Page 125 of Rosetti Family New York
"Suspected, but never knew for sure. He said it was an illness. He said so many things." Her voice cracks, and I tighten my arms around her.
I try to keep it measured. I try not to make this worse for her. "And now?"
Her breathing is unsteady. I count the rise and fall of her chest. "Now I know," she whispers, and her tears wet my shirt. "She was going to run. Take me and Dritan and run."
Her brother. "Oh, Besa."
She shakes her head. She won't let me stop her now. "She was going to run," she repeats. "And he killed her for it."
"Besi—"
She won't let me stop her now. She clutches my arms like I'm the only thing keeping her in one piece, like I'm the only one who can. "A few months later, Dritan was gone too. My father always said broken bones mend more easily than broken loyalty."
"And now?" My own voice is a wound, raw and bleeding.
"And now I know," she sobs. "Now I know he was the one who killed my brother. Killed them both."
I don't say anything, not until I can find the right words, the kind that won't hurt her the way I already have. I hold her tighter than I should, tighter than I ever thought I'd hold anyone. I runa hand down her back, gently, and I'm losing myself in the only thing I want right now. Her.
I whisper it, soft, softer than I've ever been. "I'm sorry."
My skin is on fire where it touches hers, and I wish I could take all the hurt from her and keep it for myself.
"You don't have to be," she says.
But I am.
"I was going to make you suffer. I thought you ran to him. I accused you of spying for him."
She shakes when I say that, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. It's the kind of tremor that gets under my skin and stays there. Her body trembles, and I can't hold her close enough to stop it. I know it isn't anger this time, but something so much worse. She lets out a breath that sounds like it's been trapped inside her for years.
I am the one who breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes meet mine, and it's all I can do to not let her see me break for her. I don't want to be the man she needs. I don't want to be this man who cares, this man who cannot let go. But here I am, doing exactly that. I cup her face and kiss her, tasting the salt of her tears, and I make her a promise I should have made from the start.
"I'm going to kill him."
She stiffens at the words, and my gut twists, because I've misread her. But I see it then, the flicker of relief in her eyes before the tears return.
"You can't," she says. "He's too powerful. He's too—"
"I will."
"Domenico."
"I will." And I mean it more than I have ever meant anything.
Her eyes close. The tension eases out of her like she's just finished the longest fight of her life. She melts against me, no longer shaking.
"You have to be careful," she murmurs, soft as a lullaby, and it wrecks me to hear her thinking of me after all that's happened. "Promise me."
"I promise you," I say. I hope it's enough, enough to fill the emptiness between us, enough to not let her see the lie in it. I will never be careful. Not with her. Not with anything.
I slip my shirt off over my head and drape it over her naked body. I tuck her close, tighter, and she curls against me, her limbs against my chest, like I'm her shelter from this storm. I am. I'll make damn sure of it.
I sit with her until her breathing grows slow and even. I sit with her until she is asleep, her hand still clutching at my chest like she thinks I'll be gone if she lets go. But I won't. I'm hers to keep.
