When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(28)

“Okay, whatever,” I mumble.

It’s not until I’m in my pajamas and lying on the hard ottoman in the darkness that the haze induced by his naked body lifts. I rub my eyes and let out a sigh. I can’t let my insides turn to mush every time he comes out of a shower. Now that he’s seen my less-than-ideal reaction, he’s going to keep doing it.

I stare at the star-speckled sky outside the window and try to ignore the sound of Rafaele’s deep breaths from where he’s lying in his comfortable bed. The bastard’s already asleep.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to me, so I stay up for a while longer and slowly piece together my plan.











CHAPTER 14











RAFAELE


“Conor’s going to make a full recovery,” Nero says when I meet him the next afternoon for lunch at one of my restaurants in Yonkers.

I spent the morning driving up to Albany to go over the books with a capo I’ve got there. My territory sprawls from Westchester County all the way through Upstate New York, but I’ve also got a number of restaurants scattered throughout Manhattan, as well as a club in Harlem. It’s a lot of area to cover, and I like to see my capos face-to-face frequently, so I’m often on the road.

“Good. What did he want to do with Joshua?”

Nero shrugs. “Nothing. Told me he’s going to send him to live with his mother in Chicago for a few months until he cools down.”

“Joshua kidnapped him and nearly killed him.”

“He’s his son.”

He’s an idiot, and a dangerous one at that. “He’s making a mistake. Son or not, Joshua needs to be put down.”

“How many times do I have to remind you not everyone thinks like you, Rafe?”

“You don’t need to remind me of anything. I already know most people lack all semblance of rationality.”

Nero chuckles. “Good thing you’ve got enough for all of us.”

I shake my head, feeling a lick of annoyance at Conor’s shortsightedness. “Tell Conor the next time Joshua steps out of line—and he will step out of line again—we won’t give him a choice. His son used up his one strike.”

“Noted,” Nero says. “I’ll make sure he gets the message. How was your meeting with Mad Dog?”

“Mad Dog’s numbers were fine.” Our income from Albany has been dropping over the last six months, and I’ve been working on figuring out why. “But he lost a few of his regulars recently. I told him to go talk to them and politely invite them back.” Mad Dog runs a popular gambling den and has been one of my top earners.

Nero shakes his head. “There’s nowhere else to go gamble that kind of money up there.”

“I have a feeling that’s no longer the case.”

A waiter comes around with a bottle of wine and fills our glasses.

“You think it’s Ferraro?” Nero asks once he leaves.

“Possibly. It’s more likely Bratva. They’ve been getting more and more bold in the recent weeks.” I spread a napkin over my lap. “I want you to ask around. Have you made progress on setting up that dinner with Ferraro?”

“I’m waiting on Big Joe to give me a few dates.” Nero eyes the caprese salad on the table and spears some onto his fork. “What about your wife? Did you manage to pacify her?”

I drag my tongue over my teeth. Cleo was still asleep on the ottoman when I left, her copper curls splayed across her pillow. I spent a few minutes studying her flawlessly smooth skin and the elegant arc of her throat before I left. Elena’s words from yesterday were on my mind as I walked out the front door. “Don’t hurt her.”

Don’t hurt her? Well, if I needed any additional confirmation that my sister thinks I’m a monster, that was it. I have no plans to hurt my wife, but I do have extensive plans on how to make her writhe in pleasure. If only she’d stop being so fucking stubborn.

My hunger for her is occupying a significant part of my mind, but it no longer feels as overwhelming as it did in the church. Now that she’s mine, it’s only a matter of time before she realizes resisting me is futile.

“I gave her a cell phone and a credit card. As long as she obeys the rules that are in place to keep her safe, she can do as she likes.”

“That’s a good sta—”

The door of the restaurant flies open.

Nero and I reach for our guns just as Garzolo barges in with the force of a hurricane.

A few of my men are already standing, their weapons drawn. They glance at me for instructions. I tell them to stand down with a small shake of my head. Garzolo prowls over, his cheeks red.

Nero sighs and puts his gun back into his holster. “What now?” He reaches for the bottle of wine on the table and tops off our glasses. “We weren’t expecting you, Garzolo.”

Cleo’s father looks like he’s on the verge of exploding. How can someone be a don and be this fucking emotional? It’s disgraceful. No wonder Garzolo is the worst don this city has seen in generations.

“I came to see why you were out there talking to De Rossi yesterday when we never discussed you having a direct line to him,” he snaps.

I press my napkin against my lips. “Sit down.”