When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(58)

I know what he wants to talk about, and he won’t like what he hears.

We sit down at the oval dining table, and Rafaele brings up the issue with the contract before we’ve even finished the first course.

Gino waves his hand dismissively. “Done. My cousin Ricardo has always been a stickler on issues like this, but I’ll take care of it.”

“I appreciate it,” I say automatically. Rafaele squeezes my hand under the table, but I’m too tense to feel relieved.

The dinner proceeds without a hiccup, and the conversation flows easily with the help of Vita’s friendly presence.

The Ferraro matriarch is very different from my mother. She seems so kind and lovely, and there’s no mistaking the adoration in Gino’s eyes whenever he looks at her. She tells us the story of how she and Gino met. She was a fashion model, and he sat in the front row for one of the shows she walked. He asked her manager for her number and proposed a week later.

“It was a whirlwind romance,” she exclaims. “Took a while for his family to warm up to me, given that I’m not Italian.

“But she eventually won them over,” Gino says. “Very few can resist my wife’s charms.”

God, they’re cute together. And here I thought all mafia marriages were miserable. The way they’re looking at each other, I get the sense they still fuck like bunnies.

“Rafaele, I’d like to have a word in private,” Gino says once we finish our dessert. “Why don’t you join me for a drink on the terrace?”

Rafaele nods before turning to me and lowering his voice. “You okay on your own for a while?”

“Of course.” I nudge his thigh. “Go.”

Rafaele and Gino leave. Vita offers to show me some of their Japanese artwork, and we look at the paintings for a while before I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom.

“It’s just down that hall,” Vita explains.

I do my business, wash my hands, and dab some cold water on my neck. Anxiety crawls over my skin. And it’s justified, because my father corners me as soon as I come out.

He backs me against a wall. “Have you thought about my offer?”

I wince. His breath reeks even worse than his desperation.

“Give me some space,” I say, pushing at his chest.

He backs away slightly, his beady eyes narrowed and his forehead shiny. Nervous? He’s right to be worried. He won’t find an ally in me, or anyone else who possesses an ounce of sense.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Cleo,” he growls. “I’m waiting on your answer.”

My fists clench. “I won’t help you.”

His reaction is immediate. A hiss comes out of his mouth, and then his forearm is against my neck, and my back is being slammed against the wall.

I gasp from the sudden pain, my veins blazing with shock. I expected him to be angry, but I didn’t think he’d turn aggressive.

“Did you tell him I asked, you stupid slut?”

I claw at his arm. I can’t get enough air. Just when dark spots start to appear in front of my eyes, he lets go of me.

“Did you?”

I back away from him, rubbing my throat. My brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. He’s dangerous.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I say, unable to keep my voice from shaking. “No, I didn’t tell him. But I won’t help you. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He snarls. “I should kill you right here so that you won’t run your mouth to him.”

I straighten my back and force myself to stay calm. “I’d like to see you try. If I’m dead, Rafaele will make sure you’re carried out of here in pieces.”

I brush past him, but he seizes my forearm and jerks me back. “Whatever he told you to turn to his side is a lie. You’ll be miserable with him. He’s not a good man.”

“And you are?”

His hold on me tightens until he’s practically crushing my bones.

“Ow, stop!”

“You’ll regret this decision.”

“Let go of me.”

“You’ve always been such a fucking disappointment,” he hisses.

“Want to know what I find disappointing?” a cool voice drawls. “Your utter lack of manners, Garzolo.”

Papà releases me at once. I whirl around to see Cosimo standing at the end of the hallway studying us. His appearance somehow feels a lot more menacing than all of Papà’s threats.

He crosses his arms over his chest and props a shoulder against a wall. “Save the domestic dispute for when you’re in your own home.”

“My daughter and I were just catching up,” my father says, a tense smile on his face.

“We’re all caught up,” I mutter.

That earns me a sharp glare, but at least Papà keeps his mouth shut. He hurries past Cosimo and disappears around the corner.

Cosimo studies me as I walk toward him. “He’s a real piece of work,” he says when we’re shoulder to shoulder. His gaze drops to my arm. “Something tells me your husband won’t be thrilled about that.”

I pull down my sleeve. “I’m fine. Please don’t say anything to Rafaele.” He’d lose it.

Cosimo stares at me for a long moment and then nods. “Not my business.”