His Mafia Queen

A Matter of Trust

RILEY

Strangely, I don't feel awkward when Andre lets me into Gabriel's house, or when I breezily say that I'm headed to the terrace to mix cocktails.

As I'm moving through the foyer, Andre's mouth opens and he stammers, which causes me to stop and turn so I can listen to what he's saying.

"Ah, oh. Drinks? For you and Gabriel? Um, yes. I can always send one of the staff to do that, if you'd like. We have someone here who is wonderful with mixed drinks."

Why the hell does he look so nervous? I cock my head and smile. "I think I can handle mixing some gin into some whatever."

Andre fights back a grin. "Gabriel doesn't like 'whatever' in his drinks. He's quite particular."

"I know. He gave me a half hour long dissertation the other night about gin and tonics." I tap my temple. "I remember the recipe."

That elicits a laugh from Andre. "I'm sorry, Riley, I'm just not used to... well, you understand."

Okay, here's my opportunity to find out some dirt. I step closer to him. "No, I don't think I understand. What aren't you used to?"

His laughter dies. "Never mind."

"No, really. I'd like to know." I debate asking him about Catherine but figure it's probably best if I go directly to Gabriel with those questions. "Sorry I'm so curious, but it comes with the territory."

"Gabriel is a private person, and I'd hate to speak for him. It's just that he doesn't often have women over as much as you've been here. And never when he's away from the house, like now."

I pretend to rub my cheek with my index finger. "That's interesting, because I've only spent a few nights here."

Andre leans in. "I think he's fond of you. But that's only my interpretation, so don't read anything into my words."

I wink. "Let's keep this a secret between us, okay?"

He nods and I grin as I walk away, toward the terrace. Once there, I go behind the bar and begin checking out the bottles.

I'm a boxed wine kind of woman, maybe a cosmo if I'm out at a club. My experience with alcohol is limited to cheap booze that leaves behind pulverizing hangovers.

None of the bottles of alcohol in Gabriel's bar look cheap. No, I suspect all of these are top shelf, something I'd always declined because I couldn't afford the extra few dollars.

Finally I locate the gin and open the cap. I sniff and grimace. Gah, it smells like floor cleaner. I take out a bottle of what I think is tonic from the mini fridge. How did Gabriel make that drink again? I was fibbing to Andre when I said I'd memorized the recipe. I stare into the freezer part of the fridge, noticing that there are two different kinds of ice: giant balls, perfectly square cubes that look like dice. I ponder this for a moment, and remove one of the balls. It's practically like a crystal ball, almost a see-through perfect sphere. I wonder whose job it is to make these. At my apartment, the ice maker died and I have the old-school plastic trays, and at least three cubes never pop out when I want them to.

Using a heavy, steel scoop, I fill a glass with the small cubes and set it on the bar.

I stoop down to inspect the glasses on a shelf, and am mystified by all the choices. I select two that seem like the right size, and end up locating the stainless steel mixer that Gabriel had used the other night. When I stand, I see Gabriel, walking toward me with a big smile.

"Thank God you're here. I was about to massacre a gin and tonic, and someone inside told me that you're quite particular about your cocktails."

Gabriel joins me behind the bar, still smiling. His gaze goes to the bottles I've pulled out, then to me.