When She Loves: A Dark Mafia, Arranged Marriage Romance (The Fallen Book 4)
When She Loves: Chapter 28

I reenter through the sliding doors and glance around the room. Vita and two of her sons are by the bar cart having a heated discussion about something.

Where’s Garzolo? More importantly, where is my wife?

The staccato of her heels reaches my ears before she pops out of a random hallway. Cosimo is a few steps behind her. My eyes narrow. What were they doing there together? And why does she look so flustered?

I cross the room. Her steps slow when she sees me approach.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” She says it too quickly, and her cheeks are flushed.

An ugly suspicion blooms inside me. “Where were you?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Why was Cosimo following behind you?”

She crosses her arms and huffs an annoyed breath. “Because I was sucking his cock.”

My vision darkens at the edges. What the—

“God, I’m joking,” she snaps. “Relax.”

“Bad joke,” I growl.

She shakes her head and looks around the room like she’s searching for someone. “How much longer until we can get out of here?”

What is going on with her? “We can leave now.”

We say our goodbyes and leave the condominium. Cleo won’t meet my eye on the elevator ride to the parking lot.

My jaw clenches. “Cleo.”

“What?” she asks the floor.

For fuck’s sake. I corner her against one of the mirrored walls and lift her chin. “What’s going on with you?”

She drops her gaze to stare at my chest, clamping on her bottom lip with her teeth.

I nudge her chin higher, forcing her to look at me. “Answer me.”

“Drop it,” she breathes.

“No.”

The elevator door opens. She pushes past me, hurrying into the lot, but I’m right behind her.

I grab her forearm. “Cleo—”

She winces like I’m hurting her. I know I’m not. My grip is firm, but not enough to be painful. I pull her sleeve up and see a handprint on her forearm. A hot wave of anger rolls through me.

He. Hurt. My. Wife?

He’s a fucking dead man. I disengage the knife strapped to my wrist, letting the handle slide into my waiting palm, and start walking back to the elevator. I’m going to slice off the hand Cosimo used to do this. And then I’m going to feed it to that fucking koi.

“Rafe! What are you doing?” Cleo shouts after me.

“Gonna cut him.”

There’s a gasp and I hear her heels clacking against the concrete floor as she tries to catch up to me. “He’s already gone! You can’t just walk back into Ferraro’s home with a knife! What’s wrong with you?”

I halt. “Who’s gone?”

“My father.” She comes around me, blocking my path.

My thoughts rush to catch up. “Your father did this to you?”

“Who do you think?” Her eyes widen with realization. “You thought it was Cosimo? No. He got Papà away from me.”

This doesn’t make any sense. “Why would your father do this to you? You told me he never laid a hand on you.”

“He didn’t!” She shoves her fingers into her hair and huffs out an anguished breath. Her gaze flickers with whatever she’s refusing to tell me. “Rafe, please. Just calm down.”

Calm down? Only then do I clue into the fact that I’m panting like an enraged bear. My pulse is pounding so hard I can hear it inside my ears. My palm is hot around the handle of the knife. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to strike.

It’s happening again. This is how I felt when I saw Ludovico trying to force himself on her in my club. How I felt when I saw her bleeding on the ground in Il Caminetto.

Out of control.

I give my head a shake, Nero’s warning coming back to me loud and clear.

I’ve seen how she gets under your skin.

Fuck it. I don’t give a fuck about any of that right now. All I know is that I’d do anything to protect her. Anything. And if that means killing her father so he can never touch her again, so be it.

She grabs my wrist and tries to pull me in the direction of our car. “Please. Let’s just get into the car and go home.”

“Cleo, tell me what is going on. Why would your father do this?”

She sniffs.

I force myself to take a deep breath. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

She grimaces. I study her face. Her eyes are wide and, God fucking help me, guilty. I know that look so well I’d recognize it on anyone. But if her father hurt her, why does she feel guilty? And why isn’t she answering me?

Cleo hates her father. She wouldn’t stay silent to protect him. But she’d stay silent to protect herself.

Whatever she sees in my expression makes her let go of my arm. She takes one step back, then another.

Alarm bells are ringing in my head. “What did you do?”

Her cheeks are flushed. “Okay. Listen. I can explain.”

I start to advance on her, my suspicions confirmed. “Do you know how many times people have said that to me? I’ll let you guess how those conversations usually end.”

She backs away from me. “Two weeks ago, Papà made me an offer.”

I match her step for step. “What kind of an offer?”

“He…” She swallows. “He asked me to spy on you.”

My body freezes. A deep pit opens in my stomach, filled with razor blades and ice.

“To what end?” I grind out.

Her eyes fill with tears. “He wanted me to replace a weakness so that he could get rid of you.”

I can’t help but laugh. This is too good. Garzolo, that fucking backstabbing snake. I should have known a man like him can never be trusted. But this was really his best plan? Get his daughter involved?

My eyes narrow on Cleo. She makes me feel like I’m going crazy. Did I really just think I’d do anything for this woman? That’s not how this works. I know that’s not how this works.

I’m a don, and my first duty is to my position, not to her. But she is my wife, and she is supposed to be fucking loyal to me.

A tear slips down her cheek. “I didn’t do it!”

My stomach swoops with relief, but it’s short-lived as I rewind our conversation. “Two weeks ago? You’ve been sitting on this information for two weeks?”

She presses her lips together, trying to hold back her emotions. Emotions I don’t fucking understand, because the way it seems to me, I should be the one upset here.

I advance on her. “Did you replace anything? Did you spot any weaknesses?”

Her pulse pounds against the side of her neck. She takes another step back. “You don’t have any.”

“You and your father aren’t on good terms. He must have offered you something in exchange.”

