When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(44)

I’m supposed to drive up to Albany right after the sparring session, but when Nero and I finish, I get an inexplicable urge to see my wife.

I climb into my car and look out at the Hudson River. My head is way too fucking wrapped up in her.

It’s only gotten worse since the attack. When I saw Cleo bleeding on the ground, it felt as if someone had wrenched my ribcage open and pressed the cold, unyielding barrel of a gun right against my heart. She couldn’t die. The possibility of her being gone had rooted me to the spot, spreading fear through me. I can’t remember the last time anything affected me like that.

I roll my shoulders and turn on the car. This is ridiculous. I should just go to work. But at the light, despite my best intentions, I turn in the direction of the house.

Fuck it. I’ll check on her, make sure she has everything she needs, and then I’ll get back to work.

Ten minutes later, I’m walking through the front door. I head directly upstairs, not bothering to take my coat off. This will only take a few minutes.

The door to our bedroom is cracked open. I’m about to step inside when I hear it.

“Stupid whore.”

My hand stills on the door handle.

“I always knew you’d bring havoc into this household. Don Messero should have let them kill you. He would be far better off without you.”

What. The. Fuck.

That voice coming from inside the bedroom belongs to my house manager, Sabina. The old woman’s been with the family for decades. She sure as fuck has never spoken to me like that.

Cleo mutters something in response, something that sounds like, “You’d probably declare the day a holiday, wouldn’t you?”

She sounds so unbothered. Like she’s used to it.

“Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position? To be married to our don. He deserves a real lady for a wife. A woman his family can respect and admire. Instead, he has you. You worthless, pathetic slut.”

There’s a ringing sound inside my ears. I push the door open wider and watch as Sabina walks closer to where Cleo is sitting in bed. My wife looks bored as Sabina slams a plate of food onto her nightstand. “Here. I hope you choke on this.”

What the fuck is happening here? She did not just utter those words. And then the vile bitch does the unthinkable. She tosses a spoon at my injured wife. It hits Cleo’s chest, bouncing against the duvet. Cleo calmly reaches for it and places it on the nightstand by the plate.

Rage clamps down on my lungs. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”

Cleo’s eyes snap from Sabina to me.

“Don Messero,” Sabina gasps. “I—”

I march over to them, putting myself between Cleo and the old cunt, and pick up the spoon.

Sabina’s wide eyes drop to it and terror blooms across her expression.

“I will carve out your tongue and ram it down your throat for speaking that way to my wife,” I growl. “Apologize right now.”

She turns as pale as a sheet. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not to me,” I grind out. “To. Her.”

Sabina swallows and volleys her gaze to Cleo. “I apologize, Mrs. Messero.”

“You’re done. Fired. Get the fuck out.” My throat is so tight with anger, I can’t even get a full fucking sentence out.

She takes a few steps back. “Sir, I was hired by your grandmother.”

“My grandmother is dead, and you’ll be too if you don’t remove yourself from my sight this very second. You have fifteen minutes to pack your belongings and get the hell out of my house.”

She just stands there, staring at me like I’m not making any sense.

“GET. OUT!” I roar.

She jumps. Her eyes dart between Cleo and me and then she flees.

My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. Calm down. I can’t. How fucking dare she?

“Rafe.”

I turn to my wife. Cleo stares at me, her cheeks bright red.

“What was that?” I hiss. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I knew she behaved that way with you, I would have fired her a long time ago.”

She swallows nervously and clutches the duvet. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “I’m used to it.”

My vision narrows. “Used to it?” I grind out past my teeth. “What the fuck does that mean?”

She flexes her hands. “How do you think my parents spoke to me?”

My fists clench. I want to kill Stefano Garzolo. He might not have hit Cleo, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t harmed her in other ways. That piece of shit. He and his wife taught Cleo that she isn’t worthy of respect. That it’s okay for a fucking servant to disrespect her.

The floor tilts. The urge to drive over to Garzolo’s house right now and shove a knife through him swells in my chest.

“That. Ends. Now.” My voice is a low rasp.

She sucks in a shaky breath, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t care how people talk to me. Their words don’t affect me.”

“They affect me.”

Even though they shouldn’t. Even though it normally takes a lot more than a few words to make me angry. I’ve managed to keep a cool head with a barrel pointed at me, but seeing my wife disrespected is apparently enough to get me going.

The realization spills ice into my veins. Unease wraps around me. It gets worse when I register Cleo’s penetrating gaze.