Talia

“Who is that?” Nathan says as he pulls his car up behind Den’s in front of a house on the Lower East Side.

I take in Den’s impeccable suit stretched across folded arms as he casually leans against his BMW in eighty-degree June heat. He’s as unruffled as if it’s a cool sixty. With broad shoulders and towering height, he’s so impressively intimidating that he’d drawn a few young guys onto their front porch, but no one had apparently dared to approach the six-foot-five stranger hanging out in front of their house. Den didn’t hesitate once I called and told him I needed someone to back me up while visiting a sketchy neighborhood. He instantly asked if he could drive me, but I told him I’d meet him here instead.

I nod toward Den. “He’s the associate I mentioned would meet us.”

Nathan cuts the engine and runs his hand nervously through his short dirty-blond curls. “He certainly leaves an impression. I guess your husband was too busy to fill in.”

I ignore my ex’s dig about Sebastian and address his first comment. “See, I told you that you didn’t need to come,” I murmur, then grin my appreciation at Den as he opens the car door before I get a chance to. “Thank you, Den. I appreciate you meeting us here.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Tal—”

“Just Talia,” I say, reminding him I don’t stand on formality. Closing my door, I gesture to Nathan emerging from the other side of his car. “Den, this is a work colleague, Nathan.”

“You’re British?” Nathan doesn’t bother to hide his surprise as he closes his door and beeps his key fob.

“I’m Kenyan and Irish, but I was raised in London.”

“He’s also ex-MI6, so mind your manners.” I wave my finger at Nathan in a mock-stern tone.

As we approach the house, a thinner guy, about five-nine in height, with spiked dark hair and equally dark eyes, separates from the group. Tucking his hands into his baggy jeans’ pockets, he says, “Are you Talia Murphy?”

I nod and gesture to Nathan and Den. “These are my colleagues, Nathan and Den. And you are?”

“I’m Paulo.” The guy eyes Den warily. “You said there would be two of you when you set this up. Banks doesn’t like surprises. Only two can meet with him for the interview.”

Den steps forward. “I go where she goes.”

“That’s fine.” I quickly wave toward Nathan. “Nathan can wait out here.”

Nathan glances at the digital camera he carried from the car. “But I’m here to take pictures.”

I lift the camera from his hand. “I can take the shots. Banks is giving an exclusive interview. We need to play by his rules.”

Paulo nods his approval and opens the door to lead the way into the house.

“As you wish, Mrs. Blake,” Nathan says.

Lately, Nathan has started using my new last name whenever he’s annoyed with me. Just as I clench my teeth to keep from snapping at him, Paulo stops walking and turns around, suspicion in his eyes. “Blake? I thought you said your name was Murphy?”

“Murphy is my maiden and professional name on my Tribune articles. Blake is my married name.”

“Blake?” A booming voice interrupts just as a bald bull-of-a-man walks up, the wood floor shaking with his heavy-footed approach. He sweeps a calculating gaze over Den’s attire, then rubs his dark goatee. “With that suit and BMW…as in the Blakes?”

The last thing I expected was to drag Sebastian’s family into this interview. “Yes, those Blakes.” Putting my hand out, I step forward. “Talia Murphy. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Banks.”

“Banks, no ‘mister,’” he corrects. Ignoring my hand, he folds his arms over his thick chest and equally thick middle. The scar slicing across half his face stands out as his brown eyes give me a guarded once over. “Which Blake are you hitched to?”

He’s entirely too interested in my last name. Lowering my hand, I slide a gaze Den’s way. I need to refocus the discussion back to Banks. While we talked on the phone, that’s all he cared about. “Thank you for agreeing to do the interview. Once I learned about the good your crew has done overall for your neighborhood in keeping it safe, including adding lights and rebuilding bleachers at the local park, and the new donation center in that old church, I wanted to give you the spotlight you deserve.”

“I want to know who’s asking the questions, so I’ll ask you again…” he says in a harsher tone. “Which Blake are you married to, Mrs. Blake?”

He’s not going to let this go. “I’m married to the oldest son, Sebastian.”

“Well, well.” Banks tenses and gives me a once over from head-to-toe. “The stubborn bastard did well for himself with such a fine looking wife.”

