Harbor (Demonio Brotherhood #6)

1. SOPHIE ONE YEAR LATER after HARBOR

SOPHIE: ONE YEAR LATER after HARBOR

The linen delivery man has the audacity to smile at me.

“Ma’am, I understand your frustration, but the account is contracted through—”

“Through a man who is no longer associated with this restaurant.” I plant both palms flat on the hostess stand and hold his gaze.

“I have called your company seven times. Seven. I have sent four emails and two certified letters. I have spoken to your customer service department, your billing department, and a woman named Cheryl in accounts receivable who told me she would personally handle it.” I gesture at the stack of folded white linens he has just carried through my front door. “Cheryl did not personally handle it.”

He shifts the clipboard to his other hand. “The account holder would need to contact us directly to—”

“I am the account holder.”

“The primary account holder, ma’am. The contract was established by a Mr.—”

“I know who established it.” The words come out sharply but I honestly don’t care.

It’s been months of this. Months. “I am telling you, very clearly and for the last time, that I am the owner of this establishment. My name is on the deed. My name is on the business license. My name—” I slide my business card across the hostess stand “—is Sophia Bellamorte, and this is the Arsenal, and I am canceling this linen service effective immediately.”

One year. It has been almost one full year since Vincenzo Demonio walked out of my life, and his fingerprints are still on everything.

A linen contract I cannot freaking cancel.

Kitchen equipment accounts. The cleaning service that shows up every Thursday even though we aren’t even open yet.

The name on the bottom of every vendor invoice, authorizing payment in a bold, slanted scrawl I’ve grown to resent.

The linen guy looks at the card. Then looks at me. The smile wavers.

“If your company bills me for another delivery,” I continue pleasantly, “I will dispute every charge, report the account to the Better Business Bureau, and leave a very detailed review on every platform I can find. Are we clear?”

A long pause. “I’ll need to make a note in the system.”

“Please do.”

He makes no note of anything, drops my card on the table, and leaves the stack of linens on the table when he goes. I’m about to run after him when Siena appears in the doorway wearing a gorgeous camel wool coat and carrying little Emilia on her hip.

Behind her is Olivia Neroli, the younger adopted sister of Matti and Tommy. She’s 22, tall, skinny, and sweet. She’s also effectively Emilia’s nanny, and I love more than anything to feed her.

“Awww my gosh, the cuteness!” I squeeze all of them in a bear hug then peel Emilia out of Siena’s arms while she takes off her coat.

I give the baby a smothering of little kisses and breathe in her baby powder scent with a sigh. “You got so big since Thursday. How is that possible? Are you letting her eat the furniture again?”

“She’s teething.” Siena unwraps her scarf and drapes it over a chair, looking around the empty dining room. “Was that the linen guy I passed on the steps?”

“Mm.” I press a kiss to Emilia’s soft temple and nod toward the stack of linens. “He came bearing gifts.”

“Fabulous. Still fighting the good fight, I take it?”

“You know it.” I carry the baby toward the kitchen, and Siena and Olivia both follow, their high heels clicking on the reclaimed hardwood that I chose myself, after three weeks of arguments with the original flooring company Vin had contracted.

They’re so much warmer than what he had them install, with more character and a deep honey tone that’s beautiful in the light from the tall windows.

Olivia leans her forearms against the kitchen island. “Maybe if you talked to Matti and Tommy, they could—”

“I’m handling it.” I settle Emilia on the other side of the kitchen island and brace my hands on either side of her so she can practice sitting upright.

The counter isn’t the original one that Vin and I ‘christened’ when we found the place, nor is it the one Vin ordered, which was beautiful but six inches too narrow for the way I work. Slowly and carefully, piece by piece, I’ve been reclaiming the restaurant and making it my own.

Siena pulls a counter stool up next to Olivia and surveys me. “How are the preparations?”

“Almost there.” And it’s true, finally, undeniably true.

“The last of the bar stools arrive Friday. The signage goes up Saturday morning. I feel like I’ve done 1000 soft opens with you guys over the past year,” I laugh.

“So I’m just planning on the hard open a few weeks into January.

It’s the worst possible time of year to open a new restaurant, but—“

“No.” Siena shakes her head. “January is perfect. The restaurant is perfect.”

