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

Last night was a fucking shitshow, and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s lived nearly a decade in Ibiza.

I couldn’t get the image of Gemma’s tear-stained face out of my head all night. She left her seat as soon as I returned to dinner, like she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I oscillated for a while between going after her to say I’m sorry or giving her space. In the end, I chose the latter.

I didn’t want to risk ruining the rest of her night.

She’d been trying to enjoy her time here. The thought of her coming here hopeful and excited, only to have everyone shove her engagement in her face made my chest ache.

I left the party early, passed out on a bed in one of Dem’s guestrooms with my clothes still on, and dreamt of terrible things.

Now, it’s late morning, and Messero’s just arrived.

The fact that I think I’d enjoy putting a bullet in his head doesn’t bode well for our meeting, but I have to put my feelings aside, because Dem’s counting on me.

This deal with Garzolo is important. It’s our first time working with Americans. Camorra’s influence is widespread throughout Europe, but none of the clans have managed to make inroads in the US in recent years. If Damiano and I can make this partnership work, it will go a long way to cement his position as our leader.

So as much as I hate it, Garzolo and Messero have leverage over us. We want to make this work, but we have to be careful not to come off as too eager.

Let them think they need us more than we need them. It’s probably true anyway.

I take a spare suit jacket out of the closet, slip it on, and head downstairs.

Thank fuck Messero and his crew aren’t shacking up with us. They’re at a five-star hotel fifteen minutes away, and they’re only around for two days.

I can handle myself around him for two days.

In the living room, Dem and Garzolo are talking to two other men.

One is the size of a grizzly bear. The other man is tall and slim, with sharp features and a cold gaze that seems to pierce right through me when our eyes meet.

“Ras, this is Rafaele Messero,” Damiano says. “And this is his consigliere, Nero De Luca.”

We shake hands. Messero’s slightly shorter than me, but he carries himself with the confidence of a man who knows he’s in charge. No one would mistake him for a foot soldier.

My gun grows heavy in its holster.

Before I do something really fucking stupid, I clench my jaw and step away.

Dem leads us outside for a tour. It’s a nice day, perfect for a swim. I glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gemma somewhere by the pool or in the garden, but I don’t find her.

Nero falls in step with me, an easygoing grin playing on his lips. “We finally made it to Ibiza, and we won’t have any time to go see your boss’s clubs. It’s a damn shame.”

As someone who’s used to being the biggest guy in the room, it’s somewhat disconcerting to have him peer down his nose at me.

But there are downsides to being that size.

There’s a lot of surface area to hit.

“You’re welcome to come back anytime,” I say to him.

He tips his chin down. “That’s very generous. You and De Rossi built this island empire together? You were isolated out here. How did you manage to do it?”

Dem, Garzolo, and Messero are ahead of us, far enough where we can’t quite hear their conversation, but I can see that Messero’s keeping his mouth mostly shut.

Maybe because he’s got nothing clever to say.

I get the feeling Nero talks enough for two of them anyway.

“Slowly. Our clan already owned two clubs when we arrived, but they were being terribly mismanaged. Damiano took over, made them earn, and then used the profits to invest back into the business.”

“It’s impressive that he came here as a newly minted capo and developed a territory to this extent. Were you made when you arrived?”

“I was not. Back in Napoli, I wasn’t exactly on the path for it.” I was too busy spending my days and nights drinking in my dark apartment, thinking about Sara, and wishing Nunzio was dead. “It took me a couple years to earn it. In the Casalesi, your bloodline only puts you in the running, but to get made, you have to show that you can be a real asset to the clan and earn. I was twenty-three when Damiano called the meeting.”

“Hmm.” Nero pulls out a small metal box of cigarettes and offers me one. “We do it differently. For us, becoming made means showing that when you find yourself in a situation with only one way out, you have what it takes to do the hard thing.”

The willingness and ability to kill for your family.

We halt for a moment to light up.

“You take your traditions seriously,” I tell him over the flame of my lighter. “That’s how it used to be done many decades ago for us as well.”

“Traditions are important to the Messeros.”

I inhale on the cig. “For us, that particular criteria didn’t prove to be enough. Our clan wouldn’t be what it is today if all we had were fighters. We have enough of those. To be made, you have to show you’ve also got a mind for business, something that’s far more rare than brute force.”

The insult isn’t buried too deep, but Nero laughs it off and blows out a puff of smoke. “Then I’m even more excited about working with the famed Casalesi. I’m sure Garzolo already told you we’re here to talk about expanding our partnership. We’re delighted to be attending De Rossi’s wedding.

“It might not be taking place in one of Damiano’s clubs, but I can guarantee it will be a good party.”

“I love a good party. Next time you’re in New York, make sure to get in touch. I’ll return the favor.”

He’s laying it on thick, but I’m not fooled by the friendly giant act. This man wouldn’t be a consigliere if he wasn’t clever as hell.

I have to stay on guard.

