GABRIEL
The next morning, I wake in the guest wing of Donnie's home. My first instinct is to meet him downstairs and talk over coffee, debate politics and talk shit about people we know. Donnie's a goddamned gossip, and more often than not, he's hilarious when telling his stories.
But I'll never hear his stories again. My stomach plummets anew.
Donnie's gone.
It's seven-forty-five in the morning, much later than I'm used to waking, and Donnie's gone.
It's a Tuesday, and Donnie's gone.
Today we'll bury him, and the last link to my grandfather will vanish.
Still in bed, I reach for my cell and punch in a number without thinking. I need to hear a familiar, soothing voice.
"Hi, this is Riley." Her tone's smooth and professional, and for a split second, I think I've reached her voicemail.
"Hey, babe."
There's a pause. "Gabriel?"
"That's me." I wonder, irrationally, whether she actually gets lots of calls from men. If she actually has a boyfriend or a friend with benefits. Or many friends with many benefits. But that's just exhaustion and paranoia taking over my grief-addled mind.
"How...how are you? Are you okay? How are you holding up?" The concern in her voice relieves me of any doubt.
I blow out a breath. "Sorry to have called so early. You're probably getting ready for work, or are in the car. Or at the office."
"Yeah, I'm eating breakfast."
"What are you eating?"
"Uh, cereal."
"Type?"
"This is embarrassing, but...those fruity loops things." She giggles, and the sound is like a balm for my soul. "But I'm glad you called. I was worried about you, since I hadn't heard from you."
"Hell, Riley, I'm sorry. I should've called last night, but I ended up talking to Maria, Donnie's wife, and some other, ah, friends of the family. The funeral's today."
"Gabriel." She lets out a little sigh. "I'm sorry. That's so difficult. Please don't apologize. It's not like you need to check in, and you don't owe me a call. Especially not under these circumstances."
There's an awkward pause, and I want to tell her that I want all those things. To check in with her. To owe her a call. To be accountable for someone other than myself. But that's the grief again, probably. Even if it isn't, I'm old enough and experienced enough to know that now isn't the time to say those things.
"I was just thinking of you, that's all. Wondering how you were doing."
"I'm...okay."
"Just okay?" A fresh wave of concern hits my brain.
"I'm good, it's just that last weekend was a lot for me. Unexpected."
"Do you think I expected all that, either?"
She finally laughs, and I relax. "No, I don't think you did. Probably you wouldn't have kidnapped me if you knew what was going to happen."
I also chuckle, but I don't tell her that I would do it again, a thousand times. "Then why the hesitation?"
"I think there's a lot we need to talk about. A lot I need to work through in my brain. That is, if we're going to... If you want to..." her voice trails off and she clears her throat. "Sorry, let me take a sip of coffee."
I wait for a few seconds until she says she's back.
"Riley, I want us. I want you. I know you don't know me well, yet. But I think you realize I'm a person who knows what he wants."
"Ohhh." Her voice is a breathy whisper, barely audible and semi-surprised. The sound does something to the pleasure center in my brain and my dick swells, as if it has a mind of its own.
"I know this is going to sound funny because of the way we, er, started, but I don't want you to feel pressured. If you're not interested, you can tell me." It kills me to say these words, but I must.
"No. I...do. I probably shouldn't, for a whole lot of reasons, but I want something as well. You."
My dick's now tenting the sheet, but I suspect a round of phone sex might not be the best idea given the circumstances. As freaky as Riley is in bed, I don't think asking her to talk me through an orgasm on the day I'm going to a funeral is the best move for a new relationship.
"Babe, have a great day at work. I'll let you know when I'm coming back, okay? I promise I'll take you out."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
I can almost hear her smile through the phone. "Okay. Good. Talk soon, stay strong today, okay? Call me if you need to talk."
We hang up, and I'll be damned if I don't take care of myself right there in bed. My dick's rock hard at the mere thought of her, and I fantasize about her on her knees, taking all of me into her mouth. It's probably inappropriate under the circumstances, but I don't care.
Riley's voice, and the idea of what she'll do later this week, allows me to forget about the hell I'm going to experience later today.
***
Donnie had requested a quick funeral, with a short graveside service and no wake, and that's exactly what he's getting. Maria, Alessandro, Gia, and a handful of others—mostly longtime friends and beloved staff—stand in the white-hot Florida sunshine alongside the open grave.
"It feels weird that it's not bigger, that there aren't more people, that there isn't a line of black limos here," Gia hisses to Alessandro and me.
