His Mafia Queen

Rage

The kid smacks his lips.

"You thirsty?" I ask.

He whimpers a yes.

I turn to Tony. "Give him some of your water."

Tony pulls a plastic bottle from his windbreaker, unscrews the cap and goes to the guy. "Tip your head back," Tony says, and the guy obliges.

I watch while Tony slowly pours water into the guy's mouth. He gulps and gulps, then Tony stops.

"That taste good?" I ask.

The guy nods. "Thanks, Gabriel. It did."

"Good. Because that's the last fucking thing you'll ever taste." I raise my gun, point at his head, and press the trigger. I'm careful not to get too close, because I don't want blood splatter on me tonight.

He's dead in an instant, a check on my to-do list. I wish I could say I feel something after killing, but I don't. This is business, and the men who work for me all know the drill.

No one in my world is an angel, and theft is punishable by death. It is unsettling that two of my men have been disloyal lately, and it's something I'm going to have to address soon.

Tony and I trudge back to the car. I'm finally able to check my messages. Riley hasn't texted, but one of my bodyguards has.

Boss, you'd better call me. I have some info you're going to want to know.

At the car, I dab at the sweat on my brow with the back of my hand and call out to my capos. "I'll be right there. Gotta make a call."

I walk into the parking lot a few paces, away from the guys.

Something tells me this isn't a conversation I should have on speakerphone, in a car with other men. My bodyguards almost never ask me to call them, and when they do, it usually involves something illegal. I hope to Christ no one's been arrested. Or worse.

I dial Gianluca. "Hey, what's up?" I say in a curt tone.

"Boss, since it's my night off, I went out to a bar with my girl. I was drinking and having a good time, then guess who I see? Your friend Riley. She was at the bar with another woman, then I see her dancing with a guy. He's a real piece of work, leering at her and shit. I think she's pretty drunk."

I haul in a breath. This is exactly what I feared when Riley ran out of the gallery. That she'd be so upset she'd do something self-destructive.

"Name of the bar?"

"The Cure, the one in South Tampa."

He gives me the address.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Keep an eye on her till I get there, okay?"

"Will do, boss. Right now she's doing shots."

Fuck me. I hang up and climb in the car, telling the driver to get me to the bar as fast as possible.

***

I already hate the place even before I walk in. It's got everything I despise: loud, crashing music, guys who have more muscles than sense, the smell of spilled beer.

My bodyguard and I push our way through the crowd. No one here knows me. More than a few women try to make eye contact as we walk toward the bar, but I ignore all the subtle flirtation.

I need to find Riley and convince her to leave with me.

We locate Gianluca and his girl in the corner.

"Over there," he says to me, gesturing with his chin. "On the dance floor."

My gaze goes to the middle of the room, where a crowd is gyrating to the bar band's rock music.

That's when I spot Riley.

She's in the middle of the floor, flushed and sweaty, dancing as if she doesn't have a care in the world. I'm relieved to find that she's dancing with another woman. I believe it's one of her co-workers because she showed me a photo once.

My heart beats faster as I watch her shake her body. She's got virtually no rhythm when she dances, and truthfully, she looks a little goofy with her arms in the air. But I adore it. No, I love it. I could look at her all night and might be content to sit here in the shadows and watch her have fun, dancing and drinking. Maybe if we'd come here together, I wouldn't care if she was out there in a crowd, jiggling her sexy ass in those tight jeans.

For a second, I wonder if I'm the right man for her. Maybe the things that please me, along with my largely solitary lifestyle, bore her.

Maybe I should walk away now. Allow her to live her life as a woman in her early twenties. Experience the things I did ten years ago.

Am I too selfish?

But when a guy bounces from the crowd and begins dancing with her, my jealous, possessive side leaps forward. It's time to put a stop to this shit. Selfish or not, Riley's in danger around a guy like him. I can practically smell the odor of date rape coming off that guy from all the way over here.

Fuck this, and fuck my inner critic. I'm the best man for Riley. The only man for Riley.

And I'm going to claim her. Then I'm going to tell her how I feel about her, explain everything about Catherine, and all will be good again.

The first order of business is getting her out of here. She's obviously hammered, and I don't trust anyone with a dick around her.

"There's the guy she was dancing with before, boss. I don't like the look of him. Has a douche face," Gianluca says.

"Agreed." I clap him on the shoulder and hand him three hundred-dollar bills. "Good job. Thanks for letting me know. Now take your girlfriend somewhere nicer than this shithole, okay?"

We grin at each other, and I watch as Riley and the douchey guy leave the dance floor. They melt into the crowd as the drums reach a crescendo. I follow them, watching as they go to the bar, where they meet up with Riley's friend and another guy.

Am I going to see Riley kiss this asshole? Should I stay and watch her, test her loyalty?

I can see her in profile now. She's doing a shot, talking to the guy. My heart clenches. This is pure torture.

My stomach twists in knots and my heart feels like it's breaking in two. Part of me wants to run over and pull her away, but I can't make myself move yet. It's as if I want to see how she acts, see if she treats him the way she treated me.

If she does, nothing we had was real.

I'm stuck, torn between wanting to drag her out of here, yet knowing that if I do, it could cause a giant scene that might lead to the cops coming.

Which is the last thing I want tonight, after my earlier meeting. Even though I have a lot of police brass, prosecutors and judges in my pocket, my policy is to never make a public scene. Never call attention to myself.

Even being here, doing this, is riskier than murdering a dozen mafia soldiers in the shadows.

Riley grimaces and rolls her eyes when the guy says something, and I know she's having a terrible time. My heart soars, but then she's pulling the guy by the hand.

The sight fills me with terror and fury, like a stream overflowing its banks. My entire body tenses with rage.

I still haven't decided if I'm going to grab Riley and physically haul her out of this bar, or if I should rearrange that douchebag's face first.

At this point, both options seem pretty fucking good to me.