122. Gabriel
ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO
I allowa few days to pass. Let Riley calm down, let things settle. Part of me is waiting for Beckett to surface, but he doesn”t.
Slick fuck.
It”s seven at night before we”re scheduled to fly to Boston to visit Riley”s family, I kiss her on the temple.
”Babe,” I announce. We”re at her condo. She”s got the contents of her entire closet on the bed, trying to decide what to bring for our trip north. ”I just got a text. Gotta go with Andre to take care of something.”
She looks up, holding a little sparkly silver strip of fabric. ”Okay. But Gabriel? Do you think I should bring this dress, or is it too slutty for Boston?”
My mouth opens and I freeze. I swear to fuck I can handle all manner and sorts of mafia business without blinking an eye. But when she asks me questions like this, I seize up. ”Babe, I have no idea. You look gorgeous in anything. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
She huffs indignantly. ”You”re no help.”
”Why don”t you model it for me later? Leave out two, and show me when I get back. I won”t be long, okay?”
She looks up from her pile of clothes. ”You just want to see me shake my ass.”
”This is true.”
We smooch and tickle and laugh, then finally I kiss her for real. ”I”ll be back soon, okay?”
”Be careful. Where”s Andre, anyway?”
”I”m meeting him there.” How the lies slip off my tongue...
My drive to Beckett”s bookstore isn”t long. I almost feel terrible about lying to Riley, but this is something I need to do. There”s no way I can let this man walk the streets of my city, threatening Riley or other women.
I still haven”t discovered whether he”s fixated on Riley because of her father”s ties to his uncle, or if he”s just a garden variety stalker. Either way, he”s going to hear from me tonight, and it”s not going to be pleasant for him.
For me, it will be fucking amazing. My rage toward him has simmered for days and I need a release. Not much inspires me to be this violent, but hurting women definitely does.
”You know who I fucking hate the most?” I say to my bodyguards in the front seats.
”Who, boss?”
”Fuckers who stalk and beat women and kids. I don”t think there are lower pieces of shit than that.”
”Gotta agree with you there.”
”We”re visiting a guy who is stalking Riley tonight.”
The bodyguard in the passenger seat twists around, fear on his face. ”Don Greco, I”m shocked you haven”t bombed his fucking house by now.”
The driver guffaws. ”It”s going to be an interesting night.”
”Yes, it is,” I say with a grin. My guys know me well.
Five minutes later, we pull into the parking lot behind the building that houses Beckett”s bookstore. The three of us climb out, looking like regular guys who are going to the coffee shop for an evening libation.
Well, two guys who are former wrestlers, and me. Still, we”re dressed casually, not like mafiosos from central casting. This is Florida after all, where the rules are relaxed.
We”re all wearing shades as we walk up to the bookstore door. One of the bodyguards goes to pull it open, but it doesn”t budge.
”It said the hours were until seven-thirty,” he says.
Then I see the note on the window. ”CLOSED PERMANENTLY”
”What the fuck,” I mutter, peering into the store.
It”s empty, devoid of even a piece of paper.
”Sounds like he knew you were after him, boss.”
I scratch my chin. ”Let”s go next door for a few seconds.”
We all stroll into the coffee shop, a place Riley loves. Inside looks like a hippie hangout, with lots of hanging plants and tired sofas. It”s not my kind of place, but I know Riley loves the cookies here.
”I”ll take two of your chocolate chunk cookies,” I say to the young guy behind the counter. ”Actually, make that a dozen.”
He rings me up. ”Say, what happened to the bookstore next door? I wanted to grab the new James Patterson and he”s not there.”
The guy shakes his head. ”Dunno, it was real weird. The owner came in yesterday looking really stressed out. Got a quadruple espresso and ran out. Someone later saw him dumping books into the garbage in back. A bunch of us got some brand new books. Then he left and I guess there”s a sign on the door saying the place is closed permanently. Maybe he”s on the run from the law or something.”
He shrugs and picks up his phone.
”Or something,” I mutter.
I don”t give a fuck where Beckett went, as long as he stays away. Something tells me that this isn”t the end of him, though, and I need to be on high alert — especially in Boston.
