GABRIEL
Shockingly, my relationship with Riley didn't dissolve after I came home covered in blood.
She stayed.
She baked cookies and fed them to me, then she pulled me upstairs and made love to me. The sex was so emotional, so raw, that I was left gasping. Wondering how she has worked her way under my skin and into my heart.
I almost told her I loved her then. Something I haven't said to any woman, ever. Instead, I tried to make it all about the sex. Telling her that she's the best I've ever had.
And while she didn't believe me about the blood on my shirt and skin, I know she believed me about this.
Because it's true for her, too.
It's now morning, and Riley's in the shower. She emerges in her fluffy white robe — I've bought a couple for her, in different colors, so she can wear them while she's at my house — toweling off her hair. She doesn't notice me staring at her. It's something I can't help. All I want when she's around is to look at her.
I'm drinking coffee in bed, checking emails, and look up. Riley grins when she sees me.
"That's an unusual sight. By this time, you've usually already worked out, had a shower, eaten breakfast and are out the door." She sits on the edge of the bed.
"I don't have anything scheduled this morning."
She leans in to brush her lips over mine. "I wish I could say the same, so I could crawl back into bed with you."
I slide a hand under her robe and cup her breast and my cock stirs. "You sure you can't go in a little later?"
"Nope. You're going to have to live with your horniness all day. Pervert," she teases, as I tweak her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
"This is all your fault. I'm not usually this ravenous."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right."
"It's true." The words I love you are on the tip of my tongue, but my rational brain knows it's too early to utter them aloud. It's starting to be more and more difficult to hide my true feelings, though. "Look, I'm already hard."
I pull back the duvet to show her how my dick is tenting my sweatpants. "See what you do to me?"
She stares at my crotch for a second, then shakes her head. "No. I don't have time this morning."
I groan. "I'm going to have to take care of myself, I guess."
"Or you could wait for tonight." She reaches for my dick and presses her hand into it.
"Is that an order?" I grin.
"Yes. No orgasms until later."
I suck in a breath as she rubs her hand over me. "I don't take orders well."
Riley leans into my ear. "Tonight I'm going to put on those heels you love and get on my knees for you..."
When she stands and walks off, I let out another groan. "Cock tease."
"Today's the work potluck." Ignoring me and my obvious blue ball distress, Riley chatters on about her day while pulling open the curtains. She does this when she stays over, I've noticed, because she likes to put on her makeup in natural light. I love watching her. "What are we doing tonight? You'd mentioned something about a charity dinner?"
"Oh, hell, that's right. The children's cancer fundraiser. Let me find out the details." I pick up my phone and tap over to my email. Naturally, in the five minutes since I last checked it, there are a dozen new messages. I quickly scroll through.
A proposed new condo. One from my sister, who sent a photo of her daughter in a cute dress. An invite from the governor.
"Hey, babe? Want to go to the governor's mansion next month?" I call out. Riley's on the other side of the room, sliding on a dress.
Her head pokes out. "What? The governor? Eww. Why?"
I'm about to answer her when my gaze lands on another email. My dick instantly softens.
It's from Catherine.
Gabriel—
My apologies for our last meeting. Can we meet? I'm in Tampa today on business. Lunch?
-C.
I blink at the short message and read it two, three, four times. Why is she in Tampa? She hasn't been here in over a decade. And what kind of business? Why didn't she go back to Sacramento?
Oh, fuck, is she going to make a claim on her father's territory? The wheels inside my head start turning, and I make a mental note to call Alessandro to alert him of this new development.
Catherine could really fuck things up for us in northeast Florida.
"Gabriel? Babe? Why are we being invited to the governor's mansion?" Riley's voice slices through my thoughts, and I'm a bit startled to find that she's standing next to the bed, staring at me.
I quickly flip the phone over and set it on the nightstand. "Oh. Uh. He wants money. For his campaign."
Riley's eyes narrow. "Yeah, I'm going to skip that one. I'm headed out, going to grab the cookies on the way. Talk soon?"
"Of course, babe." I hate that I'm so distracted by Catherine's message as I kiss Riley goodbye.
"You're not going to dry your hair?"
She shakes her head. "Don't have time."
"My grandmother would say you're going to get sick."
"Mine would too." She kisses my nose and walks out.
When she leaves, I grab my phone and type a response, then pause while I ponder the implications.
Should I tell Riley I'm going to have lunch with Catherine? Is this something she'd want to know? I'd be going only as a friend, merely to clear the air after our awkward conversation at her father's funeral.
No, something tells me that Riley might not like it. Since I do feel an obligation to Catherine — she was my best friend at one time, for fuck's sakes — I answer.
I'm free today. Let's meet at one at Giorgio's on Kennedy Blvd.