“And wow, she has a brain too.” When Banks’s brown eyes narrow, I instantly regret not tempering my sarcastic response, but the fact he somehow knows Sebastian throws me off my game. How are they connected?

Before I can apologize, Banks snorts. “He was just as mouthy.”

“You know my husband?”

“Yeah, we know Blackie,” Paulo cuts in as he moves to stand beside Banks.

“Or knew, rather,” Banks finishes, gesturing for me to follow him into the living room. “You can interview me in here.”

Blackie. That name was from Sebastian’s teenage years before he moved in with his father and away from the Lower East Side. I glance across the room to the men of various ages sitting around watching TV and playing video games on the leather couch. The way they’re flicking their gazes between Banks and me with a wary gleam in their eyes, I can’t help but wonder in what capacity Sebastian knew Banks and his crew. Was he part of this group in his youth? He told me once that a gang tried to recruit him and he had to fight to remain independent.

As far as I can tell, these guys don’t appear to be openly carrying guns. That’s why I wanted to interview their leader. He’d managed to keep his neighborhood safe without using gun violence. I didn’t see a single firearm tucked in any of their waistlines. But now that I know Sebastian had some kind of connection to them, I’m really glad I didn’t let Theo attend this interview. There’s no way he wouldn’t report this back to my husband. And being the private man that he is…I think Sebastian wouldn’t want the past he left behind resurfacing. I’m more than relieved that Banks has decided to move on to the interview.

Shooing the men off the sofa, the leader barks, “Go outside for a while,” then gestures for me to sit. While Paulo moves over to stand next to the big window near the front door, his gaze never leaving Nathan on the porch, Banks glares at Den. Holding Bank’s gaze, Den moves to the back of the sofa, positioning himself directly behind me.

“Why do you want to do this interview?” Banks gives up his staring contest with Den and parks his thick bulk on the coffee table in front of me.

I realize he’s sitting close and putting himself in a higher position on purpose, but I keep my response even this time. He didn’t get to where he is without asserting authority. “Normally I do investigative pieces for the Tribune, but when I learned about your group, I was intrigued. I know that the police have rousted the Banks’s Boys a few times over the last decade or so, but overall you all have remained unscathed, while your neighborhood is known to be one of the safest. The dynamic sounded interesting and an overall positive success story, which sadly doesn’t often get highlighted in this area.”

“You see this face?” He points to his scar. “This is the face of someone who sticks his neck out, dives into danger and eats it for lunch. That’s what being part of my crew means. We look out for each other, just like we look out for the hood. Many of the guys here don’t have anyone else. We are family.” Lifting his chin toward me, he continues. “What would you know about any of that? How can you possibly know what does or doesn’t go on in this area of town sitting in your cushy Tribune office?”

“Are you interviewing me?” I ask, tilting my head.

Hooking his booted foot across his other knee, Banks folds gold-ringed fingers around his ankle. “Just trying to understand your angle.”

From the high-end video games/TVs and brand new leather furniture, Banks and his “boys” have money coming from some source, but I know it’s not drugs or guns. Am I curious about that piece? Sure. The downside of investigative journalism is that you’re always looking to uncover the bad stuff so you can make your story stand out in the sensationalism noise among all the other headlines. But even a paper as investigation heavy as the Tribune needs some balance, so every so often we’ll highlight the positive side of a story.

Banks is my story.

I flip open my notepad and retrieve a pen from its spiral. “No angle, Banks. I’m doing what I said, highlighting the positive. I want to talk about better police stats and lower gun violence in your neighborhood, and discuss how your group works with the community center’s youth program, helping with projects that directly benefit them, like adding more lights to the local park and building new bleachers. And for the record, I know what it’s like to live in fear of someone with power over you, to not know how you’re going to pay your rent, let alone buy your next meal. I’ve lost everything, including family, and had to start all over, so yeah…I think I’m qualified to do this interview. Does that satisfy your need to know if I’ll write my article from a point of understanding?”

Banks rests his elbows on his knees, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Ask away, lady reporter. Some things I’ll answer, some I won’t, due to protecting my neighborhood and all.”

