His Mafia Queen

Saying Yes

RILEY

The next few days fly by. Work is going okay. I'm doing a story on an interesting new artist collaborative in the city, and Cath has helped connect me with all sorts of new and interesting sources.

Then, my editor mentioned that he's nominating a story I wrote on a homicide earlier in the year to a big award.

Gabriel and I have been tentatively getting to know each other again. I'd assumed we'd slip back into our old routine — dining poolside at his house, going out on the boat after work, planning to attend parties — but he's been more deliberate. More attentive. He's sent me flowers. He's directed his men to take my car for a wash.

He's also bought me a new, rare, and wildly expensive Birkin bag. I didn't even tell him I wanted one — a giant box showed up in the newsroom. When I opened it, every woman was jealous.

On Monday he made sure we went out to a new steakhouse. On Wednesday, he took us to a movie in a park downtown. He'd even brought a basket with a blanket, wine, and snacks. It was adorable. We've been talking about me meeting his father, but he says he needs a little time to arrange that.

Tonight, it's Friday, and he's invited me over.

We still haven't had sex. The day he asked me to marry him, I was so overcome by the question that we'd stopped fooling around so I could grill him on whether he actually wanted to get married.

He insisted, and continues to insist, that the answer is yes. And you know what? I believe him.

On the nights we've seen each other this week, he's taken me home, kissed me deeply and said goodnight and goodbye (while leaving a bodyguard outside my door, of course).

This has left me confused and horny, honestly.

I pull up to Gabriel's house. Lights twinkle through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow onto the stone path leading to the entrance. My heart flutters erratically, a chaotic mix of anticipation and nerves fluttering within me. I'm so happy we've gotten back together.

As I knock on the front door, the evening breeze kisses my skin. It's been stupidly hot this summer, but tonight is a brief reprieve. It's a gorgeous night, honestly, and the sun is casting sherbet shadows on the beautiful house. I'm looking forward to sitting on the terrace with a cocktail next to him. A tranquil night with the man I love.

The door swings open to reveal Gabriel. It's a surprise, because usually Andre answers.

Gabriel's grinning, wearing shorts and a T-shirt — and a dark blue apron over his clothes. I spy a streak of flour. The scent of garlic and rosemary hits my nose and my stomach immediately rumbles.

"Cara mia," he says in a Gomez Addams voice.

He draws me close and kisses my neck. I giggle in response.

With a gentle touch on the small of my back, he ushers me inside. Soft music whispers from hidden speakers, enveloping us in a cocoon of romance that feels like a comforting embrace.

He leads me to the kitchen. It's a delightful chaos, a charming mess of flour dusting the countertops. Pots and pans are nestled haphazardly, and a whirlwind of ingredients are scattered across every available surface.

I burst out laughing. "What's all this?"

Despite the chaos, the air sings with the aroma of simmering sauces, freshly baked bread, and the tantalizing scent of spices infusing the air. With a playful smile, he gestures proudly at the culinary creations.

"Took today off. I've been cooking all day," he murmurs, his voice husky and dripping with affection. "I wanted tonight to be special, to celebrate us. My dad's at his, ah, friend's house this evening."