When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(22)

God, my head is pounding. I don’t want to think about anything right now.

I get myself horizontal on the bench and throw my arm over my eyes. Screw it, I’m taking a nap.





I scramble awake when my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for five minutes. I glance at the screen and see that it’s a text message from Mamma.

Rafaele is about to arrive, where are you?





I rub at my eyes. The clock on my phone says I’ve actually napped for nearly an hour.

Shit!

My heart rate spikes as I pull up Cleo’s contact.

Cleo, where are you?





The message sits unread.

One minute passes. Two.

I groan. There isn’t any time to wait for her to respond.

So much for my plan to avoid my parents until Cleo gets back.

I quickly text Mamma back to let her know I’ll meet them by the front door of the main house. Papà made a big deal of me giving my fiancé a warm welcome.

We get there at the same time. Mamma comes over to smooth some imaginary wrinkles from my shirt.

Papà adjusts his tie. “Where have you been?”

“Just walking around the property.”

“Where is your sister?”

“I don’t know. I think she might be in the pool,” I lie.

Mamma’s eyes narrow. Is she onto me?

The gate at the end of the driveway starts to slide open, and a moment later, a black car drives through it.

Mamma’s attention moves from me to it, and I let out a breath of relief just as the car stops in front of us. The driver comes around to open the door. The first man to emerge is Nero, Rafaele’s consigliere. Rafaele’s reputation is closely intertwined with Nero’s. The two of them became made around the same time, and Nero plays a supporting role in most of the legends swirling around Rafaele.

This isn’t the first time we’ve met, but every time we do, I have to resist the urge to rub my eyes. Nero’s just…massive, built like a linebacker, even taller than Rafaele—who’s six-two—and always dressed in black. Nero’s nickname couldn’t be any more appropriate—Angel of Death. Even his expertly tailored suit can’t disguise the sheer muscular force of his body. He gracefully unfurls to his full height, towering over all of us, and gives us a disarming grin.

“Enjoying this sun, Mr. Garzolo?” he says with that wicked smile. “I’m hoping to work on my tan while I’m here.”

They shake hands, and Nero cracks a few jokes and says things that are meant to put everyone at ease. Even his charm is intimidating. You never know when he’s joking and when he’s being serious. He seems like the type who’d try to get you to laugh while he twists your neck.

Then he moves his attention to me, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to it. “Gemma. Looking beautiful as always.”

“Thank you.”

Rafaele comes out next.

I swallow. My fiancé isn’t as physically intimidating as Nero, but he carries an unmistakable air of danger about him. Maybe it’s the way he moves, slow and intentional like a panther. Or the way he’s able to keep his gaze as cold as ice no matter the circumstances. When that gaze falls on me, I shiver.

Rafaele doesn’t greet anyone. Instead, he turns around and reaches back inside the car, apparently having forgotten something.

There’s a strange muffled sound.

My jaw drops when I see Cleo’s face with silver masking tape over her mouth.

There’s a collective gasp.

“We found this stumbling on the side of the road,” Rafaele says coldly as he hauls her out by her elbow. Her hands are tied behind her back.

The moment Cleo’s feet hit the ground, she tears her arm out of his grip and screams like a banshee against the tape.

Rafaele steadies her by her shoulder, wrapping his big palm around it, and rips the tape off in one fell swoop.

If it hurts, Cleo doesn’t show it. Her eyes are blazing. “I was going for a walk, you jerk off. Your thug—” she jerks her head at Nero, “—is the one who pulled me off the road like some caveman.”

A gust of wind lifts up the hem of her shirt, revealing a sliver of her belly, and for a moment, I swear Rafaele’s gaze drops to it. Then I blink, and his gaze is back on her face. Cold. So damn cold.

Nero chuckles. “We invited you in nicely. It’s only when you refused that Rafe asked me to get you.”

Rafaele tears his gaze off Cleo and moves it to Papà. “We nearly ran her over.”

The direct address seems to snap Papà out of his shocked stupor. His nostrils flare on a breath. “She shouldn’t have been off the property.”

Cleo bares her teeth at Rafaele. “Get the damn zip tie off my wrists. Right. Now.”

I wince. Lovely. My future husband appears to travel with a supply of zip ties and masking tape. Just in case.

Rafaele pulls out a pocketknife and approaches Cleo.

My breath catches inside my lungs. My fiancé is an exceptionally dangerous man, and I can’t help but think that having him with a knife close to my sister is a bad idea.

But he doesn’t do anything besides quickly snipping the zip tie off.

Cleo rounds on him as soon as she’s free and snarls. “You do that again, and you’ll regret it.”