When She Falls: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 3)

I can’t sleep.

The bed is so warm and cozy with Ras passed out right beside me, but I’ve been tossing and turning for the past hour, unable to get back to sleep.

Maybe it’s time to accept it and embrace the new day.

I climb out from beneath the covers, careful not to make too much noise even though Ras is a deep sleeper. Sometimes, he’ll pull me into his chest while he’s dreaming, clutching me so tightly against his radiator chest that I start to overheat, and I have to tickle him to get him to wake up.

I glance at him, admiring his relaxed features, and the way his long hair spills over the sheets.

My lover is a beautiful man.

Yes, I’ve been calling him my lover in my head because boyfriend feels inadequate, and partner seems too vague. He’s dropped many hints he’d like to be called “husband” sooner rather than later, and every time he does it a firework pops inside my chest.

I’d like that too. So much.

But I think we’d better wait until after we have our baby. Turns out planning for a kid is way more work than planning for a wedding.

I grab my silk robe off the hook, slip inside of it, and quietly shut the bedroom door behind me.

The nursery’s a work in progress. I peek inside on my way to the kitchen. Last week, we had the wallpaper hung. Ras and I decided we wanted to keep the gender a surprise, so we went for a pattern with animals. In the corner, there’s a box with the crib. Ras insisted he wanted to assemble it himself, even if the delivery included assembly. He seems to like getting hands on with things.

He’s going to be a great dad.

I leave the nursery and move toward the living room.

“Good morning! Good morning!”

Churro’s already wide awake in his cage in the corner of the room. I’ve spent some time teaching him a few new words, but it doesn’t take him long to revert to old favorites. When I get closer, he squawks, “Pretty girl! Pretty girl!”

“Thanks, bud,” I say to him as I head past him to the kitchen to make myself some tea.

While the kettle is boiling, I sit on one of the barstools by the island. My gaze catches on a big brown envelope addressed to me.

Huh. Must have arrived this morning.

Carefully, I pry it open, unsure of what’s inside.

It’s Cleo’s wedding photos.

A weird feeling materializes inside my chest at seeing them.

Naturally, Ras and I weren’t invited to attend. We were here when my sister walked down the aisle toward the man I was supposed to marry.

I thumb through the five or six pictures. Cleo looks beautiful, if not a little stiff. In most of the photos she keeps at least a few inches away from Rafaele, who’s severe and handsome in his tux. They could be a royal couple given the amount of jewels Cleo is wearing. She must have been happy about that, at least.

The last photo is different. It’s a candid shot, captured by the photographer while the couple is unaware, and you can practically feel the tension between these two. Cleo’s got her nose upturned, looking down at Rafaele while he’s sitting down at their sweetheart table, and he’s looking up at her, his eyes hooded and his lips slightly quirked. He’s grasping her hand in his, like he’s trying to stop her from leaving.

A smile tugs at my lips. I should give Cleo a call and see how they’re doing.

The kettle starts making a noise, so I leave the photos and go make myself a cup of tea.

Ras and I have settled into a routine here quicker than I expected. Since Casale di Principe is the base of the Casalesi, Ras is able to do most of his work without leaving on too many overnight trips. We’ve gone to Ibiza a few times to check up on things there but I always enjoy those trips, especially when Damiano and Vale join us.

Today, they’re coming over for lunch.

As excited as Ras is about the baby, my sister might be the most excited of the bunch. Whatever rift I felt between us earlier has all but disappeared.

She’s my confidant once again. I might be far away from the rest of the Garzolos, but between her and Ras I have plenty of support.

Ras and I have gone into Naples or Napoli as they say here on more than a few occasions. The city is full of sunshine and raw, unbridled energy. I had no idea the populace worships a soccer player as their god. Images of Diego “Dios” Maradona are graffitied on the walls, hung on banners between the narrow streets of the Spanish Quarter, and worn on T-shirts of seemingly every other Napolitani. I’ve even seen a few altars to his name.

