“How the fuck did they know Cleo and I would be there?”
Nero jabs at me, but I easily step out of the way. He’s bigger than me, but I’ve got speed as my advantage.
“It had to be someone at the restaurant or Andres,” he says. “They were the only ones who knew you’d cleared the place and that you’d be in the dining room practically alone. Whoever is behind this wouldn’t have risked attacking if it had been a full house.”
I bounce on my feet, looking for an opening. “I trust Andres.” The owner of Il Caminetto isn’t someone who’d ever go behind my back. He knows better than that. “He wouldn’t try anything like this. You talked to the staff already?”
“Yeah. They all seem good.”
“What about the band?” I throw a punch.
Nero ducks. “I haven’t talked to them yet, but that’s a good idea. As far as I know, they play there often. I’ll reach out.”
I hold his gaze as we circle each other. “Good. Keep me posted.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I should have more by now. I know this is important. We’ll find the bastard responsible for it, I promise you.”
I grunt in response and nearly clip him in the chin.
He jumps back. “How’s Cleo?”
“Recovering.” We’ve slept in the same bed ever since the attack, so I guess there’s at least one good thing that came out of it.
But I haven’t pushed it any further. Yet. As soon as she’s feeling better, I’m going to bring our little game to a quick close.
“She’s still getting headaches, so the doctor recommended another few days of bed rest.” This time, my punch lands against Nero’s kidney, and he sucks in a harsh breath. I give him a second to recover before I land two more punches against his ribs.
“Fuck, Rafe,” Nero grunts, backing away.
I lunge forward again, swinging my fist at Nero’s head. He ducks and pivots to land a hard punch against my ribs. I grunt but don’t falter, quickly recovering and landing a few more hits on Nero’s gut. We continue sparring until sweat’s pouring down my face and my muscles burn with exertion.
I’m supposed to drive up to Albany right after the sparring session, but when Nero and I finish, I get an inexplicable urge to see my wife.
I climb into my car and look out at the Hudson River. My head is way too fucking wrapped up in her.
It’s only gotten worse since the attack. When I saw Cleo bleeding on the ground, it felt as if someone had wrenched my ribcage open and pressed the cold, unyielding barrel of a gun right against my heart. She couldn’t die. The possibility of her being gone had rooted me to the spot, spreading fear through me. I can’t remember the last time anything affected me like that.
I roll my shoulders and turn on the car. This is ridiculous. I should just go to work. But at the light, despite my best intentions, I turn in the direction of the house.
Fuck it. I’ll check on her, make sure she has everything she needs, and then I’ll get back to work.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking through the front door. I head directly upstairs, not bothering to take my coat off. This will only take a few minutes.
The door to our bedroom is cracked open. I’m about to step inside when I hear it.
“Stupid whore.”
My hand stills on the door handle.
“I always knew you’d bring havoc into this household. Don Messero should have let them kill you. He would be far better off without you.”
What. The. Fuck.
That voice coming from inside the bedroom belongs to my house manager, Sabina. The old woman’s been with the family for decades. She sure as fuck has never spoken to me like that.
Cleo mutters something in response, something that sounds like, “You’d probably declare the day a holiday, wouldn’t you?”
She sounds so unbothered. Like she’s used to it.
“Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position? To be married to our don. He deserves a real lady for a wife. A woman his family can respect and admire. Instead, he has you. You worthless, pathetic slut.”
There’s a ringing sound inside my ears. I push the door open wider and watch as Sabina walks closer to where Cleo is sitting in bed. My wife looks bored as Sabina slams a plate of food onto her nightstand. “Here. I hope you choke on this.”
What the fuck is happening here? She did not just utter those words. And then the vile bitch does the unthinkable. She tosses a spoon at my injured wife. It hits Cleo’s chest, bouncing against the duvet. Cleo calmly reaches for it and places it on the nightstand by the plate.