Papà’s going to be furious if he finds out.
“There are Damiano’s guards as well,” I say.
She snorts. “Please, those guys are nothing. They’re watching people coming in, not going out. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I watch her retreating back and bouncing curls and let out a groan.
Damn it. Will she be all right?
In New York, I’m never too worried about Cleo being able to watch out for herself. She’s surprisingly street smart when she needs to be. But we’re not in New York, so maybe I should go with her. Although, if anyone comes looking and can’t find either of us, they’ll sound the alarm.
I better stay.
I drag my fingers through my hair and glance around. What am I supposed to say to Mamma if she asks me where Cleo went? Back home, I have a list of go-to excuses. She’s at the sauna. She went to the gym. She forgot something at the mall.
Here, I’ve got nothing.
They’ll be so angry if they find out I let her go. I don’t have to wonder about what Papà will do. These days, he doesn’t need much of an excuse to raise a hand to me.
I need to stay out of everyone’s way until she’s back.
I carve a path around the house and head toward a grove of dense bushes. There’s a bench there overlooking the water. It’s a place I can hide until Cleo gets back.
Sitting down, I drag my sweaty palms over my jean clad thighs. Tiredness weighs down my eyelids.
I had way too much to drink last night. Ras didn’t pour the alcohol down my throat, but I blame him for it anyway. It’s like he discovered a manual for getting under my skin. I can’t seem to get his words out of my head, no matter how hard I try.
“You’re sacrificing your future, and you don’t even know what you’re sacrificing it for.”
He doesn’t understand. Ras has no idea the kind of trouble my family is in back home.
Do you?
I gnaw on my lip. The other families could choose to move on us at any time. The only reason they haven’t is because they know we’re joining forces with the Messeros.
After what you did to the Riccis, wouldn’t the other families think twice about messing with you? A little voice in my head asks.
That might have been true at one point, but not now. We spent so much on that fight, and we don’t have any reserves left. It’s why Papà’s terrified. He needs this alliance with Rafaele.
God, my head is pounding. I don’t want to think about anything right now.
I get myself horizontal on the bench and throw my arm over my eyes. Screw it, I’m taking a nap.
I scramble awake when my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for five minutes. I glance at the screen and see that it’s a text message from Mamma.
Rafaele is about to arrive, where are you?
I rub at my eyes. The clock on my phone says I’ve actually napped for nearly an hour.
Shit!
My heart rate spikes as I pull up Cleo’s contact.
Cleo, where are you?
The message sits unread.
One minute passes. Two.
I groan. There isn’t any time to wait for her to respond.
So much for my plan to avoid my parents until Cleo gets back.
I quickly text Mamma back to let her know I’ll meet them by the front door of the main house. Papà made a big deal of me giving my fiancé a warm welcome.
We get there at the same time. Mamma comes over to smooth some imaginary wrinkles from my shirt.
Papà adjusts his tie. “Where have you been?”
“Just walking around the property.”
“Where is your sister?”
“I don’t know. I think she might be in the pool,” I lie.
Mamma’s eyes narrow. Is she onto me?
The gate at the end of the driveway starts to slide open, and a moment later, a black car drives through it.
Mamma’s attention moves from me to it, and I let out a breath of relief just as the car stops in front of us. The driver comes around to open the door. The first man to emerge is Nero, Rafaele’s consigliere. Rafaele’s reputation is closely intertwined with Nero’s. The two of them became made around the same time, and Nero plays a supporting role in most of the legends swirling around Rafaele.
This isn’t the first time we’ve met, but every time we do, I have to resist the urge to rub my eyes. Nero’s just…massive, built like a linebacker, even taller than Rafaele—who’s six-two—and always dressed in black. Nero’s nickname couldn’t be any more appropriate—Angel of Death. Even his expertly tailored suit can’t disguise the sheer muscular force of his body. He gracefully unfurls to his full height, towering over all of us, and gives us a disarming grin.
“Enjoying this sun, Mr. Garzolo?” he says with that wicked smile. “I’m hoping to work on my tan while I’m here.”
They shake hands, and Nero cracks a few jokes and says things that are meant to put everyone at ease. Even his charm is intimidating. You never know when he’s joking and when he’s being serious. He seems like the type who’d try to get you to laugh while he twists your neck.
Then he moves his attention to me, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to it. “Gemma. Looking beautiful as always.”
“Thank you.”
Rafaele comes out next.
I swallow. My fiancé isn’t as physically intimidating as Nero, but he carries an unmistakable air of danger about him. Maybe it’s the way he moves, slow and intentional like a panther. Or the way he’s able to keep his gaze as cold as ice no matter the circumstances. When that gaze falls on me, I shiver.
Rafaele doesn’t greet anyone. Instead, he turns around and reaches back inside the car, apparently having forgotten something.
There’s a strange muffled sound.
My jaw drops when I see Cleo’s face with silver masking tape over her mouth.
There’s a collective gasp.
“We found this stumbling on the side of the road,” Rafaele says coldly as he hauls her out by her elbow. Her hands are tied behind her back.
The moment Cleo’s feet hit the ground, she tears her arm out of his grip and screams like a banshee against the tape.
Rafaele steadies her by her shoulder, wrapping his big palm around it, and rips the tape off in one fell swoop.
If it hurts, Cleo doesn’t show it. Her eyes are blazing. “I was going for a walk, you jerk off. Your thug—” she jerks her head at Nero, “—is the one who pulled me off the road like some caveman.”
A gust of wind lifts up the hem of her shirt, revealing a sliver of her belly, and for a moment, I swear Rafaele’s gaze drops to it. Then I blink, and his gaze is back on her face. Cold. So damn cold.
Nero chuckles. “We invited you in nicely. It’s only when you refused that Rafe asked me to get you.”
Rafaele tears his gaze off Cleo and moves it to Papà. “We nearly ran her over.”
The direct address seems to snap Papà out of his shocked stupor. His nostrils flare on a breath. “She shouldn’t have been off the property.”
Cleo bares her teeth at Rafaele. “Get the damn zip tie off my wrists. Right. Now.”
I wince. Lovely. My future husband appears to travel with a supply of zip ties and masking tape. Just in case.