Page 227 of Rosetti Family New York
My heart is a drum. My pulse is a live wire. I don’t know what to expect, but I know I won’t forget it.
Il Lusso. I’ve heard of this place, but I never thought I’d set foot inside. The entrance alone is enough to make my jaw drop. Massive glass doors. Velvet rope. A line that wraps around thebuilding and disappears into the night. But Rafe breezes past it all, taking my hand and leading me straight to the front.
“This is the kind of joint you belong in,” he says, looking smug as hell.
“If you say so,” I reply, my voice a bit shaky.
Inside, it’s even more jaw-dropping. Dim lights and dark marble floors. Chandeliers that look like they cost more than a house. People who look like they own entire blocks of the city, sipping expensive drinks and whispering about things I probably shouldn’t hear.
I tighten my grip on Rafe’s arm, and he leans down, brushing his lips against my ear.
“Still think you’re a bad fit?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep it cool.
“I’m not sure this is me,” I say, glancing at all the women in dresses that probably cost more than I’ll make in a year.
“They’re not you,” he says, tilting my chin up with his finger. “They wish they were.”
He leads me through the opulence, and I sense that everyone’s watching us, wondering who I am. Wondering if I belong.
“Domenico!”
A woman’s voice cuts through the noise. A striking woman with dark black hair in a style that defies gravity, possibly the most elegant person I’ve ever seen, loop her arm around a man who must be one of Rafe’s brothers, the one I haven’t met yet.
“Ignore them,” Rafe murmurs, but he must know that’s impossible.
The man turns, and I’m sure of it now. It’s Domenico, the oldest Rosetti. The one who looks like he’s carved from stone. His green eyes narrow in on us.
“Rafe,” Domenico says as we reach them, the single word carrying the weight of a command.
“Dom,” Rafe says, nodding. “Besiana.”
Besiana’s smile is warm, but there’s something sharp in her eyes, like she’s figuring out a complex puzzle. She takes in Rafe, then me, then Rafe again. She’s stunning, even more so up close. Her clothes are impeccable. The green of her eyes is even more striking. It makes me glad of my designer dress and aware of the impact an outfit can have on others. Hers is a damn suit of armor.
“You must be Sloane,” she says, not waiting for an introduction.
“That’s me,” I say, trying not to sound like I’ve lost my mind. “And you must be wondering what I’m doing here.”
Domenico’s lips twitch, the closest I think I’ll ever see to a smile on him.
Rafe cuts in.
“Heard anything about the Red Hooks, Dom?”
“Quiet,” Domenico replies. “You might get lucky and they’ll wipe themselves out.”
“Unless we help them along,” Besiana adds, her voice smooth and easy.
I detect a sexy lilt of a foreign accent. She fits in perfectly here, like she was born in rivers of gold and raised in smoke and secrecy, which makes me feel even more out of my depth.
Domenico’s eyes narrow further, his version of a scowl.
“We don’t need to intervene,” he says.
“It was a joke, Domenico,” Besiana says, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I think Sloane got it.”
It hits me that she’s the only other woman in a conversation full of Rosettis, and she doesn’t look the least bit out of place. She looks right at home.
