Sterling’s Fortune

Chapter 14

Tony’s Trattoria was a Queens institution. It had red checkered tablecloths, murals of Venice painted by someone who had clearly never been to Italy, and the best garlic knots in the tri-state area. It was also louder than a jet engine.

Alistair looked like an alien.

Even in his "casual" black sweater and jeans, he radiated wealth. He stood by the maître d' stand, looking at the chaotic dining room with a mixture of anthropological fascination and mild terror.

"Relax," Elodie whispered, squeezing his hand. "It’s just pasta."

"It’s a riot with marinara sauce," Alistair observed, dodging a waiter carrying a tray of sizzling veal.

"There she is," Elodie said, her stomach doing a backflip.

Maura Rose was sitting in a booth in the back. She was wearing her Transit Authority uniform jacket over a t-shirt that said ‘Solidarity Forever.’ She had Elodie’s dark curls, but her eyes were harder, sharper. She was currently staring at Alistair like he was a scab crossing a picket line.

"Into the breach," Alistair murmured.

They walked over. Maura didn't stand up. She wiped her hands on a napkin and tracked Alistair’s approach with laser focus.

"Mom," Elodie said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "This is Alistair."

Maura didn't smile. She extended a hand that was rough from years of mechanical work.

"Mr. Sterling," she said. "I looked up your labor practices. Your janitorial staff is non-union. We’re going to have a problem with that."

Alistair didn't flinch. He took her hand and shook it firmly. "Mrs. Rose. They are contracted through a third-party vendor, but their benefits package exceeds union standard by twelve percent. I can send you the spreadsheets."

Maura narrowed her eyes. She released his hand.

"Sit," she commanded. "Don't get sauce on the cashmere."

They slid into the booth. It was a tight squeeze. Elodie sat next to Alistair, her thigh pressing against his. Under the table, his hand found hers and gripped it tight.

"So," Maura started, skipping the pleasantries. "You're the guy whose face is plastered all over the news. The one who almost got my daughter killed in a snowbank."

"Mom!" Elodie hissed.

"It’s a fair point," Alistair said calmly. "I take full responsibility for the accident. It was a lapse in judgment."

"A lapse in judgment is forgetting to buy milk, Mr. Sterling," Maura snapped. "Dragging a girl into a blizzard in an evening gown is negligence."

She picked up a breadstick and pointed it at him.

"Let’s cut the crap. You're a billionaire. Elodie is... well, Elodie is an artist. She feels things. She’s soft."

"I am not soft!" Elodie protested.

"You are," Maura corrected gently. "You have a big heart. And men like him eat big hearts for a snack to boost their quarterly earnings." She looked back at Alistair. "Why her? You could have any supermodel in the city. Why my Elodie? And don't tell me it's her cooking."

Alistair looked at Maura. He realized instantly that charm wouldn't work here. Flattery wouldn't work.

"Because she isn't impressed by me," Alistair said honestly.

Maura paused, the breadstick hovering halfway to her mouth.

"Everyone else," Alistair continued, his voice steady, "looks at me and sees a bank account. Or a target. Or a boss. Elodie looked at me and saw... a project. A mess that needed fixing."

He glanced at Elodie, a small smile playing on his lips.

"She called me a tyrant to my face within five minutes of meeting me. She forced me to eat actual food. She put up photos of my parents that I haven't been able to look at in twenty years."

He looked back at Maura.

"I don't want a supermodel, Mrs. Rose. I want the woman who makes me want to come home."

Silence descended on the booth. Even the noise of the restaurant seemed to fade.

Maura chewed her breadstick thoughtfully. She studied Alistair’s face, the grey eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb was unconsciously stroking the back of Elodie’s hand.

"You got daddy issues," Maura diagnosed bluntly.

Elodie choked on her water. "Mom!"

"What?" Maura shrugged. "He does. It’s obvious. Lonely boy in a big tower." She looked at Alistair. "You break her heart, I break your legs. I know guys in sanitation. You’ll never be found."

Alistair didn't look offended. He looked respectful. "Understood."

"Good." Maura slapped the menu shut. "Order the lasagna. It’s the only thing they don't burn."

