When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(34)

“So what do you think?”

Uncertainty inches along my skin. But what am I supposed to say? Whine about how I’m worried I’ll fail? I’m a damn underboss now. Refusing isn’t an option. Not when Dem’s got that determined look in his eyes that says he fully trusts me to do what needs to be done.

I’ve never disappointed him, and I’m not about to start now.

Dem must see the decision reflected in my expression, because he smirks. “Didn’t Garzolo invite you to see how he runs things during one of our meetings?”

I huff a dry laugh. “Yeah, he did.” Pretty sure he didn’t think we’d be so quick to take him up on the offer.

“He can’t very well take back his invitation now.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “I guess you’re right.”

“Then it’s settled,” Dem says.

“Fuck. All right. I guess I’m going to New York.”

Dem comes around and slaps my back. “Good. Just remember one thing, Ras.”

“What?”

“Be careful around Gemma.”

I bristle, feeling very defensive all the sudden. Am I that obvious? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dem’s gaze pierces through me. “I’ve seen how you look at her. Just remember that she’s engaged to a don, who also happens to be our business partner. There are plenty of other beautiful women in New York in case you get lonely. I’m counting on you and I don’t want you to lose focus.”

A heavy weight solidifies inside my gut. The fact that Dem even feels the need to say this is a problem. Of course I’m not going to lose focus.

“I know what I’m doing,” I tell Dem.

But I’m not sure if I’m trying to reassure him or myself.





CHAPTER 11





GEMMA


I’m clutching the sides of the toilet as I violently heave into the white ceramic bowl.

My skin is crawling, and everything aches. I’m somehow blazing hot and ice cold.

Despite my body’s efforts, barely anything’s coming up. Someone’s holding my hair back. I have no idea who it is. Moments ago, I woke up, my stomach clenched, and I flew off the bed in the general direction of the bathroom. There was no time to even register the time of day, let alone anyone in my vicinity.

It’s Cleo, probably. If it was Mamma, she wouldn’t be this quiet. Every time I’ve ever been sick, she’s made sure to let me know it was my fault.

My knees press painfully against the cold tile floor while my entire body trembles. There’s a vague awareness of having been in this position before. It feels like muscle memory.

What day is it?

My sense of time is all out of whack. Vale’s wedding could have been a week ago, or it could have been yesterday.

I retch again.

No, it was yesterday. I might not be totally aware of my surroundings, but I recognize the bathroom. I’m still in the guesthouse, which means it isn’t time to leave yet.

A wet towel appears in my periphery. I grab it and use it to wipe my mouth, noticing that it smells like cucumbers.

“That’s nice,” I mutter to Cleo, sitting back on my butt and hanging my head between my knees. “Reminds me of the spa at the Ritz.”

“You’ll have to take me there while I’m in New York.”

My eyes fly open. That’s a male’s voice. And not just any male.

Ras.

I must be hallucinating. Am I dying? Am I already dead? I must have gone to hell.

That seems fundamentally unfair. It’s not like I thought I’d get off scot-free given my family, but I didn’t think I’d be judged this harshly.

A sob escapes me. Is this my punishment? Throwing up for eternity while— “All right, all right. I get it. I’ll go there on my own, no big deal.” A warm palm lands on the center of my back and starts to move in soothing circles.

I blink at the floor, and a tear falls off my eyelash.

“Is this real life?” I ask tentatively.

“What else would it be?”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Hell.” It’s hot enough for that to be the case.

There’s a long pause and then a low chuckle. “You really think the world of me.”

With effort, I lift my forehead off my knees and twist my neck to look over my shoulder.

Ras looks back at me. He’s in a low squat, one arm balancing on his left knee while the other is rubbing my back.

I let out a confused groan. “I don’t understand.”

He drops his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and back in bed.”

If there’s an opening to push him away, I miss it. Even my blinking feels sluggish.

He hooks his forearms under my armpits and hauls me up like a rag doll against his freakishly hard chest.

“Jesus, you’re still burning up,” he mutters as he leads me back into the room. I resist the urge to put my feet on top of his own so that he can do the walking for me too.

I’m truly pathetic at the moment.

My gaze scans the bedroom. “Where’s Cleo?” Her bed isn’t made, but the enormous T-shirt with Britney’s face that she sleeps in isn’t there either. Where’s her suitcase?