3. Chapter Three Ruby #2
“You’re a good father, Julian. I don’t know why you want to keep the fact that you don’t share DNA with her hidden from her. She’ll find out eventually…”
“She’s seven. What does she care about DNA?”
“She cares about the truth, Julian. She’s a smart kid. You know she’ll start asking questions.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the first sign of real stress I’d seen from him all night.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
For now, she just needs to feel secure. That’s all I’m trying to do.
She already knows her parents don’t really like each other, and now you want to tell her that your baby daddy is someone else? ”
“Okay, you knew I was pregnant when we got together.”
I took a sip of my sparkling water, trying to cool the frustration that was starting to simmer. This was dangerous territory, but we were already knee-deep in it.
“When we got together,” he emphasized. “But I didn’t sign up for this, Ruby. For playing second fiddle to a man who isn’t even in the picture.”
“That’s rich, coming from the man who’s always had his orchestra waiting in the wings.”
He flinched, just slightly, but enough for me to notice. Score one for me, though it was a hollow victory. We both knew about his indiscretions; I just rarely called him out on them. There was a balance we’d struck, an uneasy truce that allowed us to coexist without descending into outright war.
“Touché,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “But we’re talking about the present, not the past.”
A silence fell between us, thick with the words we wanted to say but held back.
I glanced around the room, taking in the faces of my supporters, their hopeful expressions and enthusiastic postures.
This was supposed to be a celebration, a rallying point.
Yet here I was, mired in old conflicts and new fears.
“Julian,” I started. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It’s not easy for me either. But we’re almost there. Just a few more months.”
He nodded slowly, as if absorbing each syllable. “I get it. The optics. But don’t kid yourself, Ruby. Once you’re DA, it’s going to be even harder. More time away, more pressure. Are you really prepared for that? Is Rosie?”
“I have to believe that it’s all for the greater good,” I said, though even to my own ears it sounded like a rehearsed line from a campaign speech. “If I can rid Boston of crime for our child, shouldn’t I?”
He laughed. “Right. You’re right. I’ve always been the pragmatist.”
I took another glance at Julian. He had a way of disarming me, even when he was being insufferable.
Perhaps it was his unwavering confidence, or maybe just the familiarity of a man I’d spent nearly a decade with.
Tonight, though, there was something different in his demeanor—an underlying tension, as if he were balancing on a tightrope.
“Listen,” he said. “All I’m saying is that you need to be realistic about what you’re getting into. I’m not trying to discourage you. Just…prepare you.”
“I know what I’m getting into,” I replied. I didn’t need the justice system mansplained to me by my ex; I knew how deep the corruption ran in this city. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“No, but it’s the highest stakes one yet.” He placed his empty glass on the bar with a soft clink. “I just want you to succeed, Ruby. Because if you do, Rosie will be proud of you. And if she’s proud of you, she’ll understand why you’re not there as much.”
I studied him, searching for any hint of sarcasm or ulterior motive. But his eyes held steady, sincere.
“I’ll still be there for our daughter.”
“I know, Ruby, that’s not what I’m saying.”
Alek had made his way back to us, champagne flute in hand, his ever-present smile growing wider as he noticed the serious expressions on our faces.
“Everything okay here?” he asked, his accent a little sharper than usual.
He worked so hard to always sound American.
He was either tipsy or worried. Maybe he was a bit of both.
I forced a smile. “Perfect. Just catching up on old times.”
Julian stood, smoothing out his suit jacket. “I should get going. Early morning deposition.” He looked at me, then at Alek. “Good luck, Ruby. Really. Good to see you, Alek.”
“Likewise,” Alek tipped his flute toward Julian.
Julian turned and made his way through the throng of people, pausing briefly to shake hands with a few familiar faces. I watched him until he disappeared through the double doors of the hotel ballroom.
“He’s worried,” Alek stated, more than asked. “About you or about himself?”
I sighed, swirling the remains of my sparkling water. “He’s always worried. It’s how he shows he cares.”
“Sounds maddening,” he said. “Does he like the ‘Say Yes to Marquez’ slogan?”
