His Mafia Queen

Don't Look Back

RILEY

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I glower at Gabriel and consider making a snarky comeback, but he looks so self-satisfied and yeah, gorgeous, that any retort withers in my mind. I loathe that he does that to me, short circuits my brain with merely a look.

The more I'm around him, the deeper I fall under his spell.

There's one sip left in my wine glass and I stare at the liquid, wondering if I should get another. I don't want to get too drunk tonight. I want to remember this entire evening, savor every detail, feel regret for every moment that I could've done something different.

It's like a slow-motion car crash; I know everything that's about to happen, and I'm powerless to stop it.

I look up, and Gabriel's studying me with those intense eyes.

"What?" I ask. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"I enjoy looking at you."

The feeling is so obviously mutual, but I'm not going to say that aloud, not here and maybe not ever, to him. It feels like defeat, like giving in. And I know, deep in my heart, that I'm going to be giving so much more tonight...

"Riley, I have some bad news." He swirls the wine in his glass.

Jesus, what now? "Yeah?"

"We're going to have to mingle."

A genuine smile spreads on his lips, and combined with the utter seriousness of his voice, I can't help but laugh. "I didn't take you for an introvert. The way you just said that makes me think you don't wanna be here at all."

He pushes out a breath. "I'm afraid you have figured out my deepest, darkest secret. I am an introvert."

"Well, your life must be pretty hellish, because I suspect you have to go to a lot of these types of things, don't you?"

His smile is replaced by a grimace. Never once did I consider this when I first learned of the powerful and dangerous Gabriel Greco. It never crossed my mind when we were at his house. There, he seemed so at ease. Like the ruler of his kingdom. Even here, at this ridiculous party, he seems like he fits in. But only to a point. Now that I'm studying him up close, I can tell that he's tense.

Maybe it's the way he carries himself, with a ramrod-straight spine and cold eyes for everyone but me. Or perhaps it's the way his gaze darts around the room, from person to person, never settling on any one group, all with a slightly haughty expression.

Or perhaps, this is just one of his many façades. A lie, even, to put me at ease. I'm not sure what's real at this point, honestly.

Still, for some reason I'm charmed by his admission. "Let's do it. But let's also get another drink beforehand."

"I like the way you think," he murmurs, and a corresponding thrill sends tingles through my body.

He doesn't touch me while we go to the bar, and I would be lying if I said I'm not a little disappointed. We get our drinks and step toward a group of people. They're all smiling and greeting him like he's their best friend—which is odd, since we passed by them twice and they didn't say anything previously.

Maybe no one talks to Gabriel unless he talks first. Like royalty.

It's as if we're immediately launched into another, parallel universe. We move from group to group shaking hands, kissing cheeks, exchanging endless rounds of introductions. Thankfully, he keeps it professional.

This is Riley Murphy, the writer at the Tribune who is doing a profile, yes, she's beautiful, and she's also very talented.

Over and over, he says a variation of the same thing. Like a politician would during a campaign event. He's great at staying on message. He speaks with a deep, commanding voice. It is smooth, a bit hoarse, and holds the weight of his authority, and every word makes me wet.