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

I’m lying on the bed, staring at the chandelier hanging above my head.

My cock is hard. Weeping. I take it into my fist, close my eyes, and give it a few pumps as my imagination goes back to that car.

Her gasps. The way she clenched her thighs around my ears. Her earthy juices dripping into my mouth and soaking my beard. I can still smell them now.

I wanted to fuck her until she forgot her own name, but I didn’t even let her touch me.

Why, you fucking fool?

Because the only thing she wanted from me was a release. A distraction from the bad news she’d received.

And I’m starting to realize I want a hell of a lot more.

I speed up, eager to get it done with and get her out of my head. I don’t want to drag this out.

This fucking need.

Cazzo. I haven’t been this bad over a girl since Sara. Even that feels like nothing in comparison to the fire blazing inside my chest.

I reach inside the pocket of my sweats and pull out a lacy piece of barely there fabric. Her ripped thong. What would she think if she saw me right now? Pressing my nose into her underwear while my balls tighten and my cock gets ready to blow? Would she get on her knees in front of me and beg for a taste?

My eyes squeeze shut, and I come on my stomach. The orgasm wrecks me, just like it always does when I’m thinking of her.

I prowl into the shower, eager to clear my damn head. The news about Garzolo’s succession plan was not what I’d been expecting when Gemma texted me to meet her.

I already knew he was a piece of shit, but this takes the cake. Does the man care about anything but his own damn hide?

When Gemma started questioning her marriage, I felt the kind of hope I haven’t felt in a long fucking time. I’m not a religious man, but in that moment, I swear I heard angels sing.

But then she walked it right back. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I was about to offer to get her out of New York on the next flight out, forgetting that it’s not my call to make. It’s Dem’s.

I send him a text, telling him to call me when he can, and then I drift in and out of sleep for the next few hours.

Dem calls around six am.

“Anything from Orrin?” he asks.

I haul my tired body out of bed and collapse in the wingback chair by the window. It’s snowing again. When will this shit end? The driveway is blanked in white.

“No, but I’ve got information from somewhere else.”

I recount what Gemma told me.

There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line. “This just got a lot more interesting.”

“Interesting? This is a clusterfuck.”

“Both can be true at the same time. Now it’s clear what both sides are getting out of this alliance.”

“Messero’s done pretty damn well for himself,” I mutter. A wife, control of another clan, and a long-term deal with us, brokered by Garzolo. “Fuck him. We should call off our deal. This is the kind of information they should have coughed up when we met.”

“Sounds like we still have five years left to deal with Garzolo. They would have told us eventually. Probably when the indictment goes out. Any sense of the potential timing on that?”

“No idea. I’ll talk to Orrin, see if he’s got anything. It might be imminent for all we know.”

“The balance of power has shifted. Our deal ensures we have a line to Messero, who’s now on track to become the most significant player in New York in five years.”

I fucking hate the sound of that. “If Gemma doesn’t marry him, his succession might fall through.”

There’s a drawn-out pause. “Is that what she’s thinking? Does she want to call off the wedding?”

I rub my forehead. “No. She’s confused, and she doesn’t fully understand her brother’s position in all of this. I think if Vince told her not to marry Rafaele, she’d try to get herself out of it, but if her brother actually doesn’t want the gig, and her father gets put behind bars with no clear successor, her family will fall into chaos. She doesn’t know what to do.”

And frankly, I don’t either. It’s like we’ve lit a spotlight on a corner of a chessboard, and most of the pieces are invisible.

“I’ll ask Vale to get in contact with Vince. See what she can find out,” Dem says.

“Good idea.”

“So Gemma told you all of this?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It was a shock to her and Cleo. Gemma thought she’s marrying Rafaele to protect her family from some unknown threat. Garzolo misled her. When she realized he’s doing it for his own benefit, she was upset. She needed someone to talk to.”

There’s another long pause. “And out of everyone, she chose to talk to you?”

Apprehension slips inside my veins at the suspicion in his tone. “She did.”

“Ras, did something happen between you two?”

I should tell him the truth.

I want her.

I feel something for her.

She’s got a rope wrapped around my heart, and when she tugs on it, I can’t do anything but follow.

I can’t say any of those things.

The situation has gotten complicated, but one thing is clear. She’s still engaged to a man Dem does not want me making into our enemy.

He’ll tell me to keep my fucking distance. He’s my don, and I’ll have to obey him.

So I lie. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I lied to him. “Nothing happened.”

“All right,” he says, and from the way he says it, I can tell that he believes me. “Good work with all of this. If you hear more rumblings about the FBI and Garzolo, I want you to get out of there. We don’t know what timeline we’re working with, and there’s no need for us to get involved in any mess. It sounds like if Garzolo is taken out of commission, Messero will be capable of holding up their end of the deal, which is all we care about. In fact, I’m not sure if there’s any reason for you to stay there any longer.”

