His Mafia Queen

Devilishly Flirtatious

Gabriel

Goddammit.

I don't need this from Riley, not tonight. Not when my lawyer and two men involved in taking down the Russian hitman in Georgia were waiting to conduct business.

She'd waltzed down those stairs and out the door, all blonde hair and pouty lips, with eyes that were devilishly flirtatious. The men couldn't help but stare. None of us could. Even Andre, who is gay, was captivated by her.

But goddammit. Why did she have to defy me on a night when I had a million fucking details to take care of?

She'd even had the audacity to kiss me in front of everyone. Like she was claiming me as hers. Normally, I wouldn't mind. But tonight, it was infuriating.

Mostly because all I could imagine was dragging her into the office, tearing off that ridiculous jumpsuit of hers, and fucking her hard from behind. Our recent forced dry spell had me simultaneously going out of my mind with lust, and feeling a deep well of guilt because my insatiable libido had caused Riley's body to riot and develop an infection.

In short, I had practically fucked the poor girl to death and I needed to give her a break.

Oh, sure, the doctor said it happens frequently, and infections like hers occur in many women. But that didn't make me feel any better. I'd hurt her. Seeing her in pain in that hospital bed still sends waves of shame crashing through me.

That doesn't mean I'm any less angry right now, though.

Where the hell had she gone?

From the way she was dressed, in black, looking artsy and cool, there was only one answer.

Catherine's party.

And that was another thing: Cath. Her presence seemed to stir Riley up, and now here she was, going out when she should be resting. Probably drinking when she shouldn't. What the hell, Cath?

I lead the group of men into my office, sighing silently along the way.

Once the door is closed, I begin to pace the room. "What's the latest? Tell me everything that happened."

One of the guys clears his throat. "We carried out the hit. No civilians were involved."

"Excellent. When do we expect the police to find the body?" It's always good to know details like this. I hate to be unprepared.

As the guy talks about how the safe house was on a desolate road, set apart from neighbors, my mind is a million miles away. I find myself imagining Riley at the party, surrounded by people in the art world – some beautiful, some eccentric -– as she flirts with one after another. I also wonder if others in the underworld know Catherine has returned to Florida, and is hanging around, hoping for information about her late father's businesses.

Those people are my major concern. And I know that if I'm not there to protect Riley, or Catherine then something sinister is sure to happen. Catherine can handle herself, but together with Riley, I'm not so sure.

I wrench my concentration back into the room. My lawyer scans the headlines in Savannah, then says a local TV station has covered the discovery of a body.

"Let's see if it's our body," I order.

There's a flurry of activity while they hook up the lawyer's phone to the wide-screen television on the wall. Thankfully, that doesn't take too long, and we all stare at the report my lawyer had pulled up on the internet.

A bare-bones local television news report flashes on the screen, about a dead body being found under suspicious circumstances. A wide shot of a farmhouse on a dirt road pops up.