Page 252 of Rosetti Family New York
Emilio smirks and looks down at the toddler.
“Say ‘Uncle Rafe is whipped.’ Go on, say it.”
“You say that,” I tell the kid, “and I’m feeding you anchovies for a week.”
I can almost taste the salt.
Everyone laughs. Including Sloane. Her shoulders loosen. Her smile softens. And something punches me in the chest because this, this noise, this table, this life, it wasn’t supposed to be for her.
And now I don’t want it without her.
Sloane turns back to Nanna, and I have to strain to hear her over the hum of conversation.
“Does it ever get… easier?” she asks. “Belonging somewhere like this?”
Nanna Toni flips a steak, then nods.
“No. But it gets harder to leave. That’s how you know it’s real.”
Sloane stares into the pot like it might hold the answer to something bigger. My throat tightens. I want to say something. I don’t.
Instead, I just stand there, feeling the gravity shift under my feet. The kind of shift you don’t walk back from.
"Carmela's doing wonders with the nightclub expansion," Dom notes, passing a plate. "Revenue's up thirty percent since she took over management."
"The alcohol import licenses helped," Carmela replies with a modest smile. "And the deal with the Russians for premium vodka cut our costs in half."
Leonardo raises his glass. "To my sister—best money launderer since our grandfather."
"And to Emilio," Matteo adds, "for keeping the NYPD's cybercrime unit chasing their tails while we modernize our betting platforms."
Nanna Toni gives a knowing nod. "Your father would be proud. Each of you managing your territories exactly as a Rosetti should."
It feels like an ordinary family moment. Then Sloane’s phone buzzes.
The sound slices through the warmth like a blade. She wipes her hands on a dish towel, checks the screen, and her expression flattens instantly.
“What is it?” I ask, already moving toward her.
She turns the screen to face me.
Text from Lucas: We need to talk. Now. Alone.
And just like that, the warmth turns into ash in my mouth.
I meet her eyes, and I already know what comes next. We’re going. Together. And if Lucas thinks he’s going to break her with whatever’s waiting at the other end of that message, he’s forgotten exactly whose family she just earned her place in.
29
Sloane
The skyline's teeth rise against the New York night. As soon as we squeak open the heavy fire door to the rooftop of my old apartment building, I see Lucas, small and desperate, waiting for me. Rafe stands beside me, gripping my hand as a breeze rakes my arms, slips under my collar. I think of what it would be like to fall.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I step onto the gravel-scattered rooftop. I've been dreading this meeting since Lucas texted, his message cryptic but urgent: We need to talk. Now. Alone. Something in those words made my stomach twist. Lucas has never been the dramatic type—that was always Maddy's role in our little trio.
I take a deep breath, memories flooding back. Lucas teaching me how to play poker during those endless summer nights in his parents' garage. Lucas holding my hand at Maddy's sixteenth birthday when I had a panic attack. Lucas and I huddled together at her funeral, our shared grief a bridge between us when words failed. We've been friends for so long that confronting him like this feels like confronting a part of myself.
Lucas doesn't hear us at first, pacing, running his hands through his hair like he's losing his mind. But then he stops. He sees us. My heart slams hard. It slams hard, then shatters.
