Page 67 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
“It was a long journey.”
“Your father wants to speak with you.”
Gemma’s shoulders tense up. “I’m really tired. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Pietra shakes her head. “Go, Gemma. He stayed up waiting for you.”
I grind my teeth. Gemma’s legs are barely holding her weight, and she’s still weak from her illness.
“Mamma, please.”
Any normal mother would back off, but I’m starting to realize that Pietra is far from normal. When she opens her fucking mouth to argue, I step in.
“Mrs. Garzolo, the doctor instructed Gemma to take it easy for the next few days. It’s past one am. She needs to lie down and get some rest.”
Both of the women look at me, one cautiously grateful and the other annoyed.
It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what Pietra is thinking. I’m in her house, and I don’t make the rules here. But I hold her gaze, challenging her to voice that thought.
I don’t give a fuck where we are. Gemma’s wellbeing is my priority, and I’m not going to let her mom get away with being a cunt.
There’s a long pause before Pietra finally says, “First thing tomorrow. Go to your room Gemma.” Her eyes narrow on me. “He’ll speak with you right now.”
I’m tempted to make a comment about their shitty hospitality—we’ve been traveling for nearly fifteen hours—but I swallow it down. I knew that I wasn’t exactly going to be welcomed with open arms. Garzolo is only hosting me due to obligation.
Gemma locks eyes with me for a brief moment, looking almost apologetic.
I shrug. She has nothing to apologize for.
I don’t get a chance to say goodnight before Pietra’s gestures for me to follow her and I’m led away.
* * *
My eyes fly open, and I don’t need to check the clock to know that definitely wasn’t the recommended eight hours of sleep.
Fuck jet lag. Why haven’t they developed pills for it by now?
I groan as I sit up. The clock on the wall tells me my bed and I have been acquainted with each other for a grand total of three hours.
It’s five am.
I thought I was going to fall asleep in Garzolo’s office when he kept me there for an hour after we arrived. The conversation was essentially him attempting to figure out why I was really here. I repeated three times the same thing Dem had already told him. That we were just taking a look at his operations and seeing if there’s an opportunity to collaborate on more things. He finally accepted that was all he was getting from me and let me leave.
I hop out of bed and take a quick shower before slipping on my warmest clothes, which is a gray Italian wool suit I somehow had the foresight to pack with me. Actually, it’s probably the warmest thing I own, period. Living in Ibiza and Southern Italy, I don’t exactly need a robust winter wardrobe.
There’s no way around it, I’ll need to do some shopping soon, or I’ll slowly succumb to hypothermia.
Garzolo would probably like that.
I despise shopping, but I’m willing to do it if it’ll keep a smile off that fucker’s face.
First, I have a more pressing problem to address. I need to figure out how I’m going to keep an eye on Gemma when she’s out of the house. I need to be around her. After all, I promised Vale I’d find out the real story behind that bruise.
The most straightforward option would be to somehow convince Garzolo to let me be her bodyguard and driver while I’m here.
Problem is, she already has one of those.
Armando Vitale.