Olivia gives a little shriek and slaps the counter like a drum roll. “Sophie! It’s really happening.”

They’re both smiling, and my throat tightens in response, because yes. After a year of vendor disputes and refrigeration upgrades and choosing new furniture and redoing the apartment upstairs into something that feels like home—yes. It is really happening.

“It’s really happening,” I agree, and my voice only catches a little.

We are all quiet for a moment watching Emilia coo as she tries to eat my apron string.

“I want to talk to you about New Year’s Eve.” Siena’s voice is soft but determined as she exchanges a look with Olivia, so I try hard not to roll my eyes and shut her down. I know where this is going.

“Before you say no,” she continues.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made the face.”

“I didn’t make a face.”

“Emilia” she says picking up the baby and pointing at me. “Your Auntie Sophie is making a face. Do you see it?”

Emilia blows a bubble.

“Thank you,” Siena says to her daughter and I groan.

Olivia laughs. “Rooftop at Dragovari Tower. New Year’s Eve. Small group, just family, the boys, the usual people.”

Siena chimes in. “Yes, we’re keeping it low-key this year. No gala, no outside guests, just an excuse to get dressed up and drink good wine and start the new year with the people we love.” She pauses. “I want you there.”

I turn my attention to the linen receipts on the counter.

“Sophie.”

“New Year’s Eve with you guys and Emilia sounds great,” I say carefully. “I just think the restaurant opening is right around the corner and I should probably stay focused—”

“The restaurant doesn’t open until weeks after New Year’s; you just said so yourself.” She hands Emilia to Olivia and crosses her arms. “Try again. But before you do, remember Christmas Eve. Do you want a repeat of that?”

The truth is that I have become very good at the calculus of avoidance this year.

I know which family dinners Vin attends and which ones he skips.

I know that he’s more likely to come to something if Tommy and Matti are both going to be there, less likely if it’s only one of the two.

I know that I can usually find a reason to leave within 30 minutes of his arrival, and that if I time it right, I can slip out before we even make eye contact.

Christmas Eve, I timed it wrong. After six hours of preparation, I served the entire Feast of the Seven Fishes myself, and then heard his voice in the front hallway just as Siena was bringing out the baccalà.

I kissed the baby, hugged Siena and Giovanna, and told them I had a headache, then slipped into the December cold before he saw me.

I missed the rest of the dinner. I missed Emilia’s first Christmas Eve. I cried in my car for 20 minutes before I could drive home.

“I had a headache on Christmas Eve,” I say.

Siena’s expression does not change. “You cooked all day then you left before you took a single bite. Because of him. Sophie, you can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.”

“You are both apart of this family, whether either of you like it or not. Matti and Tommy aren’t going anywhere, which means Vin isn’t going anywhere.

Me and Emilia aren’t going anywhere, which means you have to find a way to be in the same room with him.

” She pauses. “Emilia’s first birthday is coming up.

You need to be apart of her big happy moments. ”

The thought of missing that knots my stomach.

“He hasn’t brought her around,” Siena says, and she doesn’t have to clarify who her is. I know. We both know. The Irish woman, his future wife. ”Not once. Whatever is happening there, he’s keeping it separate from the family.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, and try to mean it. “But that won’t last much longer.”

“The mourning period ends soon,” Siena agrees.

After a death in an Italian family, especially the death of a patriarch, the tradition is no celebrations, no big life changes, no weddings for a year.

It’s the only reason Vin hasn’t married her yet, but once it happens, she’ll be around.

And he’ll be with her. And then their kids—

My stomach does a slow, sickening drop that I cover by waving at Emilia in Olivia’s arms.

“But that’s all the more reason to get used to seeing him. Before there are… others with him.” Siena says ‘others’ carefully.

I meet Siena’s gaze. “You’re right. I’ve been handling it badly.”

Siena blinks then breaks into a huge smile. “Wait, really?”

“If I go to the New Year’s Eve party,” I continue, “and survive seeing him, which I will, then Emilia’s birthday will be easier. And the next thing after that will be easier still.”

Olivia twirls with Emilia. “Exposure therapy!”

“Exactly,” I say.

“So you’ll come for sure?” Siena asks.

I smile at my cousin, remembering I’m the only family she has left.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, but we both know I’ll do it.

One year. I made it almost one year without him. Whatever comes next, I can survive that too.