Chapter 10 - The Spring Invoice
By May, the North Fork peninsula had exploded into a green and white sea of wild elderberry blossoms, the scent of the salt air mixing with the sweet, fresh grass until the valley smelled like an orchard after a summer rain.
The black Mercedes was parked by the barn, its doors open, Marco cleaning the windshield with a soft chamois cloth while the shortwave radio played a quiet, old-fashioned Italian melody from a station in New Jersey. The Sound below the cliffs was blue, the river ice entirely gone, the small fishing boats moving across the channel like white birds against the sky.
Norah stood on the wooden steps of the cedar house, her small duffel bag in her left hand. The old yellow legal pad was gone—replaced by a bound leather galley proof of her book, its cover stamped with the title in gold leaf.
Luca stood beside her, his linen shirt open at the throat, his eyes watching the small waves break against the granite rocks below the lawn.
“The ferry to New London leaves in forty minutes, Norah,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, rhythmic baritone that always made the world feel small and safe around her. “The publisher has a car waiting at the station. You have a luncheon at the Plaza tomorrow noon.”
Norah looked down the gravel road toward the iron gates, where the lamps were dark now, the spring sun bright enough to clear every shadow from the lane. She dropped the duffel bag onto the wooden step, her hand reaching up to touch the silver line above her eye.
“The Plaza is very loud this time of year, Luca,” she said softly, her green eyes turning to look into his.
Luca turned his head, his face softening into that rare, genuine smile that had no iron left in it—the look of a man who had finally cleared the table and kept the room.
“Is it?” he asked.
“The Jersey local is still charging forty dollars too much for the gravel transport,” she said, her fingers closing over the cuff of his linen sleeve, pulling him half an inch closer until she could smell the sandalwood and the fresh salt air on his skin. “And Marco tells me the Red Hook office hasn't checked their balance sheets since the thaw. You’re going to lose four thousand dollars on the spring contracts if I’m not there to watch the columns.”
Luca reached out, his large, scarred arm wrapping around her waist, lifting her easily until her feet were clear of the wooden step. He didn't look like the master of Red Hook or the Don who had put the Lucchese family under the dirt; he looked like a man who had finally found the truth in a world built on lies.
May you like
“The ledger is open, Norah,” he whispered against her lips as the wild blossoms fell around them like a spring snow storm. “The road is clear. You stay right here.”
“I’m staying,” she said, her mouth meeting his as the ferry whistle blew long and clean across the blue waters of the Sound, carrying nothing but empty white spray into the north, leaving the shadows far behind them in the dark.