And the food, oh God, the food. I thought I was spoiled growing up in New York, but the food in Naples has brought tears to my eyes on a few occasions. Perhaps it’s the pregnancy hormones and the fact that I can eat what I want without anyone offering their criticism. My favorite is a sugar-powder covered pastry filled with ricotta cream called Fiocchi di Neve. I’m convinced it’s impossible to eat just one.

My stomach growls at the memory. Maybe I’ll have to get Ras to take me there again this week.

Familiar footsteps pad into the room. “Morning, Peaches,” Ras says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He embraces me from behind and presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his beard scraping deliciously against my skin. “You’re up early.”

I lean into him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His hand slides lower to my belly. “How are you feeling?”

Ras has been doting on me this entire time, checking in to make sure I’m okay at least a few times a day. I’ve had to tell him to chill on more than one occasion, but secretly, I love that he’s so attentive.

It’s so different from what I’m used to.

“Good,” I tell him, sipping on my tea and turning to face him. “Do you remember Vale and Dem are coming in a few hours?”

He sighs. “Yes. Although, I’m tempted to cancel so that I can have you to myself for the entire Saturday.”

“Don’t you dare,” I say with a smile on my lips.

He takes my mug out of my hands, places it on the counter behind me, and tugs me into a deep kiss.

I moan into his mouth. It never gets old, being kissed by him like I’m everything he could possibly ever need.

When he pulls away, his eyes are dark with lust. He pushes his fingers into my hair and presses the length of his body against mine. “They’re not coming over that soon, are they?”

I roll my hips, heat spreading beneath my skin. “Not that soon.”

A lazy grin unfurls on his face. “Come back to bed, then.”

I do.

Vale and Damiano arrive just past noon. Vale hands me a light-blue box that smells like yeast and sugar and when I open it, I gasp. Twelve Fiocchi di Neve lined up in three neat rows.

“I was just thinking how badly I wanted these things. How did you know?”

She wraps one arm around my shoulders and presses her lips to my hair. “Sister intuition.”

Damiano appears behind her. He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, and then turns to Ras and claps him on the back. “I visited the new factory this morning. It’s really coming along.”

“We’re a few weeks away from getting the workers started,” Ras says. “You might want to call Messero next week to let him know. “

Ras and Damiano cut my father out of their counterfeits deal and are now working directly with Rafaele. Ras doesn’t like to talk to my ex-fiancé, so Damiano handles most of their communication.

I haven’t talked to Mamma or Papà since I left, and I’m not sure when or if I ever will. Right now, I have no desire to invite them back into my life. Not after I’ve realized how little they truly ever cared about me.

With Vince, I’ve opened a line of communication. He seems genuinely remorseful about everything. He texts me every week, and from time to time we’ll do a video call. We don’t talk about Papà or what happened in New York, but he asks me lots of questions about my new life in Italy. He’s excited about becoming an uncle, and I think he’s waiting for me to invite him to visit us. I’ve been toying with the idea.

“No work talk,” Vale chastises Damiano. “I had to stop him from calling Giorgio this morning,” she says to me, giving her husband the side eye. “Him and Mari are in Venice on vacation.”

“Venice? I’d love to go one day,” I say.

Ras overhears and wraps his arms around my waist. “I’ll take you, Peaches.”

We settle around the table on the back patio and the cook brings out plates of antipasti, bruschetta, pasta with fragrant garlic sauce, and grilled fish.

The conversation flows easily. It didn’t take long for Ras and Damiano to reconcile and now it’s like their rift never happened. They scoot their chairs closer to each other and start discussing something in rapid-fire Italian.

Vale looks at them and sighs. “There he goes again.” She shakes her head with a knowing smile. “Dem’s probably telling Ras about his new obsession—a massive mozzarella factory he wants to open around here. I swear, he’s always juggling at least five new business ideas in his head.”

“You thinking about helping him with one of those?” I ask. Vale’s mentioned she’s been looking for something to do with her time. My sister’s got a lot of energy, and I know she’s not going to be happy with sitting around in their palatial home while Dem’s busy running the clan.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” She puts down her glass of wine and pulls out her phone. “Take a look.”

On the screen there are photos of… an empty space?

My brows pinch in confusion. “What am I looking at? A bunch of white walls?”

