When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(38)

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Spend the rest of your life being miserable and wishing for something you can never have, or you can attempt to make the most of the hand you’ve been dealt. I already said I have no intention of keeping you caged. The only cage you’re in is the one you’ve got in your own head.”

She drains the rest of her champagne and mulls that over. I wait. I think I managed to get through to her.

At last, she gives me a stiff nod. “I’ll try to help.”

Finally. “I’ll let her know to expect you on Monday morning.”

Something unexpected happens. Cleo smiles at me.

It’s not a full-blown grin, but it’s enough to make something shift inside my chest.

A warm feeling washes over me. And as I’m admiring how that smile lights up her whole face, the window shatters.











CHAPTER 19











CLEO


Everything happens quickly. One moment, I’m wondering if maybe Rafaele isn’t exactly who I thought he is, and the next, I’m on the ground.

Someone is shooting up the restaurant.

“Fuck,” Rafaele growls, his body pressing down on top of me. “Stay down.” He’s already got a gun in hand, and he’s looking past me, trying to spot our attackers.

On the other side of the restaurant, the band trips over each other as they rush to flee through the emergency exit behind the stage. I’m about to yell at them to get down when one of them is shot in the back of his skull. His brain splatters everywhere.

Oh God. I squeeze my eyes shut as bile rises up my throat. I’m never going to unsee that.

More gunshots ring out, sounding closer than before.

The thought I might meet the same fate as that musician in a few minutes makes me shake uncontrollably.

“Cleo, look at me.” There’s no fear in Rafaele’s voice.

I crack open my eyes.

His gaze is hard, and he looks completely in control of himself. “I’m going to get us out of here. As long as you do exactly what I say, you’ll be safe. Do you understand?”

My ragged breath puffs out against his lips. “Yes.”

“Good.” Rafaele snakes an arm around my waist and rolls us toward the closest wall. I clutch onto his strong body, fear and adrenaline mixing inside my veins as gunshots ring out around us.

When my back hits the wall, he lets go of me and moves to a crouching position with his gun at the ready. The expression on his face sends a shiver down my spine. That’s the expression of a man who first killed at age thirteen. One who will happily kill again now.

“Crawl behind the bar.” He nudges me with his free hand. “I’m going to take them out.”

My lungs constrict. “What? We’re splitting up?”

“Go, Cleo,” he growls.

His eyes meet mine, and it’s like someone pressed the mute key on the chaos around us. My mind quiets for a brief moment.

“Stay down, no matter what you hear,” he says, his voice ringing in my ears. “Got it?”

I give him a shaky nod. “Okay.”

He waits until I’m safely behind the bar and then springs into action. My stomach does a somersault when he throws himself into the center of the dining room and starts firing back.

What is he doing? There’s nothing between him and our attackers.

A few screams ring out. Rafaele runs to a table and flips it, using it as a shield. I hope it’s thick enough to block the bullets raining down on him.

He peers around the table and takes a few calculated shots. I like to think I hear someone grunt in pain every time he fires, but that’s probably just my imagination. Then he runs forward and disappears out of my field of vision.

I can’t see what’s going on. Time slows to a glacial pace. I chew on my nails. Is he okay?

That groan. Did that sound like him?

The gunshots are farther away now. Funny how a few minutes ago, I hoped they would stop, and now I’m hoping they won’t. At least if they’re firing at each other, it means Rafaele is still alive.

I can’t believe he’s trying to fight back on his own. I can’t see how many men are shooting, but he’s definitely outnumbered.

My chest tightens.

He’s going to die.

Fuck.

I can’t just sit here while he’s putting his life at risk.

We need backup. And if anyone’s going to call for it, it’s me.

I glance across the room. My purse with my phone is on the ground a few feet away from where my chair fell when the shots first rang out. If I get it, I can call Sandro.

Fear wraps its icy fingers around my stomach.

I can do this. We need help. Rafaele won’t be able to hold them off for long by himself.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dart out from behind the bar and lunge for my purse. My body slides along the marble floor and sharp pain blooms along my belly.

What is that?

There’s no time to check. Ignoring the pain, I snatch my bag off the ground and crawl back to my hiding spot. My hands shake as I take out my phone and dial Sandro.

“Hello?”

“Get to Il Caminetto right now. We’re getting shot at.”