His Mafia Queen

Desire That Won't Fade

GABRIEL

I swear to God, I've paced my dimly lit office a thousand times tonight, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the book-lined walls. The ticks away relentlessly, a constant reminder of the passing minutes and the hell about to come.

The soft glow of the evening sun filters through the drawn curtains, casting a somber hue over the room. It's six o'clock, and I'm waiting for my father to arrive.

Thank fuck my hangover has dissolved, like the dissipating smoke of a burned-out cigarette. The combination of Gatorade, aspirin, and four pieces of dry wheat toast have miraculously resurrected my throbbing head and queasy stomach. Although the pounding in my temples has ceased, a lingering uneasiness settles in the core of my chest. It's not from the remnants of last night's alcohol-fueled escapades, but rather from the knowledge that something is very fucking wrong.
My father should be here by now.

Just as I'm lost in my thoughts, my phone vibrates with an incoming text, jolting me back to the present. Anticipating that it's Andre, my trusted assistant with an update on my father's arrival, I scoop up the device from the polished surface of my desk. The screen lights up, revealing a name that makes me sigh and roll my eyes in exasperation: Stephanie.

Hey babe. Had a great time last night. Let's do it again tomorrow? Unless you're free tonight...

While I debate whether to return her message, my thumb taps on the call button for Andre. He answers immediately. The distant sounds of laughter and thumping bass music leak through the speaker, a stark contrast to the tension coiling in my chest. "Where are you?" I ask.

Andre clears his throat, his voice muffled by the noise in the background. "One moment, let me step outside," he says. A brief pause follows, and then his voice resonates clearly. "I'm here now. Gabriel?"

Something isn't going according to plan. By now, Andre should be just arriving to the city, but he and Dad have obviously taken a detour. A weary sigh escapes my lips, and I begin another round of restless pacing, my footsteps echoing through the opulent room. "Gabriel?" Andre's voice interrupts my disquieting thoughts.

"I'm here," I respond, my tone weighted with impatience. "The question is, where the fuck are you? And where is my father?"

"He wanted to stop," Andre explains, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. I can tell he was hoping not to have this conversation with me. "He insisted on going somewhere before your house."

My eyes flutter shut briefly, a momentary reprieve as I try to compose myself. I count to ten, silently willing the tension to dissipate. "Where?" I ask, my voice measured but tinged with frustration.

"The Pink Pony strip club," Andre confesses, his words hitting me like a blunt force to the chest. My hand instinctively goes to my temple, massaging it in small, soothing circles. My fucking father, always stirring up chaos. The man is a whirlwind of disorganization, brashness, cynicism, brutality, and violence. And apparently, an insatiable hunger for tits and ass.

Then again, the man's been in prison for several years. I can't hardly blame him for wanting to get laid, but I could've helped him discreetly here at the house. I'd have called over a group of willing women for him, if that's what it took to keep him happy.

Now I have to deal with this bullshit.

"Let me talk to him," I demand.

"Um, sir..."

"Now."

"He's, ah, in the VIP."

"The man's been out of prison for five minutes and he's getting a lap dance?" I can no longer hide my fury.
"I tried to dissuade him, but he insisted I give him all the cash in my wallet."