I don’t have time to talk. I’ve got the most powerful don in New York waiting for me to deliver the body of my consigliere to his doorstep.
This woman is my ruin. And she doesn’t even realize it.
She approaches the desk, her expression worried. “Rafe, I’m so sorry. I know what I did was stupid, but when I thought Gemma was in trouble… I just wasn’t thinking. I thought something had happened to her or the baby. I just…” Her eyes well up with tears. “I panicked.”
“Why didn’t you call me first?” I demand. This could have been avoided if she hadn’t taken her father’s bait. If she’d just fucking used her brain.
Funny how the exact same criticism can be thrown right back at me. I wasn’t thinking when I called Ferraro. And now my consigliere has to pay for my mistake. Rage pulses inside my chest. I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now.
She’s done this to me. Made me into someone not worth the responsibility I’ve been given. Made me into a weak, impulsive, emotional man.
This can’t go on.
I have to end this or everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve bled for, will burn to the ground at her feet. My heart shreds apart inside my chest.
“I promise this will never happen again,” Cleo says brokenly.
“You’re right.” I look past her at the broken mirror hanging on the wall, at my fractured reflection. “It won’t, because we’re over.”
There’s a beat.
“What?” Her voice is a harsh whisper.
“You wanted a divorce.” I look down at my desk, unable to look at her, unable to be near her. “Congratulations. You’re getting it.”
“What are you talking about? That was months ago. Things have changed. You know that.”
“I’ll get my lawyers on it.”
“We can work through this,” she pleads. “Come on, it was one mistake. We can make this right again. Don’t tell me you’d throw all of this away over one damn mistake!”
She doesn’t get it. My life was fine before I met her. Everything was steady. I could control my reality, bend it to my will, enact anything I wanted. And now? There’s only mayhem. The reins are slipping out of my hands, and she’s the one pulling on them.
“I cannot be the don I need to be with you around.” I manage to keep my voice free of emotion. “You need to leave.”
She rushes to me, her footsteps loud against the hardwood floor. She takes my arm. “Rafe, stop. You’re acting crazy.”
“You made me fucking crazy!” I roar, shaking her off. Our gazes clash. “Do you know how badly I fucked up when I thought you were about to be killed by your father? When I thought you were in danger, I couldn’t fucking think straight. I still can’t think straight with you around me.”
A broken sob escapes her, and a tear runs down her cheek. “I love you.”
I force myself not to look away. To take in this moment. I know I won’t ever hear those words again. I don’t fucking deserve them.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say harshly.
She sucks in a breath. “I know you love me too, damn it.”
“I don’t love anyone.” I step away from her.
“I know about your father! That he made you watch while he beat your mother. She told me.”
My stomach hollows out. Mamma told her?
Not everything. She’d never tell her everything.
“He was a sick man,” Cleo whispers.
If only she knew how sick.
“And he was wrong. Emotions don’t make you weak. Love doesn’t make you weak.”
Oh, but it does. Its roots penetrate through cracks, destroy walls, crumble strong foundations. I don’t recognize myself anymore.
I need to undo this.
“Was he wrong? I don’t think so. The only thing that’s wrong here is me and you.”
Her eyes widen with disbelief, as if my words don’t make any sense.
“Rafe—”
“You’ll leave with your sisters today. I want you out of this house. It’ll take me a few days to clean up the mess you caused and get the papers in order. I’ll mail them to you in Italy.”
“You can’t do this.” Cleo reaches for me again.
I tear my arm out of her grasp and move toward the door. “I’ve said everything I have to say.”
“Where are you going?” Her voice cracks, and God, how that hurts me.
“To figure out some way that today doesn’t end with my consigliere dead.”