When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(96)
Gemma’s lips waver. “I know.”
Rafaele made me feel like such an idiot for falling for my father’s trick, but what right did he have to do that? Couldn’t he understand why I did what I did? Apparently not.
“I don’t know what you guys think you saw at my birthday party, but Rafaele didn’t love me. He’s never loved anyone. He doesn’t get it.” A deep sadness pierces through my drunken haze. He may have felt something for me, but whatever it was, it wasn’t love.
“Cleo, I’m not sure that’s fair,” Gemma says quietly. “He put everything on the line for you when he thought you were in danger.”
“Yeah, and he obviously decided he never wants to do that again. I’m not worth it.”
Not worth losing his consigliere. Not worth putting his kingdom at risk. Maybe no one is worth all that, but I can’t help the anger that licks up my veins.
“Well, it’s his loss,” Vale says after a while.
Mari nods. “Exactly.”
I glower at my wine. “Fuck him.”
“Yeah, fuck him.” Gemma lifts her glass of water. “Cheers to that and to moving on.”
We clink our glasses, drink, and open another bottle of wine.
By the time we decide to wrap it up, I’m so drunk, I can’t even see straight. But when I fall asleep that night, I still dream of him.
CHAPTER 42
RAFAELE
Despite losing my consigliere, I somehow manage to bring the situation in New York under control in about a week.
Gino Ferraro comes to see the burned safe house and collects the bodies as expected. A few days later, I get a call from him saying he’s confirmed the corpses belonged to Nero and Sandro and that now things are even. Well, they’ll be even once I send him the twenty million dollars he asked for, which I do that same afternoon.
The feud between the Messeros and the Ferraros officially comes to an end.
With Vince Garzolo flying to New York and showing his support for me, the Garzolos accept me as their permanent new don. It helps that their old don died because he tried to kill his own daughter. Whoever wasn’t convinced Garzolo was a piece of shit before finally gets on board after that revelation.
There are many questions about Cleo and her whereabouts. There, I mostly stick to the truth. She’s with her sisters, recovering from what happened.
I tell no one about the impending divorce. In fact, I haven’t even called up my lawyer. Every time I dial his number, something holds me back. Something I haven’t been able to exorcise no matter how much I push my body at the boxing gym or how much I drink in the evenings.
It’s been twelve days since she left. Twelve days since I kicked her out of this house and out of my life.
Our last few conversations are a blur. When I try to remember the details, a gaping hole opens in the pit of my stomach. I’m starting to believe I said things I shouldn’t have, and that terrifies me.
I thought that without her here, I’d regain control over my emotions, but despite my face betraying nothing, it’s still complete chaos inside my head.
Something broke in me that day. Something I have no idea how to fix.
It’s after dinner time, and I wander through the empty house, my second glass of whiskey in hand. My feet carry me upstairs to our bedroom, where I can try and pretend she hasn’t left. Her purse is on the ottoman. A T-shirt that she used to sleep in, one of mine, is thrown over a chair. In the bathroom, her makeup is scattered all over her side of the vanity like she was just there, getting made up for an evening out.
Her clothes still hang in the closet. I haven’t been able to pack them away. My fingers brush over the soft satin of that black dress she tried on for me. I grasp the fabric and bring it to my nose. There’s a faint hint of her familiar scent.
My fist tightens, and I bury my face in the dress and breathe her in.
In. Out.
In. Out.
I do it for so long that I lose it. My senses get accustomed to it and it disappears.
Pressure builds behind my eyes. That’s been happening more often in the past week.
The longer Cleo’s gone, the less I recognize the Rafaele that told her to leave. I was so angry. So fucking out of control. And now without her here, I’m lost, wandering like a ghost through a house filled with memories.
There’s a shallow drawer in the closet where she kept her jewelry. I pull it open and find most of it still there. She didn’t take the necklace I got for her birthday with her. Why would she? Why would she want a reminder of me when she can start with a blank slate?
A folded piece of paper is wedged between the velvet insert and the edge of the drawer. I pull it out and unfold it.
“Cleo’s plan for ruining Rafaele’s life.”
There are devil horns above my name. I read the bullet points beneath and huff out an amused breath. At first, it’s no more than a chuckle, and then it builds and builds until I’m laughing like a fucking lunatic. She’s always managed to make me laugh.
It feels good, and it hurts. God, how it hurts.
Eventually, I quiet down. I brush my thumb over her writing and the little doodles she drew on the page. She didn’t go through with her plan. She gave up on the first bullet point.