Once Raylan is feeling better, we drive back to Chicago.
I go straight to the Griffin’s mansion on the lake. I want to talk to Callum and my sister, to tell them that Du Pont is gone. They don’t have to worry anymore.
But when I get there, only Riona is sitting in the kitchen, looking tense and expectant. She jumps up as we come in.
“There you are!” she says, relieved.
“Where is everyone?” I ask her.
“At the hospital. Aida’s having the baby.”
“Oh.” A wave of relief washes over me, followed by concern. “Is she alright? Was it early?”
I’m worried she went into labor too soon, because of stress.
“It’s fine,” Riona assures me. “She’s full term. Cal’s been texting me updates. It should be any time now.”
Riona opens the briefcase sitting on the breakfast nook table, and takes out Kenwood’s hard drive.
“Nero left this for you. He said, and I quote, ‘You won’t believe the shit on here.’ ”
I take the hard drive, turning it over in my hands. It feels heavy, and fraught with all the awful information contained in its metal shell.
“What are you going to do with it?” Simone asks me.
I know what she’s worried about. She thinks I’m going to use it to blackmail Kenwood, or his fancy friends.
I look her right in the eye.
“No deals,” I promise her. “Kenwood’s going to jail, if I can make that happen.”
“Thank you,” Simone says, in an exhausted tone.
Riona goes over to Simone and rests her hand gently on her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” she asks. “You need a drink?”
“God yes,” Simone says. Then she stops herself. “Actually, just water if you don’t mind.”
Simone’s amber-colored eyes meet mine, and a surge of warmth passes between us. I know she’s being extra careful, just in case. In case a fragile little zygote might be taking hold inside of her right now.
“I could use a drink,” Raylan says, in his smooth southern drawl. I see him eying Riona, taking in her clear, creamy skin, her bright green eyes, and her high ponytail of flame-colored hair.
Riona narrows her eyes at him.
“You look like a scotch might kill you,” she says.
“I do a lot of things that might kill me,” Raylan laughs.
“Do you think that’s impressive?” Riona sniffs, tilting up her chin in disdain.
“Nah,” Raylan grins. “Just the truth.”
“The liquor cabinet is over there,” Riona points. She was willing to mix a drink for Simone, but not some bedraggled stranger.
I’d like to warn her that her coldness to Raylan is the wrong course of action, if she wants to get rid of him. The higher she builds those walls, the more he’s gonna want to tear them down. That’s the nature of Long Shot—he loves an impossible challenge.
On the other hand, I’m in the best mood I’ve experienced in the last nine years. I’d actually enjoy the entertainment.
Raylan strolls over to the liquor cabinet, taking down a bottle of Johnny Walker Scotch. He’s a bourbon man usually, so I know he grabbed that one just to annoy Riona.
“What’s your poison, councilor?” he says. “Let me mix you a drink.”
“No, thank you,” Riona says, sternly.
“Let me guess . . .” he pretends to look her up and down, though I saw him do that already. “I put you as a gin and tonic girl.”
A light flush of color comes into her cheeks. That’s exactly right, though I don’t know how Raylan guessed it.
“I suppose Dante told you that,” she says.
“He never even mentioned you,” Raylan says. “Guess he’s not as good a friend to me as I thought.”
“How do you know I’m a lawyer, then?” Riona demands, catching the hole in his statement.
“Well . . .” Raylan says, taking down two tumblers and filling them with ice. “You’ve got the navy suit, Souliers heels, and Akrivia watch. All stealth wealth, because you want to put your colleagues in their place, but you don’t want to piss off the judge by showing him you make more money than he does. The no-nonsense hair and the unisex cologne sends a nice little fuck off to anybody who tries to sexualize you in the workplace. And then you’ve got your two-hole punch and your notary stamp over there in your briefcase.”
Riona’s eyes dart over to her briefcase, open in the breakfast nook, though turned at such an angle that I don’t know how Raylan managed to peek inside it.
He’s grinning at Riona, thoroughly pleased with himself. She’s not happy at all.
He hands her the gin and tonic, garnished with a twist of lime.
“Very astute,” Riona says, coldly. “But you missed one thing.”
“What’s that?” Raylan says.
“I fucking hate lime.”
Riona upends her gin over the sink, dumping it out. Then she sets down her glass with an agitated thump, and flounces out of the room.
Raylan looks over at Simone and me. He grins.
“I think she likes me,” he says.
An hour later, the littlest Griffin comes into the world. He’s small, furiously angry, and blessed with a thatch of curly dark hair very like his mother’s. When he opens his eyes, they’re as blue as Callum’s.
While Enzo, Fergus, and Imogen are meeting their grandson, I’m having a reunion of my own in the waiting room.
My father brought Henry to the hospital with him. Henry’s wearing an old Tupac t-shirt that once belonged to Nero, and his hair looks freshly washed. He runs over to Simone and hugs her like he hasn’t seen her in years.
Simone wraps her arms around our son, and I hug them both. It’s our first time together as a family. What I feel in this moment can’t be put into words. All I can say is that everything I suffered was worth it. More than worth it. I’d do it again a thousand times, just to hold Simone and Henry against my chest.
There’s no joy without pain. The greater the pain, the greater the joy. At least for me.
All three of us are crying. I’m not ashamed for my son to see it. It’s proof that I loved him all this time. Part of that hole in my heart was from him, even before I knew he existed.
After a while, Nessa Griffin pokes her head into the room, calling to us.
“Come see the baby!” she says, smiling her gentle smile.
We file into the hospital room. Aida looks sweaty and tired, but thoroughly pleased with herself.
“Look what I made!” she tells me.
I look at the infant in his bassinette, tightly swaddled in hospital linens. He’s still frowning, though he’s been subdued for the moment.
“What’s his name?” I ask Aida.
“We still haven’t agreed on one,” Callum says. He looks exasperated, but too happy about the baby to actually be mad.
“Nothing felt right,” Aida says, serenely. She’s not worried. Much like Long Shot, my sister always believes things will turn out in the end.
“What about Matteo?” my father says, suggesting a family name.
“Or Cian,” Fergus says, probably doing the same.
“I like Miles,” Henry says, quietly.
Aida perks up. “Miles Griffin?” She considers for a minute. “I like that.”
“And you’re alright with Griffin as the last name?” Callum says, willing to accede to any first name, as long as he gets the last one.
“It sounds good together,” Aida agrees.
Henry flushes with pleasure. He touches the baby gently on the cheek.
I put my arm around Simone, resting my chin on the top of her head.
Aida smiles at us. She looks almost as pleased to see us here together as she is to have successfully brought her son into the world.
“Good to have you back, Simone,” she says.
