Cleo gasps. “You’re hurt too.”
I glance down. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about my arm. There’s a shallow wound where a bullet grazed me on my biceps, but I barely feel it. “It’s a scratch.”
“Let me see,” she demands stubbornly. “Come here, or I’m going to come over to you.”
“Stay still,” I growl.
It really is nothing. The only annoying thing is that the cut bisected one of my tattoos. A dark, hooded figure levitating over a bed of bones.
My father.
Cleo’s eyes roam the wound and the image beneath it. “Your tattoo is ruined.”
I shrug. “Adds character, don’t you think?”
“Do you need me to stitch you up?”
“I think you might cause more damage than the bullet.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Rude. Well, at least get the doctor to do it.”
“It’s fine. I can do it myself in the bathroom.”
She purses her lips but doesn’t argue.
In the shower, the water runs pink for a while, but I know the cut isn’t anything to worry about. I press my palms against the wall of the shower and let the water run down my back.
She’s fine. The doctor will make sure she has a smooth recovery. There’s no logical reason to worry at this point.
There’s nothing logical about wanting to punch a wall either, but here I am. Why the fuck am I so riled up? I grab a bar of soap and scrub at my skin. Get it together, Messero.
When I come out of the bathroom, Cleo has changed into a T-shirt, and she’s lying stiffly on the bed. Her gaze darts to me, and her eyes widen when she realizes I’m only wearing a pair of boxers.
I wonder how she’d react if I walked over to her and kissed her right now.
She wouldn’t push me away. What happened tonight chipped at her walls. Maybe even brought them down completely. But I don’t feel like playing our game tonight. Not when she’s weak and vulnerable.
“I’ll sleep on the ottoman,” I offer, dragging my fingers through my wet hair.
She shakes her head. “You’re injured too.”
“I told you it’s nothing.”
“Rafe.” Her jaw firms. “The bed is huge.” She reaches across and pulls back the duvet on the other side. “Just get in.”
I stare at her for a long moment. She doesn’t back down.
All right. If she insists, I’m not going to fight her about it. I walk around the bed and climb in. A moment later, she turns off the light and darkness wraps around us. Soon, her breathing slows and deepens. I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling and revisiting old memories that made me who I am. Memories of my mother and my father. Memories of that lamplit bedroom and my bare feet against the smooth hardwood floor.
I’ll stop when you stop your whining, boy.
I exhale a heavy breath and shut my eyes.
CHAPTER 21
RAFAELE
I slam the car door shut and inhale the crisp morning air that’s mingled with the scent of the river. Today’s going to be a long fucking day, and I woke up wanting to burn off some energy before I get started.
It’s been three days since the attack, and the whole fucking thing’s been harder to shake off than I anticipated. Probably because we still have no idea who’s pulling on the strings.
Nero pulls into the parking lot of the gym in his black Jeep and waves at me through the window.
We walk into the building, the only ones here since it’s not even six a.m. The owner, Mike, is sitting behind the check-in desk, doing something on his computer, and he waves us in without coming out to chat. He knows the only time we’re here this early is if something’s up.
I start warming up on a bag. “Any news?” The need to end whoever shot up Il Caminetto has been churning inside my chest ever since the incident occurred.
The two men I killed were freelancers, assassins for hire who work for anyone willing to pay them. They were professionals, and their business model relies on discretion. Not that we haven’t tried to trace them, but so far, we’ve gotten nowhere.
Nero jabs at the bag beside mine. “I’ve got four of our best guys looking, but there’s nothing so far.”
“Who the fuck would try a move like this? My initial guess would be Ferraro, but he’s usually far more subtle.”
“I doubt it’s Ferraro,” Nero says, jumping away from the swinging bag. “I’ve spoken to Joe since it happened, and they seem more willing than ever to put a truce in place. They heard about the shooting, and Joe was quick to deny any involvement.”
“You trust him?”
“I do.”
I glance at Nero. He’s good at getting an accurate read on people, so I have no reason to doubt his assessment, but if not Ferraro, then who?
“The Bratva might still be holding a grudge about us not allowing them to invest in the restaurant,” Nero says.
“That wouldn’t surprise me, but I doubt they’d risk bringing war to their doorstep over one deal.”
“Their power is growing. I heard they’ve managed to push their way into the racetracks in Jersey.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that. As long as they’re not pushing up against Garzolo’s territory, they can do as they please over there.”
Nero lands a few shots against the bag. “Speaking of, I paid him a visit yesterday.”
Garzolo is one of the obvious suspects, especially after our last interaction. “And?”
“He was at his house in the Hamptons with the wife. They had a party. Plenty of witnesses. None of them saw him take a single call. Everyone said he looked at ease.”
“We should keep a close eye on him. If this is his work, he’ll try again.” I tip my head in the direction of the ring. “Let’s spar.”
We climb under the ropes and get in position.
“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?”