Nodding, I lift the camera. “Can I take a couple of pictures to go with the interview?”

He rubs his goatee, then folds his arms across his chest. Jutting his chin at a tough-guy angle, his dark eyes shine. “Have at it.”

When the interview is over and Den and I walk out of the house, I give Nathan an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry you had to wait out here.”

Buttoning his collar back up and tightening his loosened tie, Nathan rubs the sweat off his temple and grumbles, “Did you get a couple of pictures?”

I nod and hand him his camera back. “Can you email them to me?”

“Sure. You ready to head back?”

“I’ll drop Talia off at the Tribune,” Den says before I can answer.

After Den closes the passenger car door behind me and then climbs into the driver side, I wait until we pull away to speak. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Banks called at the last minute. He only agreed to the interview if I could do it today.” When he raises his eyebrow, I can read the question in his gaze. He was too polite to ask in front of Nathan. “Yes, my husband could’ve backed me up, but I’m trying hard to stick to the tradition of not seeing him before the rehearsal dinner and our wedding.”

Den nods his understanding, then glances my way after he turns out of the neighborhood. “What did you think of Banks’s interest in Sebastian?”

“They definitely had a past, it seems. But I’m glad Banks let it go once he decided that I didn’t have any other agenda behind why I was here.”

“Based on the undertones in Banks’s statements, Sebastian wouldn’t have been happy with this meeting, Talia.”

“I know that now.” I meet his light brown gaze. The striking contrast against his dark skin never ceases to warrant a moment of appreciation. “Sebastian really hasn’t discussed much about his past life in the Lower East Side with me. And I get it. There are some things we’d rather leave behind.”

“Until the past and present cross paths,” Den muses.

“What’s done is done,” I say on a sigh. “Banks was certainly interesting to interview. Can you believe that all of the guys are pretty much orphans of some sort? Talk about a unique way to be raised.”

“Without family it makes sense they would gravitate to someone who could look after them. I noticed you didn’t drill Banks too deeply as to how they earn a living. Since when does ‘odd jobs here and there’ earn enough to afford high end TVs and furniture?”

“Is that your former agent skills kicking in?” I tease, wondering about Den’s life with the MI6. Why did he leave?

He flicks on his blinker and glances back to the road, but not before I see a flash of perfect teeth with his quick smile. “Just as I noticed your sharp investigative skills taking a back seat during this interview.”

“Yep, but I made Banks a promise that this would only be about the good his group has done and I’m sticking to it,” I say on a sigh. “Please do me a favor and don’t disclose where we’ve been if Sebastian asks. He’ll learn about it when the article comes out the day after our wedding. By then, he’ll see that the interview was just a feel good piece and nothing more.”

Turning onto the road that leads to my office, Den says, “My career is discretion. I’m not about to change that now.”

“The last thing I want Sebastian to think is that I was out digging up dirt on his past right before our wedding. Yes, discovering their connection was a heck of a fluke, but I’ll just write my article and move on.”

“Don’t worry, Talia. My discretion remains unchanged. Never hesitate to call. I look forward to our…adventures.”

“Thank you, Den. I value your friendship on top of your professional skills.”

He slides his gaze to me as he slows to a stoplight near the Tribune’s office building. “I no longer see pain and sadness in your eyes now that you’re with Sebastian. I’ll help in any way I can to keep that from happening.”

“Because you know what that feels like?” I ask, tilting my head to see his response.

“Some sad memories we keep for a reason,” he says, nodding slowly. “The pain they evoke only fades in the background.”

The memory of little Amelia comes to mind. I miss her sweet smile and tight arms squeezing my neck. I instantly reach up to touch my locket that holds the only memory I have of her—the “two Lias drawing” locked inside. “Is it ‘one day’ yet?” I ask Den, referring to his promise to tell me about his past.

“I have also lost,” is all he says before turning into the Tribune.

I notice the flash of pain his vague comment evokes. I want to ask more, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he gets out and comes around my side of the car, opening my door. “I believe you have an interview to write up, Mrs. Blake.”