The tension broke. The "Luck" seemed to kick in.

The waiter appeared instantly. The food arrived in record time, hot and perfect. The noisy table of frat boys next to them suddenly paid their bill and left, leaving them in a quiet corner.

For an hour, it was... nice. Alistair listened as Maura told stories about Elodie’s childhood, the time she painted the neighbor's cat blue, the time she tried to organize a strike in kindergarten because nap time was too short.

Alistair laughed. A real, deep laugh. He looked relaxed.

Elodie watched him, her heart swelling. He fit. It was impossible, but he fit.

"I'll get the check," Alistair said as the plates were cleared, reaching for his wallet.

"Put it away, Moneybags," Maura ordered. She threw a twenty and a ten on the table. "You're in Queens. You're on my turf. I pay."

Alistair hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you for the meal, Maura."

"Don't get used to it."

They stood up to leave. Maura hugged Elodie tight.

"He’s not a monster," Maura whispered in Elodie’s ear. "But be careful, baby. His world is sharp. You can get cut just by standing too close."

"I know, Mom. I'm careful."

"Okay." Maura pulled back. She looked at Alistair. "Get her home safe. No snowbanks."

"I promise."

They walked out of the restaurant into the cool night air. Elodie felt giddy. It had gone well. Her mother approved.

"That," Alistair exhaled, "was more terrifying than the SEC audit of '08."

"She liked you," Elodie grinned. "She paid. That’s the highest honor."

"She threatened to have me murdered by sanitation workers."

"That’s her love language."

They walked toward the Bentley.

"Mr. Sterling! Alistair!"

The shout came from the darkness.

Alistair’s body went rigid instantly. He stepped in front of Elodie, shielding her.

Two figures emerged from the shadows near the car. They weren't paparazzi. They were younger. Fans. Or... something else.

One was holding a phone, recording. The other was holding a sign that read: STERLING = THEFT.

"Is it true?" the guy with the phone shouted, rushing forward. "Is it true you're dating her just to manipulate the stock price? Is she the 'Luck Witch'?"

Alistair put a hand up. "Back away."

"We saw the forums!" the guy yelled, getting too close. "People are saying you’re using dark magic to rig the market! My dad lost his pension because of guys like you!"

He lunged. Not to hit, but to grab. To get a reaction for the camera.

He grabbed Elodie’s arm.

"Hey!" Elodie cried out.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Alistair didn't call security. He moved. It was a blur of motion—a pivot, a shove. The guy went stumbling back, tripping over the curb and landing hard on the sidewalk.

"Don't touch her!" Alistair roared. The sound was primal. It wasn't the voice of a CEO. It was the voice of a predator protecting its mate.

The rose gold bracelet on Elodie’s wrist flared hot, painfully hot.

CRACK.

A streetlamp above them exploded. Sparks rained down on the sidewalk, creating a wall of fire between them and the fans.

The kids screamed and scrambled back, terrified by the sudden electrical failure.

"Go!" Alistair grabbed Elodie and shoved her into the car. He jumped in the driver’s side and slammed the locks.

He sped away, leaving the two kids staring at the sparking streetlamp and the burning pavement.

In the car, silence reigned.

Elodie was rubbing her arm where the guy had grabbed her. Alistair was gripping the wheel so hard the leather creaked.

"You're hurt," Alistair said, his voice tight.

"I'm fine. He just grabbed me."

"He touched you," Alistair snarled. "And the magic... did you see the light?"

"It exploded," Elodie whispered. "Alistair... that wasn't good luck. That was violent."

Alistair looked in the rearview mirror. Maura was standing outside the restaurant, watching the Bentley speed away. She looked small and worried.

"The balance is tipping," Alistair muttered. "The closer we get to the deadline, the more volatile it becomes. It’s protecting us, but it’s getting dangerous."

"What do we do?"

Alistair reached over and took her hand. His skin was cold.

"We have to seal the deal," he said. "The old man said 'True Love' stabilizes the luck. We are in love, aren't we?"

"Yes," Elodie said.

"Then why is it acting like a weapon?"

He looked at her, fear flickering in his eyes for the first time.

"Maybe... maybe loving each other isn't enough. Maybe we have to prove it."