His Mafia Queen

Don't Call Me Baby

RILEY

This is all kinds of wrong.

Evil.

I fumble for the door handle and yank on it. Nothing. I strike my palm against the butter-soft tan leather covering the door. I hit it again, and again, and the only thing I get back in return is a dull sting on the skin of my hand.

I try breaking the window, but I only manage a dull slap. This isn't a regular car. Must be some sort of bulletproof glass. What is happening? What does he want from me?

The car begins to move. I stare incredulously out the tinted window and spot the giant lug of a man who attacked me. He's standing near the hood of my car, rifling through my purse. Which has my cell and the keys to my apartment and my notebook. My entire life.

"Hey! Let me out of here! What the fuck is going on?" It feels like my eyes are bulging out of my head as I gape everywhere but at the man sitting calmly next to me. The reality of this situation is beginning to set in, and the expensive car seems way too small. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I'm sweating buckets, even though the temperature inside is subzero.

I slam my fist against the plexiglass dividing the front and back seat, but the driver doesn't flinch.

I've been forcibly taken by Gabriel Greco. Another word for that is kidnapped.

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

My first impulse is feral and unhinged, one that's born of my hardscrabble Southie background. Nobody fucks with an Irish girl. I want to throat punch him, to wrap my hands around his neck and never let go until he takes his dying breath. I sneak a glance at his face, wondering if I could successfully attack him. No, I can't, because he's so much bigger, and seems so powerful. Even though he's merely sitting there with a maddening smirk on his face, as if he's enjoying this. I can't even look at him, I'm so angry and petrified.

Sick fuck.

"I'm not going to hurt you." His voice, smooth as glass, doesn't allay my fear.

"Yeah, right. Your hired goon did a number on my leg." I flip up my skirt to inspect my knee, which made contact with the guy's muscles during the struggle. My skin is a furious shade of red, and I rub my hand over it while racking my brain for a way to get out of this car. My flesh stings under my touch. "Look at this shit."

The door's locked, we're merging onto the interstate, and we're going fast. Bile rises in my throat.

I'm trapped. With an obvious madman.

"I'm truly sorry about Johnny. He can be a bit of a brute, but you put up a decent fight." Gabriel's gaze is on my legs, which pisses me off even more, so I tug my skirt toward my knee. How dare he?

"Fuckin-A right I did. He ambushed me in broad daylight, in public. Who does that?"

His smirk grows more annoying. "I'm Gabriel Greco, by the way. We haven't had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face."

I smooth my skirt over my legs with shaky hands, still not facing him. "I can't believe this bullshit," I spit. Usually I don't swear around anyone but my co-workers in the newsroom, but I don't give a crap what this jerk thinks.

"This all could've been avoided if you'd just replied to my attorney's email this morning."

I let out a strangled grunt. The nerve of this asshole. "Oh, forgive me for not replying immediately. Excuse me for not dropping everything on Valentine's weekend to have cocktails at your house."

"That's right. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow. I'm sorry, did you have a date? I'm afraid you're going to have to cancel."

I whirl to face him for the first time and notice that his eyes are a striking greenish-hazel. From my research, I know he's about five years older than me. Thirty? Thirty-one? I can't remember anything right now. We stare at each other for what seems like minutes, and I'm breathless from two emotions fighting for dominance.