His Mafia Queen

Dirty Mind

GABRIEL

"Va bene," I say into the phone. "A doppo. Bacio. Ciao."

I quickly hang up the call with my sister. Sometimes, we talk in Italian. Not for any nefarious reason, but because she's teaching her daughter the language.

Over coffee on the terrace, I should've been thinking about the Commission meeting later today—that's what we've informally dubbed the gathering of all three top bosses in Florida—when my sister called to tell me that her daughter was invited to her first sleepover. I'm distracted from that milestone and from work because something sparkles in the sunlight near the house.

It's Riley, and her loose, long hair. She saunters toward me, the sunshine bathing her in a near-divine glow. She's wearing what looks like a long shirt, or beach cover-up thing, and it's flowy and see-through, allowing me an eyeful of her curves. The shirt stops at the top of her thighs, and my gaze is drawn to her long, smooth legs.

I ease the sunglasses off my face and grin. Fuck, she is even more beautiful in the light of day. I stand up and pull out a chair as she approaches.

"Good morning, Ms. Murphy," I say as she sits.

"Good morning, Mr. Greco." She's playing along, and I like that.

I sit next to her and we lock eyes. She opens and closes her mouth. I start to say something, and she also does, at the same time. We both chuckle.

"Coffee?" I ask.

"Yes, please."

As I pour her a cup, I ask, "How did you sleep?"

A flush of pink creeps across the tops of her cheeks and she traces her collarbone. I'm reminded of her breathy moans through the door and how she cried out my name. I'm sure she's recalling that moment, too. Her eyes flicker to mine, then to the coffee. We simultaneously shift in our seats.

"Surprisingly well, considering everything."

"I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for my bodyguard's behavior. I didn't mean for things to start on such a bad note with us."

She snickers. "I didn't realize that's what they called kidnapping these days. A bad note."

"You're really going all-in on the kidnapping narrative, aren't you?" Riley is fun to banter with.

"Tomato, tomahto; potato, potahto. Kidnapping, a forceful discussion between two strangers. We've moved past all that, though, haven't we?" She eyes me seductively, her gaze lingering on my lips.

I lick the corner of my mouth. "Yes, we have. I trust that you saw today's schedule?"

"I did, and I appreciate it. Definitely gives me an insight into your, uh, character. I'll need a few things, though."

"Like?"

"A notebook. Pens."

"Of course. In fact"—I pause, and reach for a thick manila folder containing two legal pads and four pens—"I have them right here. Anything else? Breakfast? Was the fruit enough?"

She pauses to take the folder from me, and there's a spark when our fingers collide. It doesn't seem to register for her, because she simply opens the large envelope and peers in.

"The fruit was enough, thank you. I don't need anything else." Her stare challenges and excites me. She does need something else, but I suspect she'd never admit it aloud.

I sip my coffee. She looks so beautiful against the tropical flowers, as if she's in bloom.

"How much time will I be able to spend with you today? If I'm going to write an article, I'd like to see you in different positions and scenarios."