Page 197 of Rosetti Family New York
What will they do? I picture Ethan outside, issuing orders to his cronies. My pulse doubles. Panic twists my chest, but I can’t let it win. I press harder against the wall, feeling the cold bite into my shoulder blades.
Minutes stretch like chewing gum that never loses its tack. I stare at a crack in the linoleum flooring, counting the seconds. My wrists bleed, my thoughts blur, but I hold on.
Because that’s exactly what Maddy would do. And I have no choice but to keep going.
15
Rafaele
Family duty pounds into my head with every heartbeat. The air in Dad's old gym tastes like warm metal and sticky sweat. I inhale, and Domenico's fist cuts through it, sharp as lightning. I stay on my feet. He grins, and we start circling, brother versus brother, each of us waiting for an opening.
"Keep up, Rafe," he teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet like it's all a game.
I swing. My glove connects, and he stumbles back. He wipes at his mouth, red smudging on his knuckles. Feels good.
My jaw reminds me of his earlier shot—he's still smiling about that. Domenico is always happy to remind me who's older. I spit, tasting copper on my tongue.
The ring's empty, except for us. Above, beyond the ropes, I hear city life: engines humming, distant sirens. This place used to be a proper gym before Dom turned it into something less legitimate. Now it's a place for bare knuckles and blood.
"Dad says the councilman's getting nervous," Dom says between punches. "The development deal in Queens is drawing too much attention."
I block easily. "Tell him to use the construction unions as cover. That's what worked with the Hudson Yards project."
"Already handled. The union boss is on our monthly payroll now." Dom lands a blow to my side. "The police commissioner sends his regards, by the way. His daughter's wedding gift was... appreciated."
I smirk. "Good. We need him happy with the increase in activity since the Albanians moved into our territory last month."
Domenico lunges. He's sneaky-fast under that tailored-suit look he usually carries. I dodge, and his punch whispers past my shoulder. I love fighting here, in the heat, the dim light. It slices through everything else. Except today I can't focus. Her words loop in my head.
Sloane. She sounded like a dare when she hung up the phone this morning.
"Thanks for the support, Rafe," she'd said, dripping venom. She'd planned to meet Ethan Reyes alone despite my warnings. And now I can't shake the feeling I've made a critical error letting her go by herself.
Reyes. Red Hooks. A group of low-level thugs who'd slit their own mother's throat for the right price. And she thinks she can just walk in there and demand answers about her friend?
Domenico throws again. His eyes flick to my side and shift, but not fast enough. His fist lands in my gut. I double over, and the air whooshes out of me. He laughs. I glare up, icier than December.
"You're distracted," he says.
"Still standing," I snap.
"Not for long," he warns, nodding at the smooth cement floor slick with sweat.
He stops, his face turning serious.
"We need to talk about the books."
We both reach for water bottles. My breath's still jagged as I twist off the cap. The cold water is a relief against my raw throat.
"You think it's one of our guys?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Still checking it out," I say.
I can't name Old Man Callahan without proof. No sense starting a turf war over rumors.
"Fix it, Rafe," Domenico says softly.
