His Mafia Queen

Only You

RILEY

I don't know Gabriel at all. Hell, I only met the man last week. I don't know his favorite book, or whether he likes tacos (god, I hope he does), or how he takes his coffee.

But I do know one thing: grief.

I know how it can strike in an instant, how it can wrap its icy fingers around your neck and squeeze until you're breathless. I know the shock of finding out someone you love has died suddenly, and that first, heartbreaking moment when you realize you'll never see them again.

All of that was etched on Gabriel's face back at the restaurant. He didn't know it, of course, because in those moments between him getting the phone call and walking back to me, he revealed something new to me.

Pure, raw emotion.

Even now, as we sit in his driveway, breathing in the new car smell of this absurd and luxurious car he's bought me, Gabriel's eyes are clouded with profound anguish.

I catch a glimpse of myself in him. Am reminded of that awful, shitty time after I found out Lorna had been killed.

And this is why I can't leave Gabriel alone. No one deserves to be alone with their grief. No matter how the circumstances of our screwed-up situation and our confusing, heady lust, he needs a kind person in his life tonight.

A person he isn't paying, a person who will hold his hand and listen. Not because he's rich or powerful, not because he can make or break someone's entire life.

He needs someone to treat him gently.

"You don't have to stay." Gabriel's hand is on the door handle.

"I know I don't have to. But I'd like to." I brush my lips over his.

"I'm afraid I won't be good company." He takes my hand and kisses the palm, a gesture that makes me melt every time he does it.

"I don't care. We don't have to talk, if you don't want to. We can just watch a movie. Or hold hands. Or sit in silence. You just need someone near you tonight. Nobody should be alone after they've gotten bad news."

His mouth opens and for a split second, his bottom lip trembles. There. It's another sign of his humanity, of the deep emotion that runs through him. Emotion that I suspect doesn't bubble to the surface all that often. Then he flashes a dazzling smile, the change in his expression as quick as a flash of lightning.

"It's impossible for me to say no to you. And yeah, I would like you to stay. You make me feel, I don't know..."

I don't ask him to finish his sentence. Now isn't the time.

We go inside the house, and the minute we open the door, his assistant Andre steps into the foyer.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. Alessandro Bianchi called, and I've heard about the funeral arra—Oh. I didn't realize you were bringing home company this evening." Andre looks me up and down, as if he's not sure whether he can trust me.

Probably a smart assessment, considering I'm a reporter. Still, I'm not here on assignment. Not tonight.

Gabriel deserves privacy if he needs to discuss his friend's funeral.

"Why don't I go on the terrace? Meet me out there when you're done." I squeeze Gabriel's arm.

He nods once. "Good idea. I won't be long. Feel free to put on some music, or have a drink."

He and Andre march down the hall, and I make my way out to the terrace, where an automatic light flickers on, revealing the luxury setup. My heart aches for Gabriel, and seeing him upset dredges up all those terrible moments after I found out that Lorna died.