His Mafia Queen

Trauma

Gabriel

I'm walking out of the room, my mind a riot of confusion, when I feel Riley following me in the darkness. I stop just outside the doorway while my heart hammers. All my sleep-addled brain can think is that the Russians have somehow gotten inside, and they're attacking Catherine.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Going with you to see what's happening downstairs," she hisses, like it's an obvious answer to a stupid question.

"The fuck you are. Stay here." She thinks she's going toward a crisis wearing a thin T-shirt and panties? And where the hell is the bodyguard? There's a man stationed here overnight, and one outside near the gate. Are they both dead?

I take two steps down the hall and notice Riley's still behind me. Catherine's screams are louder now, and I whirl to take Riley's upper arm in my hand and gently push her into the wall. There's no telling what's downstairs, and I need to keep her safe. "I'm not fucking around. Get into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. Do not open it unless I tell you to."

"But—"

I squeeze her arm and spin her around, back in the direction of the bedroom. "No buts. Go. Now!"

Riley shoots me a nasty look but obeys, and I allow myself to exhale once the lock engages. I hear her mutter "what the hell," but I ignore her protests. Who knows what the fuck I'm going to find downstairs? But I have a hunch what's going on. Still, it always pays to be prepared, and I hold my Glock, ready for anything.

By the time I get downstairs, Catherine's wails are softer and are interspersed with sobbing sounds. I rush into the living room, only to find the lights on and one of my bodyguards standing in the doorway. Catherine's on the sofa, curled in a fetal position, her back to us. The television is still on, but the volume is off. It's tuned to some old sitcom.

"Boss, I don't know what happened. I was making the rounds in the other wing of the house and heard her scream. Then when I walked in, she started crying bloody murder," my guy says, obviously disturbed by the feral whimpers coming from a small woman in a black jumpsuit. "It's like she's in a freaky trance or something."

Bloody murder. Probably not the best metaphor at the moment. "I've got this from here. Thanks. You're sure there's no intruder?"

The bodyguard nods. "There's no way anyone could've gotten in here. No alarms went off, none of the motion sensors. The guy outside said he hasn't heard anything."

"Okay, do another thorough check and get a third man here for the rest of the night." Can't be too safe with security.

"Will do, sir."

The bodyguard walks out, and I stand in the doorway, staring at the whimpering Catherine. I call her name softly, aware that standing over her might trigger her further.

She rolls over to face me, then sits up. Blinking her eyes slowly, she tries to focus on me.

"Gabriel? Is that you? Why are you here?"

"I think you had a bad dream, Cath. A nightmare."

"Wh-what am I doing here? Where am I?" She swallows and her eyes scan the messy coffee table.

I walk over and grab a half-filled water bottle from the table. After I hand it to her, I point to the sofa next to her. "May I?"

She nods and downs most of the bottle. Beads of sweat have formed on her forehead, and a few strands of her curly hair stick to her neck.

"You stayed over at my house. Remember? You came over to hang out with Riley and decided to sleep on the sofa." My tone is gentle, as if I'm talking to a terrified child.