Ale and I nod in agreement. Gia's father's funeral a couple of years ago was like that—it looked like a scene from The Godfather, with all of the dark-suited mafiosos and the throngs of people in black at the grave. Hell, I even spotted a few FBI agents in the distance, taking photos with long lenses.
There's none of that today, which is how Donnie wanted it. He was the kind of guy who wielded power in secret. Not flashy, not ostentatious. Until he met Maria, he lived in a small ranch home in the suburbs of Jacksonville.
As his plain wooden casket is poised to be pushed into the granite mausoleum, I muse about how he'd planned this day meticulously, right down to the flower selection—only red flowers, he'd requested, the color of the tomatoes that grew on his own family's farm back in Italy.
And yet he didn't update his will to bequeath his business interests to me and Alessandro, despite his wishes last Saturday. How the fuck are we going to handle that? Although Alessandro and I operate mostly on our own, we are technically tied to a larger family in New York.
We'll likely have to go there to meet with the bosses, and make a case for taking over. The last thing we want is some hotshot fuck who doesn't know the state coming in and screwing things up. North Florida's an important territory for us, with defense contractors and port investments. There's also drugs, controlled by Haitian and Colombian gangs. It's a delicate situation, and frankly, I don't trust anyone other than Alessandro and myself to handle it.
The priest pauses, and says he's going to say some final words from the Gospel of Matthew.
"It's a passage that Mr. Trafficante meditated on in his final days," he intones.
Hunh. Donnie never struck me as all that religious. I knew he'd been Catholic, like most Italians, but had never expressed a deep faith. Funny how you sometimes learn more about people after they die than when they were alive.
I glance at Gia, then Alessandro. It's as if we all take a collective breath and look at the casket one final time.
The priest, who is standing at the head of the coffin, raises his hands to the heavens. "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke on you and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and my load is not hard to carry."
"Amen," we all murmur.
The priest steps around the coffin, and we watch as workers from the funeral home wheel it into the mausoleum, where it will eventually be slid into a crypt, next to Donnie's first wife.
I swallow a lump lodged in my throat. Donnie wouldn't want me to cry, not publicly. Maybe not at all. Thank God I'm wearing sunglasses because while I'm not tearing up, I'm certain my eyes are a glowing shade of red.
Gia wipes away a tear, and Alessandro hugs her close, kissing her temple. A pang of need goes through me, wishing once again that Riley was here. What I wouldn't give to hold her next to my body, to feel her warmth and life force.
The three of us turn away from the coffin and walk a few paces away.
"You headed home?" Ale asks me.
"Thinking about it. I don't know what can be done right now about all this." I gesture in the air.
"Yeah, this won't be resolved for a while. Let's just hope we can keep things on autopilot for a while," Gia says.
"I'll contact New York and set up a meeting as soon as possible. You available early next week? This coming weekend?"
Both Alessandro and Gia nod, then I notice Gia's gaze shift over my shoulder. Ale's eyes follow, and his expression goes from weary to suspicious.
"Who the fuck's that?" he whispers.
I'm not rude, so I don't immediately turn around.
"Jesus, is that..." Gia's voice fades. "Holy shit, it is her."
Finally, I'm too curious, so I casually turn my head. My breath hitches as I see a small woman with long, pin-straight dark hair coming toward us.
It can't be.
But the closer she gets, the more certain I am. It's Catherine, Donnie's daughter.
Catherine, who disowned her father and left him heartbroken for a lifetime.
Catherine, who was once my best friend.
Catherine, who left the mafia princess life for California and never once looked back.
I haven't seen her in more than a decade. Today she's dressed in all black, in a long dress that is both gauzy and gothic. Dark sunglasses cover her eyes. Her lips are blood red, and her skin pale, almost translucent. Pretty, in a weird, alternative way, but she's never been my type.
She walks closer to us, and that's when I notice she has on black lace-up ankle boots. Definitely a striking vision in a cemetery.
The three of us stare at her, and as she approaches, Gia tugs on Alessandro's arm. "I think we need to let Gabriel handle this alone. Come on. Gabriel, we'll see you back at the house, okay?"
I nod once, and they walk off. Catherine's expression doesn't change when she reaches me, and something about her stony demeanor doesn't inspire me to smile. After all, she was the one who rejected our life, our friendship.
She stops in front of me and turns her head to look at the coffin. Then she slides her glasses off her face, and stares at me. Her eyes are blue, the same color as the clear sky, and they send an ominous chill up my spine.
"So. The bastard's finally dead."