Page 69 of Dirty Boss

Alba’s gaze slid over to me, and she arched a brow. “Did he, now?”

Ralphie grinned. “But he didn’t tell me you were a stunner. Wow! What are you doing with him? I’ve got a grandson?—”

“All right, all right,” I cut in, laughing. “That’s enough.”

Ralphie’s eyes twinkled as he met my gaze. “You’ve finally cleaned yourself up,” he noted.

“Can’t say the same about you, old man.”

He guffawed and turned to Alba. “I met this guy when he was this tall.” Ralphie held up his hand at about eye level. “He was all elbows. Cost me a fortune every time he knocked something over.”

“It happened twice,” I said, rolling my eyes and fighting my smile. “And I knocked over a can of tomatoes that cost a couple bucks.”

“Like I said, a fortune.”

Alba laughed and looked at me. “First job?”

“Had no idea what I was getting myself into,” I said, nodding. “But Ralphie introduced me to his brother, who got me into contracting. Got a soft spot for him even though he’s hard to put up with.”

Ralphie groaned. “Don’t listen to him. Full of shit as usual. Pardon the French.”

Alba laughed and glanced around the dining room at all the busy tables, and I knew she was wondering where we’d squeeze in. Not one single chair was unoccupied, and no one looked like they were leaving anytime soon. Then Ralph swept his arm toward the swinging door where he’d first appeared, and Alba glanced at me questioningly.

“Best seat in the house,” Ralphie promised.

The old man led us through the kitchen, where the cooks shouted and worked, the wood-fired oven crackled, and the heat made sweat dot on my forehead. Alba’s dress swirled around her ankles, her heeled boots clicking on the tile flooring. We followed the old man around a corner to a solid black door.

He paused with his hand on the knob and turned to face us. “There’s a secret to perfect pizza,” he said, and I settled in for a familiar speech. “Tomatoes straight from Italy, picked at their ripest and canned immediately to concentrate the flavor. Italian type 00 flour, milled to perfection. New York City tap water. And the freshest ingredients for toppings, year-round.”

He opened the door, and Alba’s shock cleared the lingering smile from her face. Beyond the doorway, instead of a dirty alleyway full of snow, gravel, and rats, was lush greenery and warmth. Ralphie waved her through the door, and I followed close, watching the way her eyes widened as she looked around the space.

“This greenhouse has been here longer than I’ve been alive,” I told her, and Alba met my gaze. “It’s one of the reasons the food here is so good.”

“Please,” Ralphie said, gesturing us forward. A small table had been set up a few paces ahead, in the middle of the greenery, with a line of basil plants on one side and a rosemary bush on the other.

“It smells amazing,” Alba said, wandering over to brush her fingers over the rosemary. “This is incredible.”

“Vaughn told me you had a green thumb,” Ralphie said, pulling out her chair.

Alba laughed. “Not quite. Thank you,” she said as she sat down, leaning back as he laid a white cloth napkin across her lap. I hadn’t even known Ralphie had cloth napkins in this place.

“This is great, Ralphie,” I said, genuinely impressed. The table was dressed in a white tablecloth, with a tea light flickering in a glass jar between us. To my left, a wine bucket sat in a stand, ready to receive whichever bottle we chose.

“When an old friend calls and asks me to make space at a table for him, I do my best,” Ralphie said, his hand landing on my shoulder. He handed us both menus, took our drink order, and wandered back into the restaurant. Despite myself, my throat felt tight. Ralphie had been the first man in my life who was in any way reliable. He’d been a hard man to work for, but he’d always been there for me.

And he still was, I realized. When so many other people let me down, the old man was there.

Alba took off her jacket; the greenhouse was comfortably warm. Her skin gleamed under the fairy lights that had been strung up around our table, her earrings glinting as she took another look around. “This is incredible.” She looked at me. “Thank you.”

“Just as a fair warning, Ralphie will probably want to give you a tour of all his plants after we’ve eaten. I made the mistake of telling him you had a vegetable garden when you wereyounger. He’ll want to tell you optimal growing conditions for each plant.”

Happiness shone on her face. “I would love that. Maybe one day I can put the knowledge to use.” She smiled, and it was tinged with sadness, but she shook her head and cleared it quickly. “You organized all of this today?”

“I can’t take too much credit. I called Ralphie, and he did the rest.”

“Still,” she said. “Thank you.”

TWENTY-THREE