His Mafia Queen

Blood Red

GABRIEL

The next morning, I wake in the guest wing of Donnie's home. My first instinct is to meet him downstairs and talk over coffee, debate politics and talk shit about people we know. Donnie's a goddamned gossip, and more often than not, he's hilarious when telling his stories.

But I'll never hear his stories again. My stomach plummets anew.

Donnie's gone.

It's seven-forty-five in the morning, much later than I'm used to waking, and Donnie's gone.

It's a Tuesday, and Donnie's gone.

Today we'll bury him, and the last link to my grandfather will vanish.

Still in bed, I reach for my cell and punch in a number without thinking. I need to hear a familiar, soothing voice.

"Hi, this is Riley." Her tone's smooth and professional, and for a split second, I think I've reached her voicemail.

"Hey, babe."

There's a pause. "Gabriel?"

"That's me." I wonder, irrationally, whether she actually gets lots of calls from men. If she actually has a boyfriend or a friend with benefits. Or many friends with many benefits. But that's just exhaustion and paranoia taking over my grief-addled mind.

"How...how are you? Are you okay? How are you holding up?" The concern in her voice relieves me of any doubt.

I blow out a breath. "Sorry to have called so early. You're probably getting ready for work, or are in the car. Or at the office."

"Yeah, I'm eating breakfast."

"What are you eating?"

"Uh, cereal."

"Type?"

"This is embarrassing, but...those fruity loops things." She giggles, and the sound is like a balm for my soul. "But I'm glad you called. I was worried about you, since I hadn't heard from you."

"Hell, Riley, I'm sorry. I should've called last night, but I ended up talking to Maria, Donnie's wife, and some other, ah, friends of the family. The funeral's today."

"Gabriel." She lets out a little sigh. "I'm sorry. That's so difficult. Please don't apologize. It's not like you need to check in, and you don't owe me a call. Especially not under these circumstances."

There's an awkward pause, and I want to tell her that I want all those things. To check in with her. To owe her a call. To be accountable for someone other than myself. But that's the grief again, probably. Even if it isn't, I'm old enough and experienced enough to know that now isn't the time to say those things.

"I was just thinking of you, that's all. Wondering how you were doing."

"I'm...okay."

"Just okay?" A fresh wave of concern hits my brain.

"I'm good, it's just that last weekend was a lot for me. Unexpected."

"Do you think I expected all that, either?"

She finally laughs, and I relax. "No, I don't think you did. Probably you wouldn't have kidnapped me if you knew what was going to happen."

I also chuckle, but I don't tell her that I would do it again, a thousand times. "Then why the hesitation?"

"I think there's a lot we need to talk about. A lot I need to work through in my brain. That is, if we're going to... If you want to..." her voice trails off and she clears her throat. "Sorry, let me take a sip of coffee."