RILEY
”Okay,here”s what you need to know about my family. Gabriel. Are you listening to me?”
I swear to God, he”s been distracted ever since he came back last night. It”s like his mind is somewhere else. I suspect it”s because he”s nervous about meeting my father. It”s so adorable how he wants to make a good impression — not like I care.
”Huh? I”m sorry. I was just looking out the window at the clouds. I love this part of flying.” Gabriel turns toward me.
The private jet slices through the sky, soaring through thick, white clouds. We”ve got two and a half hours until we touch down in my hometown.
”What were you saying?” Gabriel asks.
”Why are you so distracted?” I ask.
”Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.” He reaches for my hand.
”Okay, anyway. Here”s what you need to know. My mom”s name is?—”
”Ava. I know. And your father is Rory.” He grins.
”Very good. The downstairs neighbor who runs the pub, her name is Sinead. She”s like my grandma, and has to be at least seventy now. You also need to be nice to her. And then there”s John at the corner store...” I launch into a long explanation of almost everyone on the block.
Gabriel”s grin gets wider. ”I can”t wait. The way you talk about it, it”s like something out of an epic Irish novel.”
”Yeah, a tragic comedy,” I quip. ”Just... don”t mention the Italian thing a lot.”
He quirks an eyebrow. ”With this nose, how do you expect me to do that?”
It”s true. Next to ”Italian man” in the dictionary should be a photo of Gabriel. ”True. Then let”s not mention the business stuff.”
He laughs and laughs. ”Of course not, amore mio. As far as they”re concerned, I”m involved with real estate. Although I suspect your father will know something”s up, if he has any connections at all.”
”You think?” Oh, shit. That”s the last thing I need.
”No. I don”t know. Look, let”s not worry about it. This is all going to be fine. We”ll get there and later tonight or tomorrow, I”ll ask your father downstairs to the pub for a beer. Did I tell you I love the fact you live upstairs from an Irish pub? I can”t wait to get a genuine Guinness. Haven”t had that since I went to Ireland in college.” He rubs his hands together excitedly.
”I know, I know,” I sigh, sinking back into the plush leather seat of the jet. Gabriel means well, but he doesn”t quite understand my angsty Irish family dynamics.
My dad is protective of his only daughter, and he”s something of a provincial Southie guy. Never traveled much, outside of Ireland.
Gabriel”s flashy style might scream ”big city slickster” to my father. He always envisioned me meeting some nice Irish boy from the neighborhood, then settling down to raise a big Catholic family.
When I moved to New York, then Tampa, he was silent and sullen. We haven”t had a meaningful conversation in months.
Gabriel catches my worried expression and squeezes my hand reassuringly. ”Hey, it”s going to be okay. Parents love me, remember? I”ll use that famous Italian charm on them. Er, charm. No Italian.”
He bats his eyes at me.
I crack a smile at that. He”s not wrong. When he wants, his warm personality has a way of winning people over. And my mom will be over the moon at the prospect of planning a wedding. She”s been dreaming of this day since I was a little girl playing dress up in her closet.
”Did I ever tell you that my mom once asked me if Lorna and I were lesbian because I told her I wasn”t interested in ever getting married?”
Gabriel cracks up.
”Just promise me one thing?”
”Anything, amore,” Gabriel replies.
”No talking politics with my dad. He hates the current administration with a passion bordering on obsession.” I shudder imagining another of dad”s anti-government rants, Gabriel unwittingly poking the bear.
Gabriel mimes zipping his lips and I exhale, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Maybe this trip won”t be a total disaster after all. I snuggle into Gabriel”s shoulder as the flight attendant offers us champagne. Just a quick trip to share our happy news and then it”s back to the city we both call home. Everything will be just fine.
”You know what might ease your tension,” Gabriel says, staring deep into my eyes.
”What?”
”Something we”ve never done.”
I blink. ”Uh, play Scrabble? Or...what?”
Gabriel leans over to kiss me. ”There is a back room in this jet. Have you ever had an orgasm at forty thousand feet?”