Page 141 of Rosetti Family New York
I signal for Matteo and Emilio to follow as I push forward. Matteo goes low, Emilio goes high, and I take the middle. I fire as I go, aiming for anything that moves.
The Albanians don’t know what hit them.
Rafe’s on the balcony, Leo’s closing in from the entrance. The bastards have nowhere to go.
The theater's not so cold anymore. It’s filled with sweat and the smell of gunpowder. Blood and bodies, too. We’re closing in. Then I hear it: A few shouted words in Albanian. The smart ones decide to live.
Suddenly, a deafening blast rings out, shaking the theater to its core. I'm thrown off my feet and land hard on the marble floor. The world blurs as dust and smoke fill the air. My ears ring, but through the haze, I hear shouts and screams — the unmistakable sounds of panic.
"Dom!" Rafe's voice cuts through the chaos.
I try to respond, but the air is knocked out of my lungs. I cough violently, tasting blood. My side throbs with a new intensity.
"What the fuck was that?" Leo's voice this time, sounding too distant.
The smoke clears slowly, revealing a sight that freezes my blood. The theater is in ruins — parts of the ceiling have collapsed, blocking the exits. Some Albanians are pinned underneath debris, but others are using the confusion to regroup and retaliate.
My men... our men, are caught off guard. We're exposed and outnumbered now. If we survive this, it will be a fucking miracle.
Amid the smoke and dust, a figure emerges from the back door. A slim silhouette in a long coat. Besiana. My heart lurches as I watch her stride forward with an eerie calmness that doesn't belong on this battlefield.
She stops at a fallen Albanian and bends down, pulling a gun from his lifeless grip. She straightens up and surveys the chaos unfolding before her, her pale green eyes unreadable.
Amid this madness, time seems to slow down. I can see every detail etched on her face; the curve of her cheekbone, the way her hair falls over one eye, the panic she’s trying so hard to suppress.
A chill of uncertainty crawls up my spine. She's Dushku's daughter, his most prized weapon. But she's also been living with us. All this time we've been playing cat and mouse with trust...and I have no idea which side her allegiance truly lies on now.
As she steps into the light cast by a small fire, her gaze locks onto mine. There's no warmth there. She raises her gun.
30
Besiana
The theater is a battlefield.
The roof is gone.
Rubble and dust rain down like ash, gunfire echoing off stone and broken iron. Spotlights flicker wildly through the smoke, casting shadows.
I step through the side entrance of the ruined theater, feeling as though I’m walking into the underworld.
My gaze finds Domenico, drawn to him like an iron filing to a magnet. He is bleeding from a wound to his side and from his ear, but he is alive, thank God. He is cornered, pinned behind the crumbling remains of a column, two guns trained on him from above.
Rosetti blood stains the floor.
And then there's Adrian. My father. Standing at center stage, calm as ever, like the violence was scripted and he’s just waiting for applause.
Adrian’s eyes find mine, cutting through the smoke and ruin. He stands unmoved in the chaos, as if he expected me all along, as if this theater of war is nothing more than a predictable act.I almost hear the gears turning in his mind, and it thrills him. More blood, more betrayal—it’s the story he always wanted. He shows no shock, no fear.
“You came home,” he calls out with that familiar, unflinching confidence.
“No.” The defiance I’ve hidden for years breaks free, raw and powerful. “I came to end this.”
Dom sees me. Our eyes lock. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lower his weapon. But more importantly—he doesn’t lift it toward me either.
He’s waiting. Watching.Wondering.
Am I here to finish what my father started?
