GABRIEL
Tonight is the night.
The night that could make or break me and Riley. It's the night that she's meeting my father for the first time.
"Che cazzo, Gabriel. Can't you stop pacing?" My father's sitting on one of the terrace chairs, watching me pace from the bar to the pool. He takes a sip of his Scotch.
I shoot him a look. Ever since he was released from prison, it seems like my father's let all of his worst impulses come out.
Irritability. Snark. Meanness.
Then again, if I'd been in prison that long, I'd probably be pretty pissed, too.
I walk over to him and sink onto a nearby chair. "I want this to go well."
"Everything's going to be fine. I'm sure I'll like her. And I promise. I'll be on my best behavior."
Dad winks at me. I return the expression with a steely glare.
"I'm not going to tell her," he says. "Why would I want to tell her that I took the fall for a murder you committed? What purpose does that serve? I don't want people knowing it, either. But I can't soothe your guilty conscience."
"I don't feel guilty about the murder." I roll my eyes. Sad, but true. It was a routine mafia hit, a piece of shit who betrayed our family. Had I not done it, my father would've gladly offed the guy. "I don't want Riley to find out."
Dad scratches his chin. "Aren't the two of you all modern, striving for honesty and all that shit?"
I sneer at my father. "And what if we are?"
"I'd say you shouldn't keep secrets, in that case. But it's none of my business. Don't worry, son. I'll be a good boy tonight. I'll play the doting, if not slightly menacing, mafia boss father."
He snorts and drains his drink, swallowing with a satisfied smack. "Although I do wish whatshername could've joined us."
"If you can't even remember the name of the woman you're screwing, she doesn't need to be here tonight." I rise and go to the bar.
I pour myself a generous glass of Brunello, a potent red wine that's doing little to calm my nerves. My father has always been difficult, even when I was a boy. Growing up as the only son of a prominent mafia boss means I'm constantly striving for perfection and living under crushing expectations. I can never seem to earn my father's praise or affection.
My sister had it easier. Dad always doted on Mia. As tender as he was to her, he was equally brutal to me. This increased once Mom left him.
Now that he's been released from prison, tensions between us have resurfaced. I want his blessing for my relationship with Riley, but I know the old man will be impossible to please.
"Another glass over here," he demands, shaking the ice cubes rudely. I bite back an irritated sigh and refill his Scotch.
"You know, you haven't once congratulated me on my engagement," I say as I hand him the drink.
He snorts derisively. "Congrats on bagging a pretty little reporter. I'm sure she'll fit right in with the family business."
I clench my jaw at the sarcasm dripping from his words. "I'm eventually going legit, remember? Riley has nothing to do with the old ways."
"Ha! Once a Greco, always a Greco," he scoffs. "You can pretend all you want, but you were born into this life same as me. It's in your veins, figlio mio. And you can't wash the stain of blood off your hands. That shit stays with you always."
"Things are different now," I argue, raking a hand through my hair. "The feds are starting to crack down since you went away. I'm lining up legitimate deals, real estate deals-"
He slams down his glass, sputtering. "Legitimate deals? Madonna mia, I didn't raise my only son to be a patsy! Signing papers and taking orders from suits downtown? No Greco grovels for scraps from the politicians' table."
I meet his flashing glare, refusing to back down. "I paid my dues to this family, in blood. I've earned the right to make my own choices. If I say I'm going straight, I expect you to respect it."
He shakes his head bitterly. "Once Riley realizes she's shackled herself to a neutered housecat rather than a wolf, she'll kick you to the curb."
Before I can spit back an angry retort, the doorbell rings. Riley. Oh, fuck. The moment is here. My heartbeat quickens. Tonight will be a disaster if I can't get him under control fast. But I vow not to let the old man's toxicity ruin my chance for happiness. Riley is worth fighting for, no matter what.
***
RILEY
"I'm so sorry I'm a little late, the drawbridge was up and I had to wait like a half hour for some stupid yacht to pass through the canal," I say, kissing Gabriel on the mouth.
Worry is pinching his handsome face. I kiss him again and he sighs.
"What?" I pull back to study him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Everything's fine. I'm glad you're here. Don't worry about the time, Dad and I were out on the terrace having drinks."
"No, everything's not fine." I reach for his hand and pull him into a butler's nook off the foyer. "Tell me what's going on. You look concerned."
