His Mafia Queen

Love Bullets

Dad slams his hand on the table, making his can of beer topple over. The golden liquid spills everywhere. "Shit."

He stands up and points at me. "You could've had everything with Beckett. He's Southie royalty. You'd come back here and live a good life. You want to make your mother happy? Do that. Marry Beckett. Embrace your Irish heritage, for fuck's sake."

"Go to hell," I say.

I'm about to push out of the room but somehow Beckett's in front of me, reaching for my shoulders. I put up my hands to stop him but Gabriel is suddenly there, slamming Beckett against the fridge. Magnets and papers fall to the floor, and I yelp.

"Gabriel, no! Let's get out of here." He ignores me.

"You do not touch her. Ever. Do you hear me? Don't speak to her, don't look at her, don't breathe the same fucking air. You got it?"

There's a scramble and hands begin to fly. Gabriel punches Beckett squarely in the face. Scarlet blood spurts from his nose, and I scream.

Beckett swings back, striking Gabriel on the jaw with a terrible smack.

What unfolds next is a frenzy of fists. Of punches and masculine grunts, of the sickening sound of knuckles hitting cheekbones. My dad gets into it too, flipping the flimsy coffee table over and going after Gabriel.

I'm screaming and crying and frantically trying to pull my father off Gabriel, who is doing a pretty impressive job of fighting two men at once.

"Stop," I holler, smacking my father on the back. He easily tosses me off and I land a few feet away, on my butt.

"Riley, go get my guys. Now!" Gabriel shouts.

I run downstairs and outside, banging on the window of the SUV and frantically try to convey to the two bodyguards that we need help. Then I sprint back upstairs, not waiting for them.

I'm just in time to see Gabriel punching my dad in the gut.

Dad goes down, clutching his midsection while gasping and curling into a fetal position. Beckett's younger and fitter, though, and he's trying to get a grip on Gabriel's neck. But Gabriel's too quick, and bashes Beckett's forehead into the counter.

I glance around, wondering where the knives are. Usually there's a butcher block by the stove, but it's gone. I'm opening two drawers with both hands when I hear a loud scream.

I whirl around.

It's Mom, in the doorway. Holding a pistol. She looks dazed, but her arm, and her hand, and the gun, are frighteningly steady.

"Mom?" I didn't even know I was panting until this moment. "Mom. Mom? What are you doing? Put that down."

"Yeah, Eva, put that damn thing down," my father growls from the floor.

"Riley, tell your boyfriend to step away from Beckett." She's pointing the gun halfway between my father, Beckett, and Gabriel. "I'm going to make sure these men don't ever hurt you again."

"W-what?" I stammer.

Gabriel complies, holding his hands in the air and stepping toward me. I hear the front door open. Must be his guys.

"Mom, that's just Gabriel's, ah, friends. We're going to go now. Okay?" My mouth is suddenly uncomfortably dry.

"That's a good idea, dear." She steps aside so the doorway is clear.

Gabriel and I inch toward the door.

"Mom, I love you. Please don't—"

I'm interrupted by the sound of a shot. I scream.

My mother has shot my father, and she's now turning the gun on Beckett. Blood from my father's chest is pooling around my feet.

My knees buckle, but before I hit the floor, I feel Gabriel scooping me up like a sack of potatoes. As we're running down the stairs to the street, I hear a second gunshot.

Then a third.

Then silence.

# # #

GABRIEL

"It's going to be okay, baby, it's going to be okay." I'm cradling Riley in the backseat. She's catatonic almost, whimpering and sobbing.

"Did Mom kill Beckett? Did she kill herself? What happened?" Riley asks through her tears. "Why? Why did she do that?"

"I don't know," I whisper into her hair. "We'll find out. But you're safe for now. I promise."

What a fucked up situation back there in that apartment. My face feels like tenderized meat, my knuckles are raw and bloody, and Riley's traumatized. Never did I imagine things would unfold like they did — or that Rory Murphy would try to screw over his daughter like that.

Thank Christ for Mrs. Murphy, though. It seems that she'd had enough of Rory, and that Beckett was collateral damage. Or maybe the truth is even more complicated. I hoped she didn't turn the gun on herself, but the odds are low. I don't want to say this to Riley, though.

We'll deal with that later.

"Uh, boss?" one of my guys asks.

"Yeah."

"We can't go to the airport. It's shut down because of the storm. No flights until tomorrow morning at the earliest. I talked to the pilot."

"Fuck," I yell, an uncharacteristic outburst.

Riley flinches.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, caressing her back. "Sorry. I'm just upset. I wanted to get home tonight."

She starts to cry. I wrap both arms around her.

"Let's find a suite somewhere in the city. Call the Plaza, or the Four Seasons. Whatever. Take us there for the night."

We drive into the city center while my guys make calls. Riley sobs softly the entire time. Finally, a suite at the Ritz is secured, and we pull up in front of the hotel. One of my guys checks in, then returns with a key and hands it to me.

"Babe, we're going to a beautiful hotel, okay? You're going to take a nice bath and try to get some sleep."

She nods and rubs her nose while I help her out of the SUV. We rush through the lobby, garnering lots of stares from the well-heeled and well-to-do. Fuck them.

Inside the suite, I settle Riley on the sofa then go to my guys.

"One of you, find some clothes for Riley. Jeans, a sweatshirt, whatever. And call the doctor in Florida and get him to prescribe some valium for her. Also bring water and, I don't know, some chocolate." I run my hand through my hair.

One of the guys leaves, while the other stays outside the suite. I run my hand through my hair and glance at Riley. She's still sitting, frozen, on the formal, hunter green sofa.

Chocolate, water, and new clothes won't fix this, won't help her get over what she just experienced. 

I'm not sure if anything will, even me.