When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(82)

CHAPTER 36











RAFAELE


I blink. Somehow, I’m still alive. Garzolo is crouched on the ground shouting commands at his men, and there’s gunfire all around me.

I duck and glance over my shoulder.

De Rossi and his consigliere, along with two more men I don’t recognize, are storming the warehouse. I huff out a breath. I might actually make it out of this alive.

Staying low, I run toward where my guns are lying discarded on the floor. I snatch them up and find cover behind the closest storage container.

Five against fourteen.

Not fucking bad.

I take aim and start firing, picking off Garzolo’s men one by one. De Rossi and his guys fight like demons raised straight from hell. Sounds of gunfire and screams ring through the air. Ras appears and takes cover beside me. He exchanges shots with one of Garzolo’s guys, and when he runs out of bullets, I take aim and get the man between the eyes.

“Fuck, nice shot,” Ras says, reloading his gun. “You okay?”

“Fine. You and your boss have perfect timing. Where’s Garzolo? We need him alive. I’ve got plans for him.”

“Yeah, you and the rest of us,” Ras mutters. “Over there.” He nods toward a pile of boxes at the back of the warehouse. “I saw him running.”

I glance around. Damiano’s men are keeping Garzolo’s guys occupied, and it looks like they’ve got it.

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get any farther,” I say to Ras and run toward the boxes. A bullet grazes me, but I ignore it.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in—

My back slams against the wall. From this angle, I can see him. Garzolo’s huddled in the corner, crouching with his gun raised while his men are dying.

Coward.

There’s a look of sheer panic etched onto his face. Blood runs onto the ground from his leg. He must have been hit when the fighting broke out. It takes him a while to notice me approach. He yelps and tries to shoot, but I’m on him too quickly. I force him down to the ground, knock the gun out of his hand, and press the barrel of my gun to his temple.

“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done,” I growl.

The gunshots around me die down. The fighting is over. Footsteps sound behind me, and Ras and De Rossi appear at my side.

“Not so fast,” Ras growls. “This cockroach deserves to die slowly.”

De Rossi nods. “Very fucking slowly.”

They’re right.

I stand up, keeping my gun pointed at Garzolo. I lift my foot and step on where Garzolo’s leg is shot. His bone makes a loud crunch, and he screams out in agony. It’s music to my ears. But it’s not enough. Not even close. I want him to suffer. I want him to feel the pain and fear Cleo felt when we were getting shot at by his men at Il Caminetto. Bloodlust makes my vision darken at the edges.

Then I remember—Cleo is waiting for me.

Fuck. I have to go to her.

I turn to De Rossi. “Did they get my wife?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I sent Napoletano there to help Nero, but I haven’t heard from him yet.”

He sent Napoletano to Cleo but the two of them came here? “You should have gone there too.”

“We saved your life, asshole,” Ras snaps, his gaze fixed on Garzolo. “Go to her. You can thank us by leaving him to us.”

He wants to deal with Garzolo? I size the two of them up. I suppose if there’s anyone who wants Garzolo to suffer as much as I do, it’s them. They won’t show him mercy, not after everything Garzolo has done to his other two daughters. Garzolo abused Gemma and married Valentina off to a madman before she escaped and met De Rossi. This vermin deserves everything that’s coming to him.

Cleo is still out there, and I have to go to her.

I give Ras a nod. “Fine. He’s yours. Savor it.”

Ras’s eyes flash with dark excitement. He pulls a knife out of a holster strapped to his arm and walks up to Garzolo.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he croons at the man.

I leave them to it. De Rossi bumps my shoulder with his fist as I walk past him.

The last thing I hear as I step out into the parking lot is Garzolo’s ear-piercing scream.





It’s a twenty-minute drive to get to the address De Rossi gave me. I try Nero, but he doesn’t pick up his phone. I’ve never been an anxious person, but right now, I’m a ball of fucking sweat. My skin prickles with discomfort, and I can’t seem to get enough air. I have to trust that Nero saved Cleo.

My thoughts churn. I can’t seem to hold on to a single thread. My reliable friends—clarity, rationality, common sense—have abandoned me. Everything in my head is disorganized, impossible to piece together. It’s unnerving. As if I’m in a trance.

Finally, I get there. It’s another warehouse, smaller than the one I just left. I park by a car I recognize as Nero’s, leave the engine running, and jump out. Something desperate and terrified claws up my throat as I sprint toward the entrance.

If she’s been harmed, I’ll burn this city to the ground.

The scene inside the warehouse isn’t as bloody as the one I just left. Three bodies lie on the ground, none of the men mine, and I rush past them, my gaze desperately searching for Cleo. I spot Nero and Sandro. They’re arguing loudly with a guy I vaguely recognize as one of Ferraro’s. They hear me and turn.