“I will. Although, I doubt I’ll be there anytime soon. Things are busy here and back in Italy.”

“Of course. I remember what it was like when Rafe took over the family after his father’s death. There was a lot of work to do in the months that followed.”

“Must have been a big adjustment going from a made man to a don. Damiano’s been a capo for a decade, so he’s had time to earn the respect of our clan. That helps.”

We stop at the edge of the cliff to admire the view. Messero’s got his hands in his pockets, his expression a neutral mask. I take the opportunity to size him up. His features are sharp. Polished. There’s something vulture-like in how he carries himself.

Nero puffs on his cigarette. “Not really. Rafaele’s been preparing for this job his whole life. He earned everyone’s respect a long time ago. After all, he got made at thirteen.”

Fuck, that’s young.

I think back to the folder Napoletano shared with us a while back. Inside were all of Messero’s known crimes, business deals, alliances, and enemies.

The last section was sparse.

Messero had killed most of them.

An hour later, the six of us spread out across the leather armchairs and sofa in Dem’s office. I offer everyone whiskey, and they all accept except Napoletano. He joined us after the tour, and there’s a distinct annoyed glimmer in his eyes at having been asked to step away from Mari for this meeting. They haven’t emerged from their bedroom all day, and the collar of Napoletano’s shirt doesn’t quite cover the hickeys peppering his thick neck. Dem noticed them when we first walked in and gave Napoletano a dirty look. He knows better than to say anything though. Mari might be his sister, but now she’s Napoletano’s wife.

“Should we get down to it then?” Nero throws out once the drinks have been poured. His gaze lands on Dem. “Your second delivery was a fraction of what we agreed on.”

Dem props an ankle across his thigh and settles into his chair, looking utterly at ease. “I took control less than four months ago. We’re still working out the kinks with the new supply route we established for the counterfeits.”

“Have they been worked out?” Nero asks.

Irritation prickles across my nape. That fucking tone. “We don’t report to you, so stop talking to us like we’re your fucking crew.”

Nero lifts his palms up. “I wouldn’t dream of it. No disrespect, fellas. We’ve stumbled onto a good thing here, and it’s in both of our interests to get the cash flowing.”

“Indeed,” Damiano says, his gaze moving to Garzolo. “How much product can you move in the next six months?”

Garzolo takes a swig of his drink and glances at Messero. “That’s a question for Rafaele.”

I make a note of that. Interesting. So Messero’s crew is handling most of the distribution? What’s Garzolo’s role in all this then? We’d been operating under the assumption that he and Messero were splitting things fifty-fifty back in New York.

Messero is slow to answer. Clearly, he’s in no fucking rush. “We have a network of retailers across the East Coast with an eager clientele. The first month you sent us one million worth of merchandise. We could sell five times that.”

My eyes widen as I do the math in my head. Given our terms, this operation could bring in two and half mil per month. Jesus. After expenses, we’d be left with a two million profit each month.

This is a bigger opportunity than we were expecting.

Dem gives me a look that communicates he’s thinking along the same lines.

“We can ramp up production next month,” he says.

Messero swirls his whiskey. “How much?”

“Three million worth of premium leather goods, that includes shoes, purses, and accessories.”

“The quality?”

“Indistinguishable from the real thing. We forge the authenticity certificates too,” I say. “Every now and then, we send someone to the boutiques to ask for authenticity checks. They rarely fail. You won’t find any replicas better. Even the top-of-the-line Chinese factories don’t come close. Some of our factory managers have worked for the actual brands in the past, so they know exactly what to look for.”

Nero’s brows lift. “Impressive.”

“Three million won’t be a problem, but to get to five, we’ll need to build a new factory,” Damiano says. “It’s a large investment on our part. We’ll want to get more comfortable with the terms and discuss guarantees before we take that step.”

“We’re about to become family,” Nero says with a grin. “What other guarantees do you need?”

Damiano stares at him over the rim of his glass. “We aren’t family yet. Perhaps we wait until Rafaele and Gemma are officially wed.”

My posture stiffens.

I was doing decently well with putting Gemma out of my mind, but now everything comes flooding back.

The way her lips felt against my own is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Fuck. I still need to apologize.

Kissing her was a mistake.

The bigger mistake has been allowing myself to get fixated on her.

Yes, she’s beautiful. I’m wildly attracted to her. I would have loved to do something about that attraction if circumstances had been different, but that’s not the hand I’ve been dealt.

She’s engaged. Spoken for.

She clearly hates my guts.

I need to stop being an ass and leave her alone.

I also need to stop worrying about her like she’s my damn problem to solve. It fucking sucks that she has to marry this asshole, but she’s an adult.

If she needs help, she’s got Vale to turn to. Otherwise, she’s responsible for her own life choices.

Rafaele pins me with his gaze, as if some part of him senses I’m thinking about his fiancée.

I scowl. “When is the wedding?”

“Soon,” Garzolo answers quickly.

