65. Gabriel
SIXTY-FIVE
Fuck me.All I want is to grab Riley, throw her in my car, and drive as far away from this goddamned place as possible.
But now I”ve got these reporters to deal with, and a confused, scared Riley. Who is also a reporter, here doing a job.
”Mr. Greco, why are you here? What can you tell us about the shooting? Can you share anything about the victims? Did you know them?”
I pause and survey the crowd. What the fuck am I supposed to say? That a mafia war has started between the Italians and the Russians? That four of my men were killed? That the piece of shit who started this massacre is lying in the dining room inside, his face half blown off?
Riley”s staring at me as if I”ve sprouted a third limb. She”s right in the middle of the reporter scrum. I hold up my hands to quiet the din and give everyone a stern glare.
”I”ll answer a few questions. One at a time, please.”
”Why are you here, Mr. Greco?” The question comes from the slick TV reporter who”s seemingly everywhere in town. I see him at charity balls, at restaurants, hell, even once at a Bucs game.
I clear my throat and the flashes of a half-dozen cameras pop and burst, practically blinding me. ”I own this property. The chief, who is a dear friend, called me this evening while I was at dinner to tell me of the tragedy, and I came here immediately.”
Riley, who is only a few inches away, visibly relaxes. She pulls out her phone and points it in my direction, which both pisses me off and makes me despair. For the first time since I met her, I want her out of the news business, away from all this tragedy. I know she”s normally a feature writer, penning stories about pleasant topics.
But not always. As long as she”s with the paper, she”ll be at risk for covering stories like this.
We”ll be having a conversation about this later.
”Did you know any of the men?” I”m startled to hear Riley asking the next question. She”s looking at me almost accusatorily, and I”m not sure if she”s trying to look tough for her colleagues, or if she”s asking because it”s her job.
It”s a valid question. ”I”m working with the police to determine that,” I say coolly, sidestepping the question. ”Of course, I know the owners well, and I”m thankful that they”re unhurt.”
She presses her lips together and I can tell she knows I”m not entirely speaking the truth. The woman knows me well.
”Can we get inside and shoot footage?” One cameraman shouts.
No fucking way, I want to yell. Instead, I calmly reply, ”It”s a crime scene, so you”ll have to check with the chief.”
Riley”s nostrils flare. It”s raining now, and everyone looks annoyed, especially her. The sound of her voice on that message earlier cuts into me, and I wish I”d taken the time to call her, to let her know I was okay. But when news of the shooting came from the chief, I”d been at a restaurant near my house, and my bodyguards had ushered me to safety, fearing the worst.
There had been no time for calls or reassurances. I had to act. Had to get my men prepared.
For war.
”What can you tell us about the Russian national who allegedly open fired?” a reporter asks in an obnoxious bellow.
That I”m glad he”s dead and he”s a piece of shit.
I run a hand through my damp hair. Keep it cool, keep it superficial, and get the fuck out of here. ”I can”t say anything right now. All my thoughts and prayers are with the victims this evening, and to everyone who had to endure the trauma of the events inside the restaurant. My prayers, and that of the entire Greco family, are also with the first responders. The police, the EMTs, the medical workers. They”re the true heroes in situations like this, and I”m glad we have professionals here in the city to handle such tragic events.”
Butter up the cops. That”s the only essential thing at a time like this. Well, that and figuring out how to keep my men safe. How to keep Riley safe and at my side. I can”t have her flitting around the city when the Russians are clearly out for blood.
”Now if you folks will excuse me, I need to speak with the chief. Please keep up the good work. I know you”re all doing your jobs, and this is a difficult night. Please be on the lookout for some free coffee and donuts, I”m going to have someone from my real estate company bring them by for you all. I think you”ll be out here for a while.”
That seems to make all the journalists happy. Well, all but Riley.
I take one more look at her. She up at me through her lashes with a wounded, afraid expression. As much as I want to whisk her away right now, I can”t. I need to get to the hospital and visit the guys who were wounded then meet with my capos to find out how we”re going to handle this.
I nod at her. She opens and closes her mouth, as if she”s about to say something. But the incessant questions of the other reporters drown her out, and I hear the chief calling my name from the front door of the restaurant.
As difficult as it is, I turn and walk away, hoping that she”ll meet me at home later so I can explain everything properly. We”ve got a lot to discuss later, and something tells me she”s not going to like one word of what I have to say.