Page 62 of When She Loves
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.
CHAPTER21
RAFAELE
I slamthe 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.”
