His Mafia Queen

Prisoner of the Past

"And you know what I'm thinking?"

"I have no idea." When she left, I lost that ability.

"I'm thinking a lot of things. Oh, don't worry. I'm not here to claim his territory or anything. I still don't want anything to do with his precious businesses. You can have all of it. I'm thinking of regrets."

My muscles relax, a little. I can tell this conversation's going to be a doozy, but at least she's not making a claim for the territory. "Regrets of the past are a waste of the spirit, Catherine."

"That's bullshit. I have a lot of regrets and too much spirit. Too many memories. Of us."

She steps closer to me and cups my jaw with her small hand. Her palm is cold, but I don't respond to her words or her touch.

"I regret leaving you."

I lick my lips. For a time, I regretted her leaving as well. I missed our friendship, missed our deep conversations. "I understood why you left. You needed to."

"But I lost you, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I let my anger and bitterness for my father and his lifestyle cloud our friendship. I didn't think I could continue to be in your life if you stayed in that world."

"I did stay in that world, wanted to. You were aware of that. I couldn't do anything else, Catherine. This was, is, my legacy."

"I know. Did you ever consider leaving?"

I shake my head, and Catherine's hand slips from my jaw to my chest.

"You know, your father never forgot you. He always loved you, always thought of you. But I never once told him where you were."

"Did he ever ask?"

"Yes. Often. But he respected our friendship, and said loyalty was my best trait."

"He was right about that. You were loyal to me until the end. Until I left. That was my fault."

She bites her bottom lip, and my heart cracks a little. I let out a sigh and reach for her, take her in my arms.

"I'm sorry it all got so fucked up, Cath. You didn't deserve any of that, and I hope you're having the best life possible."

She nods into my chest as I stroke her hair. The last time I hugged her was when she came to my college apartment and said she was leaving town.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, she pulls away. I can't tell if she's crying because her glasses are so big, but her nose is a telltale sign of pink. She rubs the tip with her finger, but all that does is make her skin an angrier shade of red. She's all wrong for Florida—the sun, the humidity, the heat. None of it agrees with her. Hopefully, California does.

"I'm going to the lawyer's now, to pick up that letter he wrote. What are you doing?"

"I'm going back to Maria's to say goodbye then I'm headed back to Tampa." An image of Riley pops into my head, and I smile.

"Can't wait to get back?" Catherine says.

"There's nothing like home."

She smirks. "I was hoping we could eat dinner together. Go to that diner we once loved, the one with the waffles."

I hesitate, wondering if I should. For years I would've jumped at this chance, to spend a few hours with my best friend over a greasy plate of food. Even in the years after she left, after she cut all communication with anyone from her old life, I'd have craved to sit with her, to laugh with her, to talk with her.

Now, I'm not feeling it.

"I'm sorry, had I known, I'd have cleared my schedule."

"Do you have a hot date?" Her voice is teasing, like it used to.