It took the rest of the day to compile Banks’s answers to my questions and write my article. I wanted it to be balanced and thorough while holding onto my promise to Banks. I submitted it to my boss, Stan, just before the end of the day. I leave the office and just as I slow to a stop at the red light outside the Tribune, I realize I’d been so immersed in work that I’d forgotten to turn my phone back on. The moment the screen flares to life, a missed voicemail from Sebastian instantly pops up and my heart trips. He never leaves voicemails. Instead, he prefers the back and forth banter texting allows.

Since I’m not far from my father’s bookstore, I quickly head in that direction for a place to park and listen to Sebastian’s message. I finally find a space down the street, then cut the engine and hit the play button on my phone. My accomplished mood for the day instantly flat-lines at the anger in my husband’s voice. For some reason he’s got it in his head that the time we’re spending apart before the wedding was just so I could keep him in the dark about an assignment. Ugh, I could’ve handled this better. Now I’m especially glad the article won’t release until after the wedding. I’ve been avoiding direct phone calls since yesterday so my husband couldn’t use his supreme seductive prowess to convince me to come home, but I know only a phone call will fix this. I start to dial his number when a commotion at the entrance of my father’s bookstore draws my attention.

My father is holding his bookstore door open and gesturing angrily after my Aunt Vanessa as she walks out. My heart jerks and my hand instantly curls tight around my phone. Despite her attempts to try and contact me, I haven’t seen or talked to my aunt since I discovered her role in ending my engagement to Nathan. While she was right that I would’ve been miserable with him, that wasn’t her call to make.

But I’ve also struggled with the fact she didn’t stop my mother from committing suicide when she knew she was unwell, and that she left me in a vulnerable situation as a young teen while she worked crazy hours. Deep down a part of me wants to believe that my aunt does love me, but her skewed viewpoint in how she shows that worries me. And now she’s here talking—actually arguing—with my father? My relationship with Kenneth McAdams only began this year. We’re just getting to know each other. If my aunt is trying to manipulate that too, I won’t struggle any longer with my guilt in staying away from her.

They exchange a few more words and then my aunt walks to her car. I wait until she leaves before I walk over to the bookshop.

“Talia! Come in, come in.” My dad gestures the moment I walk inside, the frown on his lined face instantly morphing into a broad smile. Pushing a cart of books over next to the register, he turns to a blonde woman about ten years or so older than me standing behind the desk. “Simone, the register is doing that funky thing again. Can you fix it? And when you’re done, could you please lock up and take care of shelving these books from the kids’ corner? I need to talk to my daughter.”

“Sure thing, Kenneth,” she says, pulling the cart full of books forward.

“Hi, Simone, I’m Talia.” Glancing at my dad, I grin. “Business must be picking up.”

He nods. “I learned so much standing in line at your book signing, listening to your fans chat about books and how they discovered them, that I decided to try targeted advertising on social media. Yep, advertising is my new best friend. With the extra customers I’ve brought into the store, I was able to hire Simone.” He gestures to Simone, smiling. “Turns out, she not only loves books, but she’s also a whiz with computers too.”

“Thanks for helping,” I say to Simone as my father hooks his arm in mine and tugs me toward a door at the back of the store.

She turns a steady gaze my way, offering a quick smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Talia. Don’t worry about the register, I’ve got it covered,” she calls after us as my father opens the door to his office.

The moment he shuts the door and gestures to the cushioned chair in front of his desk, I sit and lift my gaze to his green one that’s so like mine. “What was that yelling contest I just witnessed at the entrance of your store? Why in the world was my aunt here?”

Kenneth perches on the edge of the desk facing me. “This is the second time she has come by. The first time was a couple weeks ago. I was civil and treated her like any other customer. She didn’t mention you at all. Instead before she left, she just said she was glad that I’d figured out my life.”

“Talk about a backhanded compliment,” I murmur, shaking my head.

He shrugs and adjusts the collar of his light gray sweater over the navy collared shirt underneath. “She’s not incorrect. It took me a while to get my head on straight.”

“She was probably just curious, but why did she come back?”

He slides a hand in his black dress pant pocket and shakes his head. “She walked around and pretended to look at books, but then made a beeline for me as soon as I was done helping a customer. She asked me point blank if I was going to walk you down the aisle.”