***
Giorgio's is a newer restaurant, a small place in a strip mall sandwiched between a tanning salon and a clothing store. I'm intimately familiar with all these businesses, because I own the property — and all of the shops. They're legitimate businesses that I use for laundering cash from my drug business, and I know the staff is always discreet when I bring people here.
Not that anyone would recognize Catherine at this point; when she lived in Tampa she was a young college student, not known by anyone.
And if someone saw me dining with a woman, it wouldn't raise eyebrows. But it might get back to Riley somehow, and I want to avoid that.
Not because I have anything to hide — I'm planning on telling Riley about this, eventually — but it's better to keep things on the down-low. Especially if Catherine wants to talk about her father's territory and business.
I arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. The manager, a guy I hired, greets me with a hug. The place is half-empty, since it's almost past lunchtime for many office workers.
"How about my regular table in the back?" I ask the manager.
He smiles and leads me to a small, back room with only a handful of tables. This is where I do some business, usually nothing criminal. With its expose brick walls, low lighting, and red-and-white checked tablecloths, it looks like a traditional Italian bistro.
And, I'll admit, the cousin of a made guy from Italy was a great choice as a chef.
I tell the manager I'd like my usual — a carafe of Chianti — and that a lady will be joining me.
Exactly nine minutes later, Catherine walks in. Out of respect, I stand.
She's wearing a black dress that's pulled across her shoulders, exposing her white skin. It's long, and her small feet are in nude sandals. Her long, dark hair is pulled up in a severe ponytail, and the whole effect screams Adult Goth.
Cute, if you're into that sort of thing. Which I'm not.
"Hi," I say, and we kiss each other's cheeks then sit.
"Wine?" I ask, and she nods.
"This doesn't seem like your kind of place," she says.
"Why?"
She shrugs. "I thought you'd want to meet at one of the snazzy new downtown places. Good lord, the city's changed in ten years. I almost don't recognize it."
"There have been a lot of changes." I sip my wine. "And I own this place. The whole block, actually."
She nods slowly. Catherine is knowledgeable enough about the mafia to know what this means. "Ah. Of course."
"And the chef is excellent. He's from Italy."
I clear my throat, and she stares at me. Awkwardness takes over.
"So," I start.
"You want to know why we're here."
"Yes. Although it is good to see you again. Weird, considering we're in Tampa, where we went to school."
"Where I had my meltdown." She smiles ruefully.
I don't say anything.
"Well, I wanted to apologize. It was wrong of me to unload all my emotions on the day of Dad's funeral. You didn't deserve that. I just want to be friends. Honest."
I hold up a hand, relieved by her apology. "It was a difficult day for everyone. No harm, no foul."
"But I also wanted to give you a heads up, because I'm coming back to Florida."
The shock must be evident on my face because she laughs. "No, I'm not planning on taking over my father's territory. He left me some money, and I could give a fuck about the business. You and Alessandro or whoever can do what you want. I have no interest in it. I promise."
"You sure?" My muscles relax even more. This isn't so bad.
"Positive."
"Then what are you doing here in Florida? Aren't you worried someone will recognize you? As far as authorities are concerned, you are somewhat of a missing person, aren't you?"
"Adults can walk away from their lives. There was no sign of foul play when I left."
"True."
"I legally changed my name to Catherine Manfredi. My mom's maiden name."
"Oh." This is news to me. "You know, Cath, a lot more than the city has changed. I've changed. I have a girlfriend, and I don't know if we can recapture what we had. Our friendship."
It almost hurts my heart to say these words.
She swallows a mouthful of wine and shakes her head. "I understand. That's not why I asked you to lunch. I don't expect us to be besties again. I wanted you to know that I'm going to be opening an art gallery. In fact, I signed the contract for it this morning. It's in South Tampa, in that really trendy neighborhood near the water."
"I see," I say slowly.
"I was wondering if you'd like to, ah, invest in the business."
I lean in. "You mean..."
"For laundering purposes. Surely you can always use another business for that."
I could, but I'm not certain this is a good idea. "Thank you. I'll think about it."
"I also thought, since you seem to be so connected around the city, that you could introduce me to bored, rich housewives who need some interesting art. Or perhaps hook me up with your friends in the media so they can do articles on my gallery."
I rub my lips together. "We'll see."
Riley's been writing a lot of articles about the arts lately. Only last week she did a story about a wealthy art collector, a woman who I'd introduced her to.
But I don't want Riley to think I'm interested in Catherine, or that Cath moved here to be closer to me. This could get awkward or dramatic, two things I loathe in relationships. Catherine's return could complicate what I have with Riley.
Tampa's not that big of a city. If Catherine's planning to open a business here, I can't stop her — but I also probably can't prevent her from meeting Riley, either.