Rage clamps down on my lungs. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”
Cleo’s eyes snap from Sabina to me.
“Don Messero,” Sabina gasps. “I—”
I march over to them, putting myself between Cleo and the old cunt, and pick up the spoon.
Sabina’s wide eyes drop to it and terror blooms across her expression.
“I will carve out your tongue and ram it down your throat for speaking that way to my wife,” I growl. “Apologize right now.”
She turns as pale as a sheet. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not to me,” I grind out. “To. Her.”
Sabina swallows and volleys her gaze to Cleo. “I apologize, Mrs. Messero.”
“You’re done. Fired. Get the fuck out.” My throat is so tight with anger, I can’t even get a full fucking sentence out.
She takes a few steps back. “Sir, I was hired by your grandmother.”
“My grandmother is dead, and you’ll be too if you don’t remove yourself from my sight this very second. You have fifteen minutes to pack your belongings and get the hell out of my house.”
She just stands there, staring at me like I’m not making any sense.
“GET. OUT!” I roar.
She jumps. Her eyes dart between Cleo and me and then she flees.
My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. Calm down. I can’t. How fucking dare she?
“Rafe.”
I turn to my wife. Cleo stares at me, her cheeks bright red.
“What was that?” I hiss. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I knew she behaved that way with you, I would have fired her a long time ago.”
She swallows nervously and clutches the duvet. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “I’m used to it.”
My vision narrows. “Used to it?” I grind out past my teeth. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She flexes her hands. “How do you think my parents spoke to me?”
My fists clench. I want to kill Stefano Garzolo. He might not have hit Cleo, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t harmed her in other ways. That piece of shit. He and his wife taught Cleo that she isn’t worthy of respect. That it’s okay for a fucking servant to disrespect her.
The floor tilts. The urge to drive over to Garzolo’s house right now and shove a knife through him swells in my chest.
“That. Ends. Now.” My voice is a low rasp.
She sucks in a shaky breath, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t care how people talk to me. Their words don’t affect me.”
“They affect me.”
Even though they shouldn’t. Even though it normally takes a lot more than a few words to make me angry. I’ve managed to keep a cool head with a barrel pointed at me, but seeing my wife disrespected is apparently enough to get me going.
The realization spills ice into my veins. Unease wraps around me. It gets worse when I register Cleo’s penetrating gaze.
“Why?” she whispers.
The answer is automatic. “Because you’re mine. No one gets to speak to my wife that way.”
The unease starts to melt away. Being a don means enforcing respect. That’s all I’m doing here.
Cleo gives me a bitter smile. “Because when they insult me, they’re insulting you?”
“That’s right.”
Her face becomes pinched, and she looks away. I get the sense that I’ve said something wrong. I sit down on the edge of the bed and grab her chin with my hand. A tear slips down her cheek.
“That’s enough,” I growl. “They don’t deserve your tears, tesoro. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. The next time anyone talks to you that way, I will kill them.”
She pulls my hands away and looks down at her lap. “Okay.”
I frown. She doesn’t sound okay. “Cle—”
She slides down the bed, pulls the duvet up to her chin, and turns away from me. “I’m tired. I think I need a nap.”
The clear dismissal stings. Some foreign emotion pulses inside my chest, insisting that I stay here with her, but I shove it away.
She wants to be alone. I should let her. She needs to rest.
I rise to my feet and look at her for another moment before I move toward the door, the air around us heavy with things unsaid.
CHAPTER 22
CLEO
A few days after Sabina’s firing, the doctor gives me the all clear. Rafaele doesn’t seem thrilled when I tell him I want to start working at his cousin’s business right away, but with the doctor’s permission, he has no excuse to keep me at home.