I shake my head, exhaustion pulling on my eyelids. “No. It’s not mine.”
She halts, and I brush past her into the bathroom where I quickly take off the bloody shirt.
It was a bad day.
We went to all of Garzolo’s usual spots, and no one’s seen him since last night. Then Nero and I went back to Il Caminetto and talked to the staff again. By that point, I was sure it was Garzolo who ordered the hit on us.
One of the band members saw us come through the door and took off. Nero and I caught him a few blocks away and took him to one of my warehouses, where he broke immediately and confessed he’d been on Garzolo’s payroll ever since the restaurant opened up, acting as his eyes and ears. He heard Garzolo disappeared and freaked out as soon as he saw us appear, sure that we were onto him.
We got the confirmation we needed, but I wasn’t in a forgiving mood. He had a slow death. Then we got a call that a few Bratva thugs were trying to rob one of our restaurants outside the city. Nero and I raced over along with a bunch of our men, but we got there too late. The owner was dead, as was his daughter. It took us four hours to hunt down the fuckers that did it.
Unfortunately, the things we did to them didn’t help the owner and his daughter.
“What happened?”
I look up, meeting Cleo’s gaze in the mirror. I hadn’t even realized I’d been leaning against the vanity for the last few minutes, staring at the sink.
“Later.” My voice is a hoarse whisper from shouting commands at my men.
I push away from the sink, take off the rest of my clothes, and walk into the shower. The water runs pink as I wash off the blood that managed to leak through my shirt. I’m so fucking drained that I can barely find the energy to scrub myself with the soap.
The girl was only sixteen. She was helping her dad at the restaurant after school, bussing tables and doing dishes. Rage simmers inside my gut. Those Bratva fuckers are too bold. The pakhan doesn’t seem to care how many men he loses in these reckless raids. This truce with Ferraro needs to become public soon. A strong show of a united front will go a long way in scaring the Russians off.
When I come out, Cleo’s sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me. She stretches out her arms. “Come here.”
I do. I walk into her embrace and lean forward to capture her familiar scent. I’m too tired to do anything, but when she pulls me down on top of her and opens up her thighs for me, my cock grows hard. She’s wearing just a nightgown, no panties, and sinking into her is the easiest thing ever. She takes a sharp intake of breath.
My chest clenches when I realize my mistake. “Fuck. I’m sorry. You’re sore.”
“I’m fine.” She tightens her hold on me, her pussy gently clenching my stiff cock. “Just go slow.”
I kiss her and roll my hips, drawing the motion out until she relaxes. Her eyes pierce through me, flickering with concern and arousal and something so vulnerable that I can’t bear to hold her gaze. I bury my face against her neck and suck on her skin, leaving bruises on her. Marking her as mine.
She moans a short while later, and when I reach between us and strum her clit, she unravels beneath me. The sounds she makes are enough to take me over the edge with her.
After we get cleaned up, she cuddles up to me and asks again what happened. I try to find the words. Try to come up with a way to say it. But all I can see is that girl lying in a pool of her father’s blood, her eyes wide and glassy. There’s a scratch at the back of my throat. She didn’t deserve to die. But deaths like hers happen all too often. A tithe to the gods that rule our brutal world.
I count to ten and push the feelings away. Lock them up in a box, hide it under my childhood bed. That’s where they belong—the same place I used to hide when I was scared and weak. I’m not that boy anymore.
“Bratva attack,” I say gruffly, tucking Cleo’s head under my chin. “Go to sleep.”
She stills, the air around us growing cold. I fall asleep, knowing I disappointed her with my dismissal.
And knowing that I’ll disappoint her again.
CHAPTER 31
CLEO
One week folds into another, and soon we’re in the middle of April, and my father still hasn’t been found.
By now, everyone is aware of Stefano Garzolo’s disappearance. Everyone except for Gemma. Vale and I decided we wouldn’t say anything to her. She doesn’t need to concern herself with the whereabouts of our piece of shit father when she’s busy growing a new human inside of her.
Rafaele assumed command of the Garzolos in my father’s absence, and he’s busier than ever. I see him far less than I would like, which is why when I walk into the dining room one morning and find him there having coffee, my insides perform a happy little jig.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I take the seat across from him.
He peers at me over his newspaper. “Decided to work from home today. Heard Loretta’s forcing you to take a day off. Said you’ve been working too hard.”
It’s been a busy few weeks at the shop. Loretta’s taken my suggestions to heart, and our catalogue for the new season just came out. Orders are up, debts are down, and we’ve even managed to find some money to hire a crew to repaint the store.
“She’s working just as hard,” I tell him.
“It’s her business. She’s supposed to be. You’re not.”
I take a sip of orange juice. “I like helping her. It’s better than just sitting alone at home.”
I’ve thrown myself into work so that I don’t ruminate too much on Rafaele’s absences. He’s always gone during the day. At night, he returns to our bed late enough that we only have time for one thing.
The sex is good. More than good. My husband seems to have made it his mission to learn every subtle nuance of my body. Even on nights when he appears exhausted, he’s never too tired to make me come. Never too drained to spread my thighs and feast on me until I see stars.
There’s one problem though. He won’t talk to me. Not really.
I’ve given up asking him about work on the days he seems distracted. He refuses to open up to me about whatever is bothering him. But even on days he seems okay, as soon as the conversation veers past small talk, he shuts down. He distracts me with his kisses and his body and keeps me at a distance I don’t know how to bridge.
Rafaele’s expression softens. “I’ve been gone a lot.”