“I-I slid along the floor to get my purse so that I could call for help.”
He huffs an annoyed breath. “Why would you do that? I had the situation under control.”
My cheeks grow warm. Everything grows warm. “I didn’t know that. I thought they were going to kill you!”
“It was just three guys. Two are dead and one got away.” His eyes flicker with amusement and something softer that steals the air out of my lungs. “You were worried about me.”
Worried? Was I worried? Yes, I was. But now I’m not worried. Now I’m just embarrassed.
“I didn’t want to die here with you,” I mutter. “I was only worried about myself.”
He shakes his head, his lips lifting at the corners. “You said I wasn’t as horrible as you thought I was. And what else were you trying to say? Something about us having more time?” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry, we’ve got all the time in the world, tesoro mio.”
His treasure.
A cocktail of emotions fills my chest. “Don’t call me that.” I try to shove him away, but he shushes me, his expression once again turning serious.
“Stop. You shouldn’t move too much, or you might lodge the glass in more. We need to get you cleaned up.”
The doors to the restaurant burst open, and men with guns stream in, led by a frazzled-looking Sandro. “Boss!” He jogs over to us. “You two okay? Nero is on his way.”
Rafaele covers me with his jacket. “My wife is hurt,” he says to Sandro as he lifts me off the ground and cradles me to his chest. “One of the shooters got away. Clean this mess and find him.”
Sandro rakes his gaze over me, but he can’t see the mess on my stomach under Rafaele’s jacket. Still, his jaw firms. “We’ll get him.”
Rafaele’s grip on me tightens. “I want him brought to me alive so that I can carve his body into pieces after I find out who he works for,” he says, his voice dangerously low.
Ice threads through my insides. If I were the attacker who got away, I’d be shitting my pants right about now.
“You got it,” Sandro says and rushes away.
Rafaele’s cold blue eyes drop back to my face. Cold on the surface, but there’s warmth inside their depths.
Feelings surge through my chest, raw and unwelcome. There’s no fighting them back. I want to look away, but I can’t move a muscle. He holds me captive with his gaze, peering so deeply inside of me that I’m certain he can read each one of my traitorous emotions as if they were written on a page. Nerves crawl beneath my skin. I’m not sure what I’m more nervous about—getting all that glass out of my skin, or what will follow.
Because I can already feel an impending change between us, the way one sees the ocean swell and knows there’s nothing that will stop the coming wave.
CHAPTER 20
RAFAELE
I race down the freeway with Cleo lying on the reclined seat beside me.
Every time I look at her pale face, rage pulses inside my veins. I will destroy whoever is behind this attack, and I won’t give them a quick death.
The image of Cleo covered in blood flashes in front of my eyes. I can’t blame her for saying she got shot—she was in shock, probably still is—but my chest got really fucking tight when I thought her life was in danger, and I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like that at all.
Instead of seeing it purely like a problem that needed to be solved, I saw it as…something else.
“How are you doing, tesoro?”
“Stop calling me that,” she grumbles.
Well, at least she’s well enough to talk back to me. I grab my phone and dial Doc’s number. Her wounds didn’t seem deep, but he’ll need to treat them and give her a full physical.
“Hello?” It’s his assistant who answers.
“Put Doc on the line,” I order.
“He’s in the operating room, Mr. Messero,” she says. “I’m sor—”
“It’s not a fucking request.”
There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Okay, one moment.”
I tap my fingers against the wheel as I wait.
“Mr. Messero? What is it?”
“I need you to come over.”
“I’m in the operating room.”
“I know. Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m in the middle of a—”
“I don’t give a fuck. Get someone else to take over or let them die, for all I care. My wife is hurt. We’ll be home in twenty minutes, and you better be there waiting for us.” I hang up. Annoyance pulses at my temples.
“Rafaele?”
I turn to look at Cleo. “What?”
Her eyes are wide. “Are you insane? I don’t want an innocent person to die because of me.”
“Trust me, if it’s Doc working on them, they’re far from innocent.”
There’s a line between her brows. “I can wait.”
“Five minutes ago, you thought you were dying, and now you think you can wait to get your injuries treated? No, you can’t. You’re bleeding and in shock.”
Her brows rise up her forehead. I realize that my voice is raised and my heart is pounding inside my chest. I crack my neck and swallow past a foreign tightness in my throat. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“It’s my fault.” The words are pouring out of me. “I should have let Sandro drive us. I made us a target.” I shut my mouth and clutch the wheel tighter. Cleo could have died tonight. All it would have taken is one well-aimed shot.
I suck in a deep breath. Why am I thinking about what-ifs? We’re safe. She’s safe. I need to calm the fuck down.
“You said it was his day off.” Her voice is quiet.
I grind my teeth. “I lied. I told him I didn’t need him tonight because I didn’t want him seeing you in that dress.” I can’t even look at her as I say those words. I’m supposed to protect her. Instead, I got her hurt.
She doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive home. Maybe she’s processing how I’ve failed her. The thought lodges a knife inside my gut.
When we pull into the garage, Sabina and one of the maids are already waiting for us.
“Where is Doc?” I ask as I help Cleo out of the Bugatti.
“In your bedroom,” Sabina answers. “He’s waiting for you.”
I brush past them with Cleo in my arms and take her straight upstairs.
Doc’s already got all of his supplies laid out. “Put her down here,” he says, pointing at the bed. He adjusts his glasses. “What happened?”
I lay Cleo down and lift my jacket to show him the wounds.
Fuck, they look awful. “She cut herself on some glass. I don’t think the cuts are deep, but there’s a lot of them.”
Doc tsks. “All right. Let’s get these cleaned up and see if she needs stitches.”
My head pounds. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This is far from the first time I’ve been shot at, but I’ve never been this shaken up. I glance down at my hands. They’re covered in dried blood.
Her blood.