“Is the date set?” Damiano asks.

Rafaele places his tumbler on the coffee table with a soft clink. “March sixth.”

That’s about five weeks from now. A heavy weight solidifies inside my gut, but I ignore it.

“Then let’s settle on three million for now and discuss how we can get comfortable with five after the wedding,” Damiano says.

Nero finishes off his drink. “We’ll see you there, won’t we? I don’t imagine your wife will want to miss her sister’s nuptials.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Dem says.

My hand tightens around my glass. Great. Just great. That means I’m going too. Seeing Gemma walk down the aisle to this bastard is something I could definitely live without.

“Well, sounds like we’ve got it all worked out,” Nero says. “Is there anything else we should discuss? You’ve brought us out to paradise, De Rossi. Nothing would make me happier than a few hours to enjoy it.”

“What about the other family?” Napoletano asks.

Everyone turns to look at him. He’s been even more silent than Messero though all this, standing in the corner and observing us all.

“The one that used to run counterfeits before in New York,” he says. “I don’t imagine they’re happy about you taking over their territory.”

“Didn’t I already say to all of you a few days ago that the Riccis are done?” Garzolo snaps.

Suspicion licks up my spine. This topic really sets Garzolo off.

He finishes off his drink and slams the glass on the table. “Rabid dogs, that fucking family. They need to be put down. But now that word’s gotten around that Rafaele and I are merging forces, they won’t try anything stupid.”

“We just want to be helpful,” I offer. “You’d tell us if you needed any assistance from us, right, Garzolo?”

His eyes narrow on me. “Assistance? Do I look like a man who needs assistance? You want to come to New York and see how I run things down there? You’re welcome to come any time.”

I glare at him. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

We end the meeting, exchanging handshakes so as not to end it on that terse note.

Once our guests leave, I turn to Dem. “All right, so what the fuck is going on here? If Garzolo’s sole value in this deal is to act as a broker between Messero and us, I don’t understand why we don’t just cut him out.”

“Because he’s family now.” Damiano drags his palm over his chin. “Maybe this is why he initiated the marriage between Messero and Gemma in the first place.”

“Messero isn’t stupid,” Napoletano says. “If all Garzolo had was his connection to Sal, and now to you, Messero wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage. No, Garzolo must have something else. Something Rafaele Messero wants.” He walks around the sofa and takes a seat at the end. “I overheard Gemma talking to Vale last night. She made it sound like Garzolo really needs this alliance. Like he’s weak without it.”

It’s an effort to keep my expression neutral since I overhead that conversation too.

Did Napoletano see Gemma and I in the kitchen afterwards?

I catch his eye, but he doesn’t react in any way that suggests he did.

“It’s possible,” Damiano mutters. “Let’s review what we know. Garzolo and Messero initially teamed up because the Riccis were getting too powerful in New York. The Riccis wanted to get their counterfeits supply from my predecessor, Sal, but Garzolo stepped in and tried to convince Sal to make the deal with him. When the Riccis found out, they went on the offensive against Garzolo.”

“Probably against Messero too,” I add.

“Right. So this alliance was borne out of Messero and Garzolo having a common enemy.”

“Who now appears to be neutralized, if Garzolo is to be believed.”

“If the marriage between Rafaele and Gemma doesn’t happen, the Riccis might decide to attack again,” Napoletano says.

“Garzolo said they were all but destroyed. Is he lying about the damage they did?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s possible. It would explain why Garzolo is all but sucking Messero’s dick right now. But Messero’s motives are unclear. Why sign up to protect Garzolo if the guy’s nothing but a middleman? He’s not pushing any of the product. If I were Messero, I’d call off the marriage, negotiate with Dem to do the deal between just the two of them, and let Ricci and Garzolo fight among themselves. There’s a good chance they’ll destroy each other, and Messero would come out on top.”

“We don’t know what’s going on in New York. Maybe Messero is having problems in other parts of his business.”

“I don’t like this,” Napoletano says. “I feel like we’re missing something. Something big.”

Damiano blows out a breath. “Do we need to concern ourselves with this? As long as they pay us on time, I don’t give a fuck what happens on their turf.”

Napoletano shakes his head. “If there are problems back in New York, this deal might turn to dust. It’s in our best interest to make sure things with our partners are stable. If we get to five million per month, our cut will add ten percent to our top line. That’s not insignificant.”

Damiano drums his fingertips along the armrest. “I hear you. Can you get more information about what’s happening on their side?”

“I have some contacts, but it will take time. And even then, I’m not sure if they’re close enough to the families to get the details we need.”

Dem rises and walks over to the window. “I need to think about how to proceed,” he says finally.

I observe my friend. We haven’t said it out loud, but we all know that there’s another layer to this whole thing. The fate of Vale’s sisters are intrinsically linked to that of their father.

And while Vale might be more than willing to turn her back on Stefano, she’ll never forgive Dem if her siblings become collateral damage in the process.