He licks his lips. "My father. He's difficult to deal with. But please don't worry about me. Let's just get through tonight, okay? I know he's looking forward to meeting you."
"And I can't wait to meet him." I smile, but Gabriel doesn't. "Oh, babe. This is so difficult for you, isn't it."
He nods once, a concession to his feelings.
"It's okay," I whisper, caressing his face with my hand. "We'll eat and if things are weird I'll feign a headache, and you can bring me home. Then we can get cozy in bed at my place. Okay?"
We put our foreheads together and Gabriel nods.
"Thank you," he whispers. "I think you've found my weakness. My father."
"Trust me, you'll be repaying this with me next month when we visit my folks," I tell him.
He grins and grabs my hand. "Let's do this."
I detect scents of garlic and onions as we walk past the kitchen. Like most days, I've been too busy to properly eat, and my stomach is screaming for food.
"How long until dinner?" I ask Gabriel as we walk toward the terrace.
"Maybe a half hour. Soon. You hungry?" He glances at me.
"Yeah, a little." I don't want to give him more to worry about, because we're now outside.
My pulse races, but I put on a bright smile. First impressions with parents matter. I want Gabriel's formidable father to like me.
As we step outside, a handsome older man rises from a wicker chair. He's tan and distinguished, with slicked back dark hair and piercing eyes, just like Gabriel. Handsome. The Grecos have obviously been blessed in the good gene department.
Next to me, Gabriel tenses.
"Father, I'd like you to meet Riley Murphy," he says formally.
"Piacere, Signorina Murphy," his father takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. His grip is firmer than expected. I fight the instinct to pull my hand back.
"Please, call me Riley."
"Riley it is. I am Gennaro. Make yourself comfortable." His accent is an odd blend of Italian and something else I can't detect.
I settle into a chair across from him while Gabriel fixes me a cocktail. His father watches me like a hawk sizing up a mouse. I resist the urge to fidget under that penetrating stare.
"So where are you from, Riley?"
I give him the basics about growing up in Boston while Gabriel hands me a negroni. I take a fortifying sip before answering Gennaro's next question about my family. This interrogation is carefully crafted, no doubt intended to probe for weaknesses.
The drink is delicious and strong, which probably isn't the best thing considering my empty stomach. I might get a headache for real if I don't get some food in me.
I counter as diplomatically as I can, emphasizing my mother's working class career and hippie tendencies rather than my father's Irish roots and mafia ties. No need to highlight the built-in tensions between our families' backgrounds.
The conversation shifts to my job as Gennaro refills his Scotch. "A newspaper reporter. How very civic-minded of you. And what sorts of stories do you cover?" I detect thinly veiled skepticism in his tone.
I describe some of my recent articles, focusing on the human interest and small business angles of my writing. Gennaro remains reserved, bordering on cold, while Gabriel hovers silently on the periphery.
"Riley has received awards for her work," Gabriel finally interjects. "Her, ah, crime stories have gotten attention."
Matteo merely arches an eyebrow. "Is that so? How very intrepid of you. Like a young Christian Amanpour, are you?"
I flash Gabriel a subtle smile, both moved by and amused at his attempts to hype up my credentials for his impossible-to-impress father.
Wew drink cocktails for what seems like an eternity. Halfway through my second, my head begins to swim. Gennaro continues to dominate the conversation. He asks me very little about myself, preferring to expound on subjects like art, wine, and his globetrotting exploits. Gabriel remains uncharacteristically quiet.
As Matteo launches into a detailed account of a certain Bordeaux vintage, I gently squeeze Gabriel's knee. He covers my hand with his briefly and I glimpse fatigue clouding those emerald eyes I adore. Dealing with his father's oversized persona is clearly wearing on him tonight.
"How's dinner looking?" I murmur to Gabriel, swaying a little.
"Perhaps you should go find out," Gennaro says pointedly.
Gabriel and I stare at him for a beat, the awkward silence settling between us.
"Kidding," he finally says with a shit-eating grin. "I'll go and check."
He rises, and I note that everything he's wearing, from his tailored slacks to the white button-down suit, is crisp and tailored. Never did I imagine that a man who got out of prison so recently could look so...moneyed. I'll keep that observation to myself, though.
When Gennaro walks inside, Gabriel slumps back, his eyes shut.
I stroke his chest. "I see what you mean. He's... difficult."
Gabriel opens one eye. "That's putting it mildly."