When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(9)
“I delivered on my part of the deal with Cleo’s father, and now it’s time he delivers on his. After what happened with Gemma, I’m not taking any more chances. I want this squared away as quickly as possible.”
I also feel an incessant need to see my ring on Cleo’s finger, but I’m not going to waste a second trying to figure out why that is.
Elena scoffs. “Deliver this, deliver that. She’s not a FedEx package, Rafe. She’s a human being. I get we’re all about arranged marriages around here, but to force her to marry you on two days’ notice? It’s ridiculous!”
My anger spikes. “I already said I am not forcing her into this. How many times do I have to repeat myself for you to get it?”
Elena grits her teeth.
“Mamma?” Fabi asks. “You haven’t said anything. What do you think?”
Mamma wraps her arms around herself. She doesn’t like being put on the spot. “I think you should trust your brother’s judgment. He is our don, and he knows what he’s doing.”
Elena groans, her cheeks turning a deep red. “You always take his side. I don’t understand why you never question him. Aren’t you at all concerned about this?”
Mamma shoots me a pleading look, asking me to save her from answering.
I clench my jaw and turn to my sisters. “I suggest the two of you save your concern for all those starving kids you’ve been trying to save by working at the UN. They appreciate your bleeding hearts far more than I do.”
Hurt flashes in Fabi’s eyes, and for a moment, there’s a vague tightening inside my chest, an echo of a feeling I used to experience before I taught myself to feel very little.
Elena comes to her rescue, the way she always does. “Charming,” she bites out. “I can see that you already can’t wait to send us back to Geneva.”
I don’t refute that statement, even though my sisters are dear to me. They’re my flesh and blood. I protect them and I care for them, but we’re not close like some siblings are. I’ve always sensed their resentment, especially Elena’s. We all know one day I’ll have to summon them back home and make them marry. And when that happens, they’ll have to leave the life they’ve built in Geneva behind.
I straighten out my jacket and round the desk. “I’m leaving. My fiancée is waiting for me.” There’s no need for me to entertain any more of this female disapproval, especially when everything’s already been set in motion.
Tomorrow, Cleo Garzolo will become Cleo Messero, and there abso-fucking-lutely nothing anyone can do about it.
CHAPTER 5
RAFAELE
Voices from the dining room trickle down the hall, but I ignore them and make my way to the sitting room where Cleo is supposed to be waiting.
I pause in front of the French doors and drag my palm down my tie.
My skin buzzes with something that feels vaguely like excitement.
Strange. I don’t get excited very often.
I definitely wasn’t excited about getting married to Gemma, but I would have gone through with it. It was in the contract, my name and hers signed on the bottom line. She was perfectly acceptable, a woman raised to be a wife of a high-ranking capo or a don, someone I wouldn’t have had to worry or think too much about. She knew what was expected of her. But as the date of our wedding neared, I couldn’t stop thinking about her sister, with her insolent mouth and reprehensible manners. A girl completely unsuitable for the role.
Cleo’s narrowed green eyes taunted my dreams. I woke up hard, desperate to know what it would feel like to have that mouth wrapped around my cock.
I give my head a shake and grasp the door handle. Tomorrow, she’ll become mine, and then I’ll be able to move past this bizarre fascination. Cleo will no longer be a beautiful temptation, but a woman who’s tied to me for life.
Familiarity breeds boredom, right?
I pull the door open and step inside.
Cleo is perched on a black velvet sofa, her back angled to me. Beside her is Sabina, but I barely notice the house manager.
My fiancée turns and when our gazes clash, a current sparks through me.
Her expression is carefully guarded, her spine is welded straight, and her hands are folded primly in her lap. This is the most demure I’ve ever seen her.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my trousers. “Good evening.”
That’s when the demure illusion breaks. Anger flashes inside her gaze, and then she’s on her feet, stomping across the room until she’s standing right in front of me.
Amusement crackles through me at the fierce expression on her face.
Yes, this is the Cleo I recognize.
“What happened to my sister?” she demands.
Her scent fills my nose. No perfume, just clean skin, and a hint of floral shampoo.
My pulse picks up speed. Her hair is all pulled back in a bun and my hands itch to loosen it. I want to bury my nose in that magnificent copper hair and wrap it tight around my fist.
Why the fuck did Sabina hide it all away?
The old woman rushes to Cleo’s side. “Don Messero, I apologize—”
“Leave us.”
Cleo holds my gaze as the house manager scurries out of the room.