Page 275 of Rosetti Family New York
I approach cautiously, scanning for any movement in the shadows. The envelope isn't sealed. Inside is a note in her familiar handwriting:
Not yet. They're watching both of us now. When the time is right, I'll find you. Or you'll find me. You always do. —M.V.
I stare at the words, disappointment and relief warring within me. She knew I would come. Knew I wouldn't be able to resist.
The flame of the candle flickers, casting shadows across the paper. I fold it carefully, slipping it into my pocket, already memorizing every curve of her handwriting.
My phone vibrates. A message from Domenico:
Too late. Warehouse hit. Leo injured. Get back here NOW.
Guilt surges through me. I should have been there. Should have put family first.
I extinguish the candle and move quickly back to my motorcycle. The war has begun, and I've already failed my first test of loyalty.
But as I race back toward the mansion, toward my family, Mara's note burns in my pocket like a promise. Or a threat.
When the time is right, I'll find you.
She's playing with me. Has been for years. This elaborate dance of predator and prey, roles constantly reversing. Watching. Waiting. Wondering who would break first.
I push the bike faster, the wind whipping at my face, but my mind remains in that café, with the ghost of a woman who betrayed everything I stood for. The woman I've never been able to let go.
The woman I'll continue watching, hunting, wanting. Until the end.
As the mansion comes into view, lights blazing, security on high alert, I make myself a promise. I will find her. Will make her explain why she left, why she's working for Chase, and why she warned me.
I will find her, and when I do, I won't let her disappear again.
The war with the Callahans may be inevitable. My brothers may need me now more than ever.
But this, this obsession, this hunt, is mine alone.
And I've never been one to lose.
Feral Lust
Pia Sinclair
1
Mara
The March wind cuts through my coat as I walk down Madison Avenue, each step taking me deeper into territory that should feel familiar but instead feels like a trap closing around me. Three years away from New York, and returning feels like stepping back into a life that no longer fits, full of shadows that could hide the consequences of choices I can't take back.
I pause at a crosswalk, ostensibly checking my phone, but really scanning the reflection in the storefront window behind me. The same man in the charcoal coat has been three blocks back since I left the hotel. Not close enough to be obvious, not distant enough to be coincidence.
Someone is following me. Chase's people, most likely. Making sure I keep this appointment instead of running like every instinct screams at me to do.
My pulse quickens as I remember the message I sent yesterday.Pier 17. Tonight. Chase wants blood. —E.M.Words that could cost me everything, but I couldn't let LeonardoRosetti die in an ambush without warning. Couldn't let innocent guards become casualties in Chase Callahan's war.
Even knowing it would expose my divided loyalties. Even knowing Chase would find out.
The prickle between my shoulder blades intensifies as I turn down 72nd Street. Somewhere in this city's digital arteries, Emilio is present. He knows I'm back in New York, knows I was the one who tipped him off. The thought of facing him again after what I did, after how I left, makes my chest tight with something between longing and terror.
I force the thought away. One crisis at a time.
The café Chase selected sits on the corner of 74th and Lexington, intimate enough for private conversation but public enough to discourage the kind of violence I'm afraid this meeting might provoke. Through the windows, I spot him immediately, silver hair perfectly styled, an expensive suit that whispers rather than shouts wealth, and a posture that commands attention even while seated.
