Page 32 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
Do you?
I gnaw on my lip. The other families could choose to move on us at any time. The only reason they haven’t is because they know we’re joining forces with the Messeros.
After what you did to the Riccis, wouldn’t the other families think twice about messing with you?A little voice in my head asks.
That might have been true at one point, but not now. We spent so much on that fight, and we don’t have any reserves left. It’s why Papà’s terrified. He needs this alliance with Rafaele.
God, my head is pounding. I don’t want to think about anything right now.
I get myself horizontal on the bench and throw my arm over my eyes. Screw it, I’m taking a nap.
* * *
I scramble awake when my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for five minutes. I glance at the screen and see that it’s a text message from Mamma.
Rafaele is about to arrive, where are you?
I rub at my eyes. The clock on my phone says I’ve actually napped for nearly an hour.
Shit!
My heart rate spikes as I pull up Cleo’s contact.
Cleo, where are you?
The message sits unread.
One minute passes. Two.
I groan. There isn’t any time to wait for her to respond.
So much for my plan to avoid my parents until Cleo gets back.
I quickly text Mamma back to let her know I’ll meet them by the front door of the main house. Papà made a big deal of me giving my fiancé a warm welcome.
We get there at the same time. Mamma comes over to smooth some imaginary wrinkles from my shirt.
Papà adjusts his tie. “Where have you been?”
“Just walking around the property.”
“Where is your sister?”
“I don’t know. I think she might be in the pool,” I lie.
Mamma’s eyes narrow. Is she onto me?
The gate at the end of the driveway starts to slide open, and a moment later, a black car drives through it.
Mamma’s attention moves from me to it, and I let out a breath of relief just as the car stops in front of us. The driver comes around to open the door. The first man to emerge is Nero, Rafaele’s consigliere. Rafaele’s reputation is closely intertwined with Nero’s. The two of them became made around the same time, and Nero plays a supporting role in most of the legends swirling around Rafaele.
This isn’t the first time we’ve met, but every time we do, I have to resist the urge to rub my eyes. Nero’s just…massive, built like a linebacker, even taller than Rafaele—who’s six-two—and always dressed in black. Nero’s nickname couldn’t be any more appropriate—Angel of Death. Even his expertly tailored suit can’t disguise the sheer muscular force of his body. He gracefully unfurls to his full height, towering over all of us, and gives us a disarming grin.
“Enjoying this sun, Mr. Garzolo?” he says with that wicked smile. “I’m hoping to work on my tan while I’m here.”
They shake hands, and Nero cracks a few jokes and says things that are meant to put everyone at ease. Even his charm is intimidating. You never know when he’s joking and when he’s being serious. He seems like the type who’d try to get you to laugh while he twists your neck.
Then he moves his attention to me, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to it. “Gemma. Looking beautiful as always.”