I laughed. “He loves it,” I replied. “Thinks it was his idea.”
Alek rubbed his chin. “Wait, it wasn’t his idea?”
“You’re going to have to start taking credit one day.”
Alek shrugged, the glint in his eyes not fading. “I prefer to stay in the background, you know that. It’s more fun watching you shine.”
I looked at him, really looked at him. Where Julian was all sharp angles and precise lines, Alek was softer, more fluid in his movements and expressions. There was an ease to him that I had always found comforting.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The press is here, and they want to see you.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. “One last thing,” I said, causing Alek to pause mid-turn. “Do you think I’m making the right choice?”
He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor turning serious. “Which choice?”
“All of it,” I said, waving a hand around as if to encompass the entire room, the campaign, my life. “Running for DA, staying in the marriage, keeping the secret from Rosie…”
Alek considered me for a long moment, too long. The silence made my heart pound in my ears.
“Rosie’s a child. And look, Ruby,” he started slowly, his voice quiet.
He didn’t want anyone else to hear him. “You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.
You always know what you want and how to get it.
But sometimes…sometimes the right choice isn’t the one that gets you what you want.
It’s the one that lets you sleep at night. ”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could I say? That I hadn’t slept well in years? That the weight of every choice was crushing me? That I was terrified of losing everything—Rosie, the election, myself?
And—maybe a little—that Rosie’s real father was just waiting to drop back into my life like the bombshell I knew he would be?
“Go shine,” Alek said softly, giving me a small nod before walking away.
A young reporter, a man with a freshly minted press badge and an eager glint in his eye, intercepted Alek with a question. Alek pointed in my direction, and the reporter’s eyes lit up as he hurried over to me.
“Ms. Marquez! Just a moment of your time, please,” he called out, fumbling with a small recorder. “I’m Jason from the Boston Ledger.”
“Hello,” I said. “Thank you for being here.”
He beamed, clearly unused to such immediate access. “First off, congratulations on the recent poll numbers. It looks like you’re pulling ahead.”
“Thank you. We’ve been working very hard.”
He glanced at his notes, then back at me. “Your campaign has focused heavily on fighting corruption. Some have said that your approach is too aggressive, that it prioritizes convictions over justice. How do you respond to those criticisms?”
I took a breath, letting the air fill my lungs and calm my racing thoughts. This was familiar territory, easier than navigating the emotional minefield with Julian.
“We believe that a safer Boston is possible when we hold people accountable for their actions,” I said, giving him my practiced yet passionate answer.
“Justice and public safety are not mutually exclusive, and our goal is to strike that balance. Every decision we make will be grounded in fairness and the greater good of the community.”
Jason nodded, scribbling furiously in a small notebook despite having the recorder running. “And how do you plan to handle the increase in gang violence in areas like Dorchester and Roxbury?”
“We’re going to invest in community programs that provide alternatives for at-risk youth, work closely with local law enforcement to create more effective intervention strategies, and ensure that resources are allocated where they’re needed most.”
This part was easy. These were the answers I’d given a hundred times, each one honing my message sharper than the last. Yet tonight, they felt hollow, like reading someone else’s script.
“Some of your constituents are worried about the influence of crime families in the city. When polled, most Bostonians wanted to know what you’re going to do about the Callahan family.”
The mention of the Callahans made my stomach tighten.
They were a fixture in Boston’s criminal landscape, a family that had managed to weave its way into the very fabric of the city.
Taking them on was a different level of risk, one that could really mess the city up for good.
I understood that, if I won, the responsibility was monumental.
And if people found out that I had a baby with Kieran Callahan…well, what if that didn’t just destroy me, but the city that had become my home?
I told myself I was being dramatic.
I did want to do good. I wanted to keep people safe, if nothing else.
“We’re going to treat the Callahans like any other criminal organization,” I said. “No one is above the law, and we will pursue justice with the same vigor whether it’s for an individual or a powerful family.”
Jason looked impressed, maybe even a little awed. “That’s a bold stance. Some might say it’s dangerous.”
I waved him off. “The people of Boston deserve leaders who are’t afraid to do what’s right.”