His Mafia Queen

A Forbidden Kiss

GABRIEL

Well. What a pleasant and unexpected surprise. I stare at Riley, my mouth open in a half-smile, aware that my face is lit up like a Christmas tree. "This is an interesting turn of events."

Her pink lips part and the tip of her tongue traces the creamy edge of the dessert spoon. Tingles race down my spine, and I snap my eyes shut. Holy fuck. This woman's sexiness just increased tenfold and I think she's teasing me.

"Mmm-hmm." She takes another spoonful of dessert and I open my eyes in time to see her swooning over the sweetness. "Delicious tiramisu, by the way."

I sip my after-dinner cognac silently, musing about this little minx's double life and marveling at my fortune. I could've sworn she was just another innocent recent college graduate, and here she is, at least somewhat versed in the underworld. Is this good for me? Perhaps. Or she could be like those prosecutor types who come from hard and criminal families, ones who turn the other cheek in pursuit of conventional justice. Also, do the editors at her newspaper know about her past?

"Is that why you wanted to cover crime? Because of where you grew up, and your dad?" I'm insanely curious to know so much more about the lovely Riley Murphy.

She nods, slowly. "I was always fascinated by how the Irish mob worked in Southie. How it was so dangerous and amoral, and yet, it also took care of families. Like my own. We wouldn't have eaten some weeks if it wasn't for the generosity of some gangsters."

"If your family was so poor, how did you go to such good schools? Grad school's not cheap."

"Loans. They'll give 'em to anybody." She grins. "I'm sure I'll die before I pay them off, so who cares."

She takes a sip of her brandy and grimaces. "I think I like the gin and tonic better than this."

"Noted." I lick my lips. "What does your father think about you writing about organized crime and murders and such here in Tampa?"

There's a flicker of hesitation in her clear, blue eyes. "He hates it. Won't discuss it at all. Wouldn't talk to me for a few weeks when I first got the job."

"That must be hard." I lean in.

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I feel compelled to do it. Compelled to find out the truth. Dad thought I was going to become an entertainment journalist, something fluffy. He was all for that because somehow he thought I'd meet a rich Hollywood type and marry him. And that was my intent when I first went to school. Well, the entertainment journalist part, not the marriage part. But when Lorna was killed, I changed my mind. Wanted to somehow, I don't know, pay tribute to her. Tell the truth because she can't. Kinda stupid, isn't it?"

"It's either stupid or incredibly brave. I don't know which."

She laughs, and for the first time, it's a genuine sound, one that I yearn to hear more of. "At least you're honest."

"I'm probably the most honest gangster you'll ever meet."

"Can I quote you on that?" Her eyes sparkle.

"About that." As if on cue, thunder rolls in the distance.

"A storm's coming," she says softly, looking deep into my eyes.

Fuck, I want to take this woman to bed.

The air between us has that scent that comes before it rains; that tropical perfume balanced on the edge of possibility and disaster. That it might storm violently tonight. That it might pour rain in sheets that drown everything around us.