“What?” I blink rapidly. “How does she even know about the wedding?”

“You obviously haven’t read today’s news.” My father chuckles as he lifts a print out from his desk and hands it to me. “A special edition went out on-line. I’m sure it’ll be splashed all over the other papers tomorrow. It’s big news around here when a Blake gets married, you know.”

I stare at the article from the society section announcing our upcoming wedding. The accompanying picture is one Mina had taken just last weekend. Sebastian is wrapping his arms around my waist as we stand on our patio at our house in the Hamptons. It’s a lovely picture. We look happy, but it’s also a personal moment of laughter among family. Between his BLACK Security business with elite clients all over the city and beyond, and his background as a Navy SEAL, the man I love covets his privacy. Even our apartment is unlisted. But if my ex saw this article this morning, now I know why Nathan was extra snarky today. Ugh.

I gape at my father. “I have no idea how this happened. Sebastian would never do this.”

My father points to the paper. “That’s how your aunt found out that you’re getting married. She insisted that I help you two reconcile. She wants to be invited and went on and on about how she’s the one who raised you, not me. Needless to say, I didn’t bother telling her you’re already married. She was getting loud enough as it was, drawing curious gazes from patrons. I don’t want or need my past waved around, so I finally had to ask her to leave, which she didn’t appreciate. Hence the drama as she left.”

My heart twists with guilt. I’ve carried an invitation for my aunt in my purse for a week now. Plaguing doubt kept me from mailing it. My father will never know all the gritty details her past transgressions caused in my life, but he knows enough. “I’m sorry you got caught up in the middle of this.”

Kenneth folds his arms and nods toward the paper. “I take it you had a busy day to miss that kind of news?”

I start to speak, then it hits me and I chuckle. “My very private husband must also not know about this news, or I most definitely would’ve heard about it from him. I guess you could say we’ve uh…been living in a bubble the last twenty-four hours.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Is this good or bad news?”

I shrug. “Sebastian will hate that it was announced to the world with the heat of a thousand suns, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’m sorry Aunt Vanessa harassed you. After the way she left, I have a feeling she won’t be back.”

“So…are you going to invite her?”

I’m so surprised by his question, I stare at him for a couple seconds before I reply. “Are you serious? After what just happened here and the things I’ve told you she’s responsible for?”

Nodding, he sits in the chair across from me and clasps one of my hands between his. “Talia, I’m not a perfect man. I’ve made mistakes in my past. Leaving you and your mother was the biggest one, and I’ll have to live with missing out on your childhood forever because of it. It would be hypocritical of me not to encourage you to consider inviting Vanessa.” I start to speak, but he interrupts. “Let me finish. You don’t have to forgive her or let her back into your life, but I can tell that she sincerely loves you and it would be a gesture of goodwill on your part to let the woman who raised you see you get married.”

He cups my cheek with one hand, his eyes turning glassy. “If you hadn’t given me a chance to get to know you, we wouldn’t have a relationship. You and Vanessa may never be as close as you once were, but I’m a firm believer in second chances with all the cards on the table, eyes wide open…whatever the metaphor.”

I lay my hand over his and squeeze. “I’ll think about it.”

Releasing my face, he smiles and clasps my hands once more. “Vanessa had an excellent question, but I honestly didn’t know the answer. Are you walking yourself down the aisle, young lady?”

Emotion wells and I sniff back tears. “I would love it if you would walk me down the aisle, but I wasn’t sure how to ask you.”

“I’d be honored.” A huge smile spreads across his face, a hint of color riding his cheeks. “And now I’ll need a tux.”

“That won’t be necessary. A nice suit will suffice.”

“Not for this honor it won’t!” He releases me, eyes alight with excitement. “Well, I’ve got to get busy. I have a friend who owns a shop, but that means I’ll need to go see him tonight to get fitted.”

Nodding, I stand. “Okay then, I’ll head out. Are we still on next month at Andres?”

“I’d never miss a lunch with my Tally-girl.” I can’t help but smile at the sweet nickname, but when I start to walk out of his office, he says, “And Talia?”

When I turn back, kind eyes hold mine. “Definitely think about that second chance. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how they rectify them that says the most about their character.”