Ice spreads through my lungs.

No fucking way. I can’t leave now. “Let me stay and find out more. What if Messero is implicated in all of this? He might think he has the FBI in his pocket, but it wouldn’t be the first time a don has overplayed his hand.”

“All right. Let’s give it a bit more time,” he concedes.

Relief floods me. “I’ll call if anything new comes up.”

At breakfast, I find out that Pietra is taking Gemma and Cleo with her to their house in the Hamptons for the next two days.

I try to convince myself it’s a good thing, because it’ll give Gemma time to talk to her brother and process things, but there’s a pang of disappointment low inside my gut.

Right before they’re due to leave, Gemma finds me in the kitchen. The cook is prepping ingredients, but Gemma gives her a pointed look, and the woman quickly excuses herself to go outside for a cigarette.

I lean against the counter and drag my gaze over her form.

Tight leggings. A T-shirt with a wide neck that falls off one shoulder. A glimpse of a black sports bra beneath.

She’s not dressed to impress anyone, and yet she’s fucking gorgeous. I wasn’t lying when I called her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

I’m going half mad over her, and I don’t even know how she feels about me.

Was it me she wanted last night? Or did she just want a willing participant in her fantasy, and I was the most convenient option?

I haven’t missed how things have warmed between us since Ibiza, but last night was the first time she took the initiative and came to me. And for all I know, it was a one-time fluke.

If it was, that would be a good thing. I’m supposed to stay away from her. That’s what Dem wants me to do, and he’s my don. We didn’t fuck. She’s still probably marrying that cocksucker. She’s still entirely out of my reach.

Tell me last night meant nothing. That it was a mistake.

If she says those words to me, I swear I’ll leave her alone.

I’ll wrap up my business here, go home, and probably spend the rest of my nights thinking of her while staring at my bedroom ceiling, but I’ll manage.

Somehow, I’ll manage.

She glances at me from beneath her lashes and awkwardly shifts in place. “I wanted to say bye in person.” Her voice is husky. Raw.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“That’s…” I take a sip of coffee, looking for the right words. “That’s nice of you.” I sound like a fucking moron.

She bites down on her lip. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just…last night was…”

I brace myself for what’s coming. She’s going to say it was a mistake.

“It was incredible. And confusing.”

Fireworks explode inside my chest. I file the incredible away, and ask, “Confusing… How?”

Pink spreads over her cheeks. “I wish you’d let me touch you. I wanted to touch you.” She glances away.

Fuck.

“Peaches,” I say brokenly. I put my cup down, walk over to her, and lift her chin up with my knuckle, forcing her to look at me. She sucks in a tiny breath, her eyes wide and a little shy.

She’s not lying.

And it’s not just lust shining in her eyes.

Something tender flashes within them, and it makes my breath catch. We’re standing still, but my heart feels like it’s soaring.

It’s not just me. She feels something too.

She moves first, bringing her hand to my chest.

I back her against the counter, my arms caging her in on both sides. She shoots a look over my shoulder but doesn’t tell me to stop.

Her fingertips trace a light path over my abdomen and then drift lower.

I’m already hard. It doesn’t take much with her.

She cups my erection.

I swallow down a groan.

Why the fuck is she leaving for two whole days?

And how much trouble would I be in if I crash every single one of Garzolo’s cars to keep her here?

“I wanted to make you come,” she whispers. “I’ve never made a man come before.”

I press my lips just below her ear. “Trust me, you did.”

She shivers when she realizes what I mean. “When?”

“Last night after I got back to my room,” I growl, “and every fucking night since I arrived here. Do you know what it’s like watching your tight little ass prance around me? Or smelling your scent in the air whenever I leave my room?” I roll my hips against her. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

She gasps and slips her hand inside my jeans.

The moment her palm wraps around my cock, I nearly keel over. When she pumps it up and down, I feel like I’ve made it into heaven.

We’re in the kitchen, where anyone can walk in on us, and I’m losing my mind over a hand job.

A door closes loudly in the distance, and we break apart.

Fucking fuck.

This is torture.

She’s breathing hard as she watches me adjust myself, her eyes glazed over and hungry. Just knowing that I’d find a whole lot of wet if I reached inside her panties right now makes my pre-cum leak out.

She backs away slowly, her gaze locked with mine. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t want to stop.”

I must be losing my mind, because although I’ve just spent all morning convincing myself what a bad idea this is, I still say, “Me neither.”

“Gemma!” her mother calls out from a few rooms down. “We’re leaving!”

“I have to go,” she says. As she moves past me, our fingers twine together for a split second, and then she’s gone.