When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(77)

I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God.”

“From then on, he’d drag Rafe into the bedroom while he beat me. Whenever Rafe cried, his father would hit me harder. Carlo taught Rafe that emotion was weakness. Empathy was weakness. Attachment was weakness. He taught him that those things should be repressed and rejected at all cost.” Her skin turns a shade of gray. “And it was only when Rafaele managed to w-watch his father h-hurt me…very badly, without shedding a tear that he deemed my boy ready for his training to become made. He was eleven.”

Her last sentence is no more than a pained croak. I shift closer to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Messero, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been. For both of you.”

She gazes into the distance, her pain etched into her weathered face. “The sad thing is that it was what saved me. With Carlo’s focus completely on Rafe, he let me take the girls to our home in the Hamptons, and we lived there for most of the year. My husband rarely drove down to see us. We had peace there. And when the girls got older, I convinced Carlo to send them to a boarding school in Geneva.”

I swallow. It’s all starting to make sense now.

A tear streams down her cheek. “But Rafaele paid the price. Carlo molded him into a weapon. Cold, ruthless, withdrawn. I know deep down he still loves us, but he’s careful not to show his affection for me, Elena, or Fabi. And how can I blame him? He understood Carlo would see it as a weakness and use it against him and us.”

“His sisters don’t know?”

She shakes her head. “His sisters were too young. The only thing they remember is their brother being closed off with them whenever they came home. He’s always kept them at a distance. They dislike him for it.”

“Why not try to mend their relationship now?”

She turns to me. “Some conversations are so difficult to have… Maybe it’s better not to have them at all.” Emotions flicker in her eyes—pain, regret, and love. Love for her son. A son who was torn away from her by an evil man.

She presses her lips together. “Rafe won’t be happy if he finds out I told you. But I want you to know. I want you to understand him.”

I nod, my throat tight and scratchy. “Thank you. I think I’m starting to.”

She gets to her feet. “Will you excuse me?”

“Of course.” I watch her leave, and then I turn toward the setting sun.

My heart is heavy inside my chest. Rafe was forced to become this version of himself all because of his father’s twisted agenda. Does he still believe that love equals weakness? The thought makes me ache for him. Maybe I can prove to him that it doesn’t. After all, the only reason we’re here now is because I was brave enough to marry him because of how much I love my sister. My love for her gave me courage.

And now my love for him does the same.

I let out a breath.

It’s time to take another leap of faith and tell Rafaele how I feel.











CHAPTER 34











CLEO


I return to the party and search for my husband. He’s standing outside by the bar, surrounded by his capos and their wives. I squeeze past them and take his hand. “Come with me.”

He gives me a curious look but doesn’t argue when I pull him after me.

I guide him down the illuminated path that leads into the garden and walk along a wall of dense bushes that conceal us from view. I stop, press my back against the foliage, and tug on Rafaele’s lapels until there are only inches between his body and mine.

He stares at me, brows furrowed. “What’s going on, tesoro?”

“Rafe, I have to tell you something.” My voice is trembling. I’m acting weird, jittery from the adrenaline and everything else.

His eyes narrow. “Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing bad.”

The tension in his shoulders eases. “Then what is it?”

“I just…there’s something I want to say.” It comes out as a whisper. God, I sound completely terrified.

What if he rejects me? What if he says he doesn’t feel the same? That he’ll never feel the same? I don’t know. But I can’t keep doing nothing. That’s not who I am. I take a deep breath.

Suddenly, understanding flashes across his expression.

My heart drops. Oh no. I think he just guessed what’s coming. There’s no time left to waste. I have to tell him. “I l—”

His lips crash down on mine, silencing me.

A fracture appears inside my chest. Maybe I should pull away, but I don’t. Instead, I whimper and pull him closer.

He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly. He bites and tugs on my lips, sliding his tongue in and out, his body hard and hot against me. We break apart, and then he’s back. He won’t give me more than a second to catch my breath.

I’m not an idiot. I get it.

He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say.

The backs of my eyes prickle, but I push the feeling down. It’s not hard, not when his hands are under my top now, hot and possessive, and he’s tweaking my nipples and making my skin buzz. I moan into his mouth, and he falls to his knees before me, hikes up my skirt with one palm, shoves my wet panties aside, and drags his tongue over my burning flesh.