Page 58 of When She Loves
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.