“He did. He offered me freedom. I wouldn’t have to marry anyone else. He said that after he managed to kill you, he would disown me, and that I could go to Italy to be with Vale and Gem.”

Go to Italy? In what fucking universe would I allow that to happen? Oh right, the one where I’m dead.

The thought of her living a life without me somehow triggers me far more than anything else she’s just said. My anger pulsates beneath my flesh, my vision narrows, my breaths come out short and quick. There isn’t enough oxygen in my lungs.

This is a possibility she considered for two fucking weeks?

Cleo tries to take another step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Her calf hits the edge of our car, and she yelps as she loses her balance.

I eat up the space between us with two long strides and force her back against the car door. Above us, a fluorescent light flickers. It’s the only movement in the empty garage.

Did I bring this on myself by being so lenient with her? Has she forgotten who she married?

She glances at the hand I’ve got pinning her shoulder, exposing her neck to me. I lift my knife and press the cool blade against her delicate throat. She stiffens. Sucks in a breath.

Sandro’s head pops out on the driver’s side. “Boss?”

“Get the fuck back inside.”

A beat passes before he does as he’s told.

I move my hand from her shoulder to her chin and turn her face toward me.

My wife stares at me with her piercing green eyes, the color of emeralds. Who knew they could hide so much deceit inside their depths?

“He offered you a good deal,” I whisper.

She licks her lips. “Everything I thought I wanted.”

“And tonight, you told him no?”

“I told him no.”

I lean closer. “Took you two fucking weeks to do it, though.”

When she swallows, a part of her neck brushes against my blade.

You know what’s infuriating? Even now, with my knife pressed to her throat, she doesn’t seem scared. Upset, yes, but not scared. Like she knows I’d never harm her, even after what she just confessed. And she thinks I have no weaknesses?

“What finally made you decide not to turn on me?”

Another tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t answer.

I press in, my hips pinning hers. “Hmm? What was it? The jewelry, the money, the staff that’s at your beck and call?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. I have to pull my knife back a few millimeters so that she doesn’t cut herself on it.

“Was it the way I ate your cunt a few days ago?”

She bites down on her lip and shakes her head again.

I’m so close, our noses are practically touching. “Then what the fuck was it?”

She exhales a broken breath. “It’s the way you see something in me. Something that no one else does. Around you, I’m not just a fuckup that needs fixing.”

My chest caves in. Something inside me wavers.

A sob escapes her. “I should have told you earlier.”

Glistening eyes. Wet cheeks. Parted lips. I know guilt, but I know sincerity too. It skims off some of my anger, turns the temperature down.

“You shouldn’t have even considered it. Your father is a fucking idiot, and his plan would have never worked. You should have known that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I lower my knife, tuck it back up my sleeve, and open the car door. “Get in.”

She slides inside, keeping her gaze on me the entire time. I follow after her and slam the door shut.

Sandro looks at me in the rearview mirror, his jaw tense and his skin as pale as a sheet. “Where to?”

“Home.”

Cleo huddles on the other end of the seat, her pink-rimmed eyes glued to me. I look away from her. We drive through a maze of skyscrapers, and I attempt to settle down, but ten minutes later, I’m still buzzing.

She didn’t do it.

But she thought about it. She imagined her new life without me in it.

She chose you.

A growl tears its way out of my throat, and I grab her, pull her on top of me, shove the skirt of her dress up so that she can straddle my thighs.

Her wide eyes meet mine. She looks like a deer in the headlights, unsure about whether to stay still or try to run.

I shove my hand into her hair and kiss her. It’s rough and raw and dominating. Meant to stake a claim. Meant to remind her who she belongs to.

She chose you.

Her mouth parts for me. My tongue slides in. I bite on her lips, pulling on them with my teeth. I kiss her until we’re both panting, until my anger mixes with arousal, the kind that makes one burn.

I’m furious with her, and I’m so fucking hard.

She chose you.

Cleo brings her hands to my chest, her right palm over my pounding heart. I pull them off me. Why should she know how she makes this damned thing race?

I guide her wrists behind her and press them to her lower back. I dip my other hand into the pocket on the back of Sandro’s seat and pull out one of the zip ties I always keep there. I’m still kissing her as I wrap the tie around her wrists. Pull it tight.

She rears back, her lips puffy and her cheeks pink. “What are you doing?”

Sandro’s gaze flicks to us in the mirror. We make eye contact for a split second before he swallows and looks back to the road.

“You called me your jailer. Maybe it’s time I start acting like one.”

Her mouth parts in shock. Her arms flex as she tests the restraint, but it’s no use. She’s at my mercy now.

“Take it off.” Her voice shakes.

“No.”

I drag my gaze over her body, down to where I can see the triangle of her underwear peeking out. My thumb brushes her slit through the fabric. She whimpers. I do it again. And again. Until she’s shaking, struggling to stay still.

She glances over her shoulder like she’s worried Sandro’s watching us. He can’t see anything from the angle he’s at.

I dig my fingers into her thighs and lean forward, pressing my lips to her ear. “I should fuck you right here and have you bleed all over the seat. Maybe I’ll ask Sandro to clean it up afterward.”

I expect her to curse me, but she doesn’t.

When I lean back, indignation burns inside her eyes. Like she knows I’m not this, that I’d never do this, and that I’m not fooling her, so why am I saying it? Just to hurt her? The way she hurt me? My chest spasms.

No, nothing hurts you.

She leans forward and kisses me.

This time, it’s different. Soft. Apologetic. Conciliatory.

I turn my head, ending it. I’m not done being angry at her.

“I want to punish you,” I whisper.

“Then do it,” she whispers back.