rehab centers? What kind of asshole would do that?

Resolved, I set the laptop on the coffee table, hit play on the video, and settle back on the couch to watch.

I watch Gabriel climb the stage, lips pursing almost imperceptibly with pain. He was shot in both legs, as well as the shoulder, protecting me. Wounds like that take a long time to heal.

He faces the camera, and my heart skips a beat. His colossal form seems to fill the room, and I barely notice the slight, older redhead at his side.

Gabriel brushes a lock of wavy black hair back from his forehead