Page 122 of When She Loves
“There’s nothing left to talk about, Rafaele.”
I splash some whiskey into a glass. My hands are shaking. “Let me compensate you for your loss. How much would fix this?”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Territory then. I’ll give you my assets in Manhattan. You can run them as you wish.”
“This isn’t about that,” Gino snaps. “This is about you learning a lesson I would have thought you learned a long time ago. You don’t put another don’s men at risk like this. I won’t ever work with you if you don’t make this right, do you understand?”
The alcohol burns my throat. I want to roar in frustration. I can’t risk a war with the Ferraros when I’m still trying to get a handle on Garzolo’s family and trying to fight back the Bratva. My resources are spread thin. There’s a good chance they’d squash us. How the fuck did I allow this to happen?
“Nero’s gone,” I grind out. “It’ll take me longer than that to find him.”
“You can find him, orIwill. And trust me when I say his death will be far quicker if you do it.”
“Gi—”
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone screen for a few seconds before I throw my glass across the room. It hits a bookshelf and shatters. Next goes the paperweight, straight through the mirror. Then I shove every piece of crap I’ve got on my desk onto the floor. Papers fly everywhere, but it doesn’t help. Nothing fucking helps.
“Fuck!”
Nero. He wantsNero.
My consigliere. My friend. The man who’s stood by my side since we were kids. The man who’s put his life on the line for me whenever I’ve asked him to do it, doing whatever I’ve fucking asked of him. The man who’s been unfailingly loyal to me. And in my moment of weakness, I set him up. I did him fucking dirty.
The door to my office opens, and Cleo appears.
“Get out,” I growl.
She pauses, her hand on the door handle, but then her lips firm into a line, and she steps inside. “No.”
I glare at her, feeling like all of my organs are shriveling up. “Not now, Cleo.”
She ignores my warning. She casts her gaze around the mess inside my office, her brows pinching in concern. “We need to talk.”
I don’t have time to talk. I’ve got the most powerful don in New York waiting for me to deliver the body of my consigliere to his doorstep.
This woman is my ruin. And she doesn’t even realize it.
She approaches the desk, her expression worried. “Rafe, I’m so sorry. I know what I did was stupid, but when I thought Gemma was in trouble… I just wasn’t thinking. I thought something had happened to her or the baby. I just…” Her eyes well up with tears. “I panicked.”
“Why didn’t you call me first?” I demand. This could have been avoided if she hadn’t taken her father’s bait. If she’d just fucking used her brain.
Funny how the exact same criticism can be thrown right back at me. I wasn’t thinking when I called Ferraro. And now my consigliere has to pay for my mistake. Rage pulses inside my chest. I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now.
She’s done this to me. Made me into someone not worth the responsibility I’ve been given. Made me into a weak, impulsive,emotionalman.
This can’t go on.
I have to end this or everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve bled for, will burn to the ground at her feet. My heart shreds apart inside my chest.
“I promise this will never happen again,” Cleo says brokenly.
“You’re right.” I look past her at the broken mirror hanging on the wall, at my fractured reflection. “It won’t, because we’re over.”
There’s a beat.
