Page 84 of When She Loves
She tsks. “Ah, that’s right.”
“Hello, daughter.”
Ice pours into my veins. Slowly, I turn toward my father.
“What are you doing here?”
“I invited him,” Gino says, coming to stand by Papà’s side. He’s wearing an is-there-a-problem-here smile as he gives Rafaele a pointed look. “After all, you’ve joined your families, so I thought it would be best if we all sit down at the table.”
“Good to see you, Garzolo,” Rafaele says, seeming unfazed by this turn of events, but I can’t say the same for myself. Is Papà seeking an ally in Ferraro to take down Rafaele? I doubt Ferraro would work with someone whose word clearly means nothing, but what do I know?
My father stops before me and leans down to press a kiss to my cheek. “We need to talk,” he whispers in my ear.
I know what he wants to talk about, and he won’t like what he hears.
We sit down at the oval dining table, and Rafaele brings up the issue with the contract before we’ve even finished the first course.
Gino waves his hand dismissively. “Done. My cousin Ricardo has always been a stickler on issues like this, but I’ll take care of it.”
“I appreciate it,” I say automatically. Rafaele squeezes my hand under the table, but I’m too tense to feel relieved.
The dinner proceeds without a hiccup, and the conversation flows easily with the help of Vita’s friendly presence.
The Ferraro matriarch is very different from my mother. She seems so kind and lovely, and there’s no mistaking the adoration in Gino’s eyes whenever he looks at her. She tells us the story of how she and Gino met. She was a fashion model, and he sat in the front row for one of the shows she walked. He asked her manager for her number and proposed a week later.
“It was a whirlwind romance,” she exclaims. “Took a while for his family to warm up to me, given that I’m not Italian.
“But she eventually won them over,” Gino says. “Very few can resist my wife’s charms.”
God, they’re cute together. And here I thought all mafia marriages were miserable. The way they’re looking at each other, I get the sense they still fuck like bunnies.
“Rafaele, I’d like to have a word in private,” Gino says once we finish our dessert. “Why don’t you join me for a drink on the terrace?”
Rafaele nods before turning to me and lowering his voice. “You okay on your own for a while?”
“Of course.” I nudge his thigh. “Go.”
Rafaele and Gino leave. Vita offers to show me some of their Japanese artwork, and we look at the paintings for a while before I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom.
“It’s just down that hall,” Vita explains.
I do my business, wash my hands, and dab some cold water on my neck. Anxiety crawls over my skin. And it’s justified, because my father corners me as soon as I come out.
He backs me against a wall. “Have you thought about my offer?”
I wince. His breath reeks even worse than his desperation.
“Give me some space,” I say, pushing at his chest.
He backs away slightly, his beady eyes narrowed and his forehead shiny. Nervous? He’s right to be worried. He won’t find an ally in me, or anyone else who possesses an ounce of sense.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Cleo,” he growls. “I’m waiting on your answer.”
My fists clench. “I won’t help you.”
His reaction is immediate. A hiss comes out of his mouth, and then his forearm is against my neck, and my back is being slammed against the wall.
I gasp from the sudden pain, my veins blazing with shock. I expected him to be angry, but I didn’t think he’d turn aggressive.
