Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,79

go. On one hand, it feels nice to be this close to Gabriel. I want to explore this side of our relationship, to keep waking up to his adorable bedhead, to offer comfort to him in the night.

On the other hand, people are still dying. The papers are full of reports of junkies found stiff and cold in alleys and parking garage staircases. I am the only person who knows what I know, and who can shine a light on this crisis, maybe even end it.

Gabriel groans and shifts away from me, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour,” he says, and then lumbers out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

I hop out of bed and go to check on Harry, but he’s still asleep. I leave him for a little while longer, grabbing a shower and applying makeup before going through to wake him up and get him ready too. An hour later, we are downstairs, waiting patiently for Gabriel as instructed.

Only he doesn’t show.

Angelo and David are there, having obviously received the same instructions, but the minutes tick by and we are still down one mob boss.

“Can you take Harry for a minute?” I ask Angelo.

“Sure.” He takes Harry and starts bouncing him around the room with a big smile while I mount the stairs.

I find Gabriel in his study. He’s dressed in all black, like he’s supposed to be, but something about the way he’s staring at his computer screen makes it seem like he has forgotten the funeral entirely.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Are you ready?”

Gabriel looks up, lips tight. “I’m not going.”

“Why not?” I frown and cross the room, sliding into the chair opposite.

He licks his lip and closes his laptop. “My time would be better served finding the five of Walsh’s men who got away and bringing them to justice,” he explains

For Gabriel, there’s always another job to do, always another person to punish. It’s how he processes things, but I would argue that by diving into his work he processes only the facts and figures, never the emotions.

“Vito would want you there,” I say gently.

His eyes snap to mine, black and unyielding. “Vito’s dead. He doesn’t want anything anymore.”

“What’s this really about?” I press. “You can find the perpetrators any other day. Hell, you can even look this afternoon. But this morning we are going to honor your best friend, who died protecting our family.”

“That’s just it,” he breathes. “Vito died because of me. It was my fault. And now Nuri doesn’t have a father, and Corie doesn’t have a husband, and they know exactly who to blame.”

I go over to him and tug him out of his chair, a little surprised that he lets me. I rest my hands on his chest and hold his gaze.

“Corie knew just as well as I do that she married a dead man,” I say. “Every second she got with him was a boon. If he had lived to a ripe old age, they would have counted their blessings. But the reality of this life means that that was never guaranteed. Vito knew that, Corie knows that, and one day Nuri will understand.”

Gabriel blinks, and his expression shifts from sadness to something else, something like pride. I am shocked by my own conviction and let my hands fall away. Gabriel catches them, and brings my knuckles to his lips.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

It’s a beautiful service. The lacquered coffin shines in the bright sunshine, surrounded by blooming flowers in every color. I catch my first sight of Corie and Nuri. Corie is pretty, with long blonde hair and a heart-shaped face, though I can’t see her features well behind her dark sunglasses. She holds Nuri bundled in her arms. He is silent throughout the service, though he begins to cry as they lower the coffin into the grave.

Afterward, at the reception, I go to give my respects to Corie, woman to woman. She is standing off to the side of the buffet table, rocking Nuri.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m—”

“Alexis,” she cuts me off. “You’re the boss’ girl.”

She looks at me expectantly, as if to say, What do you want?

This is the first funeral I’ve attended besides my father’s, and I’m not sure what you’re supposed to say to a grieving widow. I consider telling her she looks good in black—an indisputable fact—but decide against it. Instead I tell her what I would want to hear