His Mafia Queen

The Villain

GABRIEL

I'm standing in a quiet part of a club, listening to the chatter flowing from the lips of a curvy brunette woman. She's discussing the merits of powerboats versus sailboats, and I suppress a yawn.

Why the fuck did I agree to attend this party? Oh, right. I accepted the invitation when Riley and I were still together. She believed this charity event, aimed at helping at-risk kids learn to swim, was a noble cause. And so, I consented to attend and donate twenty grand to the non-profit.

"Do you happen to own a boat?" the woman asks, her voice taking on a seductive tone as she gazes at me.

"I do," I respond simply.

Stephanie, the woman's name, beams with delight. She finishes her drink with an elaborate flourish and a smack of her scarlet lips.

"Would you like another?" I'd much prefer to brave the lengthy line at the bar than engage in idle small talk with anyone.

"I would love that. Vodka and soda, please."

Truth be told, I also require a refill, so this serves as a convenient excuse to step away for a few minutes. Stephanie is a decent woman whom I've casually known over the years. On a few occasions, the idea of asking her to dinner had crossed my mind. She's around my age, owns a popular clothing boutique downtown, and is easy on the eyes.

But the last thing I want is to focus my attention on anyone or anything. My mind remains fixated on Riley and likely will for months. Maybe a lifetime. It's been two weeks since that awful night.

I position myself at the rear of the interminable bar line. After exchanging smiles and handshakes with a judge strolling by, my thoughts return to Riley. Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I engage in the ritual I've performed countless times over the past fortnight—checking if she's called or texted.

Obviously, she hasn't. Why would she? I was the one who ended our relationship. I was the foolish one.

I am the villain in this tale, and it fucking kills me.

Not a single moment has passed since that night without second-guessing myself. The ache of missing her consumes me, surpassing any emotion I've ever experienced for another person—perhaps even the sorrow I felt when my own mother abandoned our family.

I scroll through my emails and stumble upon a text from Andre regarding my father.

Everything is set for tomorrow morning. I've arranged for a car to pick him up from the facility. Unless you would prefer to go yourself or have a driver accompany you. I can clear your schedule.

Drive three hours to some remote town to collect my father from prison? No, thank you. Besides, knowing my father, he will likely want some time alone before reintegrating into society.

We are far too similar.

No need to rearrange my schedule. I'll plan to have dinner with him in evening.

I dread that encounter as though it were a gaping wound on my head. Only God knows how my father will behave around me. We haven't exchanged a word in years.

This, combined with the breakup, amplifies my feeling of failure.

Shuffling a few inches forward in the line—what the fuck is taking so long? Are they distilling their own vodka?—I glance at a couple of sports scores and tomorrow's weather forecast. Stephanie's mention of boats triggers a memory, causing me to ponder whether I should spend the day on the Gulf tomorrow, with nothing but the azure waters as my companion.

Once, such a day trip would have served as a balm for my troubled mind. However, now it holds all the appeal of a bowl of bland oatmeal.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I navigate to an anonymous social media account on my phone. I created it a few days ago to secretly monitor Riley's posts. She's kept her online activity to a minimum, mostly sharing work-related content—her articles or those from her newspaper.