Vale laughs. “Okay, it’s a lot more impressive in person, but it’s a location in the Chiaia neighborhood in Naples that would be perfect for an art gallery.” She shoots a pointed look at one of my recent paintings on the wall. ‘What do you think?’

My nape tingles as I try to make sense of what she’s saying. “Hold on, Vale,” I laugh nervously. “I just started painting. My stuff is hardly art gallery worthy.”

Less than a week after we got to Casale di Principe, Ras drove me to an art supplies store and bought me half of their stock. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to me. When we got back to the house, he insisted on making one of the rooms into a studio for me. I told him he was being crazy, but in truth, I’ve been in there nearly every day since. Painting has been therapeutic for me.

I study the watercolor on the wall. I’m proud of it, but I’m still a beginner.

Vale shrugs. “It’s up to you if you want to display your work or not, but what do you think about using the space to promote local up and coming artists? We could work on it together—scout for talent, set up exhibitions, host events…”

She drifts off, watching for my reaction.

A spark of excitement appears inside my chest. I’ve been so busy setting up a new life here and preparing for the baby that I haven’t had much time to think about what I’d do after.

But the idea of working with Vale to create an art gallery, to give a platform to artists who might not have one…

Can I do it? I’d have to learn everything from scratch about running that kind of a business. I’d probably make a bunch of mistakes at first.

I glance at Ras who’s absorbed in his conversation with Damiano.

He’d tell me to do it. He’d tell me it’s okay to not be perfect.

It’s a lesson I’m still learning, but every day, it seeps deeper and deeper inside of me.

I give Vale a smile. “You know, I think I like that idea.”

Vale whoops and hugs me, drawing the men’s attention to us. “Gemma’s in on the art gallery idea!” she announces.

Damiano’s gaze flashes with approval. “That’s great.”

I’m about to explain the whole thing to Ras, but there’s no surprise in his expression.

“You knew about this?” I ask.

He grins. “I was the one who first noticed the location. I asked Vale to go take a look.”

Warmth unfurls inside my chest. There are times like this when he’s being so damn perfect, I have to pinch myself to believe this is real.

Ras tips his head in Damiano’s direction. “By the way, you’ve got your first customer right here. He’s got lots of empty walls.”

I snort a laugh. Of course. Art sales must be a great way to clean a portion of the Casalesi proceeds.

Vale squeezes my hand. “What do you think, Gem? You want to go into business with these two?”

I lace my fingers with hers. “Too late to be asking that question, don’t you think?”

A few hours later, Vale and Damiano leave, and Ras and I lie down in the hammock he’s strung up between two old oak trees on our property. The warm weather and the slow swaying of the hammock lulls me into a peaceful state. I rest my head on Ras’s chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

Ras places a protective hand over my belly. I’m barely showing in my fourth month but Ras has been curiously examining my growing bump with me in the mirror nearly every morning.

The truth is, I’m nervous. I’ve spent very little time thinking about what it would actually be like to have a child before I got pregnant, and some small part of me is scared. I may have left New York, but like Vale, I ended up in the same dangerous world.

“What are you thinking about?” Ras asks.

I search for the right words. Unlike Cleo, I’ve never had the urge to run away from this life. I’ve always accepted it as part of me.

But now I’m bringing a baby into it as well. An innocent being who doesn’t get a say.

I place my hand on top of Ras’s. “He or she will be born into all of this.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and I know he understands what I mean. “We’ll always keep our children safe,” he says.

Children. Ras likes to speak in plural as far as our future offspring are concerned, so damn sure that we’ll have more than one.

“And when they grow up?”

“We won’t force them into anything,” he says, smoothing his hand over my hair. “They’ll make their own choices. But you have to be ready for the possibility that they choose all this of their own free will.”

His words settle over my skin. He’s right, the possibility is there. We can’t control everything but we can control how we’ll raise our child. We’ll offer them a life filled with love, warmth, and acceptance. A life where they’ll always have a family to come back to no matter what path they choose.

This world can be seductive. Its darkness has a unique allure that pulls people in.

But, even in that darkness, there’s light.

Bright, and warm, and beautiful.

I snuggle up to Ras.

For me, that light is him.

THE END