18
RAFE
The couch at the safehouse is too short for me, and I wake up at two in the morning with my neck twisted at an angle that sends pain shooting down my spine. I turn over slowly, rubbing the muscle, and the room is dark except for the faint glow from the streetlight outside shining in through the miniblinds. I'm so uncomfortable, but I've given Riley the bed and kept my distance for a reason.
She's getting under my skin so badly. I want to give her the world, and I can't. Before I can even approach Uncle Sal with my desire to have her in my life and fold her into this family, she has to prove herself. If her rebuilt ledgers don't pass muster, Sal will never accept her.
I'm just about to fall back asleep when I realize what woke me in the first place. It wasn't the pain in my neck from sleeping wrong. I hear noise coming from the back of the house and my hand moves to the gun on the coffee table before I'm fully conscious of the decision. I'm on my feet, the weapon raised, my body already moving down the hallway toward the bedroom where Riley's been working.
My pulse hammers in my ears, and every instinct I've honed over years of surviving in this world screams that someone has found us.
Enzo's men. The Feds. It doesn't matter who. They're here.
I round the corner and push the door open, the gun leading the way, and I see Riley on her hands and knees picking up a stack of papers that have scattered across the floor. The laptop is still open on the desk, and she looks up at me with wide eyes.
"Jesus Christ," I say, lowering the gun. My heart's still racing, adrenaline flooding my system. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I knocked over the files," she says, her voice defensive. "I didn't mean to. I was just reaching for?—"
"It's two in the morning."
"I know what time it is."
"Then why aren't you asleep?"
She stands and dumps the papers back onto the desk while I stand here feeling like I'm being forced to parent her. She's a grown adult and can't manage herself?
"Because I'm trying to finish this. Every day that goes by is another day closer to Christmas and another day I'm not home with my family. Is that a good enough reason for you?" I'm sure her attitude is due to how late it is and how little sleep she's getting, but it grates on my nerves. We should both be sleeping right now.
I set the gun on the desk and cross my arms. "You're pushing yourself too hard. You're going to make mistakes."
"I'm not making mistakes."
"You will if you keep working like this. You need sleep."
"I need to finish."
"Riley—"
"Don't." She holds up a hand, and I see the exhaustion etched into her face. But I also see a deep emotion I can't name and it twists my chest painfully. "Don't tell me what I need. I know what I need. I need to go home and see my sister get married. I need my life back."
I know it's not wrong for her to want those things at all because those people are her family and they care about her. But the way she says it with such hostility, brought on by stress and overworking, angers me. She's still wanting to run off and get away from me as fast as she can while I’m over here drowning and struggling to keep my head above water.
I'm stupid for catching feelings for her when all she wants is to go home.
I walk over to the laptop and close it, picking it up to take it back to the living room with me. No laptop means no work, and she'll be forced to go to bed.
"Hey!" Riley shouts. "What are you doing?"
"You're done for the night."
"I'm not done. I have three more folders to go through, and if I stop now?—"
"You're done." I tuck it under my arm and point at the bed where I'd love to be sleeping right now instead of the cold, hard couch. If' I knew she wasn't sleeping this whole fucking time, I'd havebeen there and I wouldn't have a crick in my neck. "You're going to bed."
Her face flushes with anger, and she steps toward me. "You can't just decide when I work and when I don't. You told me to finish doing this, and I'm trying to finish it."
"And you will—tomorrow. After you've slept."
