His Mafia Queen

Greedy Little Girl

RILEY

I am not one to back down from a fight.

I'm also not the kind of woman who will meekly stand by and let another woman tell me what to do. My mind goes to seventh grade, when a group of older girls cornered Lorna and I as we walked home from school. They teased us for our sneakers, real stupid kid stuff. We'd bought identical ones at a discount store together, because that was all our families could afford. We thought they were cute, all pink and white and fake leather.

Lorna didn't care that the shoes were cheap. I did. And when those girls told us how ugly they were, how hideous we were, I came back with a resounding fuck you because I was ashamed and angry. I'd never said those words out loud to anyone at that point in my life, but I'd heard them enough from my dad.

I got my ass beaten that day by one of those girls, but I managed to throw a couple of good punches, too. It was probably the one and only time Dad was proud of me.

I stare at Lexi, defiant. That same mix of shame and rage is coursing through me as my gaze settles on her beautiful face. Telling a well-known journalism professional to fuck off would be inappropriate and a potential career-killer if that got around town, so I do it in a more polite way.

"Thanks for the advice." I shoot her a simpering smile and fluff my hair, which is holding the big, bouncy waves well. At least my hair looks amazing tonight and I'm drawing all my power from that right now.

"I'm serious, Riley," she says in a soft voice. "You seem like a nice girl. Smart. You probably have a great career ahead of you."

Now I'm getting annoyed. I turn to her. "You don't know shit about me, with all due respect. You don't know where I'm from, don't know anything about my life experience, don't know my motivation. You think I'm just some girl who's dickmatized by the all-powerful Gabriel Greco. And yeah, he's hot, I'll give you that. But I'm here tonight for work. And even if I am that kind of reporter to fuck a source for info, I'd appreciate if you would keep your advice to yourself. I can handle my own life and my own career."

Lexi smiles, and I see a glimmer of admiration in her eyes. It wasn't something I was looking for, but I'll take it nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I feel protective of younger reporters. Especially here in Tampa where I started." She chews on her cheek and continues. "There's a lot that goes on in the city and hardly no one covers it. Probably because it's dangerous. I'd hate to see something happen to you."

A thought comes to me, and I decide to pounce on her kindness. "Let me ask you something. Did you know James Doyle?"

She rolls her eyes. "I did, he was a true piece of shit, and I heard that he's disappeared."

"Do you think Gabriel had something to do with it?" My arms fold protectively over my chest, as if I'm bracing for her answer.

She shakes her head. "Gabriel is a lot of things, but he's not a murderer. He wouldn't kill Doyle. People like Doyle are too important to him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Gabriel likes to have useful idiots to do his bidding. He has them all over the city council, in the court houses, in the prosecutor's offices. Everywhere. He'd rather have people as his friends than his enemies. That's what separates him from others of his kind. But that's off the record, you know that, right?"

I nod. She's not telling me anything I didn't know, and I doubt she will. She's just as distrustful of me as I am of her.

"How long are you in the city for?" I ask. Maybe somehow, I can wear her down, perhaps under the guise of being a mentor.