His Mafia Queen

Shame and Guilt

RILEY

Two weeks crawl by. I've fallen into a solid, yet slightly depressing, routine.

Wake at six, go for a jog downtown. I'm always followed by an SUV and I assume that's one of Gabriel's guys so I ignore it. If it's not one of his men, well, screw it.

I don't care about mafia drama anymore. If I die, I die. Because that's how I feel inside.

After I exercise, I eat breakfast, shower, and get ready for work. Then I drag myself to the office and interviews and grind out various articles about fluff. Books, music, concerts. It should be fun but feels meaningless.

Brynn keeps telling me that I'm losing weight, that I look sad, that I should seek help. I tell her that I'm going to yoga, and I do, after work on most nights. I've picked the hottest, hardest classes so I can sweat out every drop of toxin from my body and life.

It's as if I'm trying to punish myself for my various sins.

After all that, I go back to the apartment. Usually I stay in and read or watch a movie. A couple of times, I've met Beckett. We've gone for a slice of pizza, and a beer.

We haven't kissed again, thank God.

My memory of that kiss is tinged with shame and guilt. I can't shake the feeling that I betrayed Gabriel somehow, although I know he's probably done something similar. Or more.

The most frustrating part is that I have no claim, no hold on him. He's free to do whatever he wants, screw whoever he wants. And when this realization comes to me in the small hours of the night, in the darkness when I'm alone, well, that's when I come undone.

Sleep has been terrible. Nights are the worst.

One Friday, as I'm dragging myself out of the condo and into the elevator, I run into Beckett. He's looking sharp and smells like a bar of soap.

"I was about to text you this morning," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I slide on my sunglasses, even though we're in the elevator. "About what?"

"I was invited to a thing tonight. It's one of the monthly networking mixers for business owners. Tonight they're going all out and doing a big summer party at Tommaso's. I wanted to see if you'd like to come with me."

"Ah." Tommaso's Italian Trattoria is owned by an acquaintance of Gabriel's. I've been there a handful of times, all with him.

I'm about to say no, lie, and claim that I have a big article to finish, but then I remember that Tommaso's has the best pizza in the city. It's pretty expensive which is why I go for Dominos instead when I'm ordering for myself.

Is going out with Beckett to some stupid party worth a slice of that amazing pizza? I think about the perfectly cooked pepperoni and the authentic mozzarella.

"Sure, I'll go."

Beckett smiles as if I've given him the best Christmas gift ever. "I'll pick you up around seven?"

"Sounds great."

"Oh, it's kind of dressy. Do you mind putting on something more formal?"

I scan my brain, thinking about what I could wear. "Not at all."

The elevator dings and the doors open. "Perfect. Can't wait," he says.

He pauses for a beat and I think he's going to kiss me goodbye. I head this off at the pass and wave as I stride toward the valet. I'd called ahead to have my car brought around. Gabriel's paying for that particular perk of this building, because, well, fuck him.