Page 293 of Rosetti Family New York
"Where are we?" I ask, my voice scratchy from sleep.
"I brought you somewhere safe," he replies, moving smoothly into the room. "You fell asleep in the car. I didn't want to wake you."
"So you carried me here." It's not really a question. I can picture him lifting me while I slept, bringing me to this place he's set up.
"You needed rest. Real rest, not the alert, half-sleep you’ve been relying on."
His gentle comment cuts close to the truth. When was the last time I slept without listening for footsteps, without my hand near a weapon?
"Where am I?" I step away from the windows, needing space from his magnetic presence and attention that makes my skin tingle with sensitivity despite my anger.
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't reach you."
"That's not an answer."
"Manhattan. Central Park."
"Can I have a key?" I cock out a hip, already anticipating his answer,
"You can have safety," he says.
"Again, that's not an answer,"
"It's the only answer you need. Security protocol." He stands tall, moving into the room with a graceful, predatory air that makes me keenly aware of every exit, every potential weapon, every escape route in this luxurious prison.
His clinical detachment, like I'm just an asset to be handled instead of a person, sends chills through me. This isn't the man who comforted me while I grieved. This is the Ghost, calculating and controlled, turning human issues into manageable variables.
"Security protocol," I repeat, letting the venom show. "And how long does this 'protocol' last? Until the Callahan threat is gone? Until you decide I’m safe enough to make my own choices again?"
"Until you stop trying to get yourself killed through stubborn independence."
The casual arrogance, assuming my survival depends solely on him, makes anger surge through me. I've survived impossible situations, navigated European criminal networks, and stayed alive while serving a monster. But he thinks I need protecting like some helpless civilian.
"I've been keeping myself alive just fine," I retort, moving toward what seems to be a sitting area. If this is going to be an interrogation, I won't do it standing like a supplicant.
"Have you?" His voice is dangerously calm as he follows, keeping a precise distance that allows him to reach me but doesn't trap me. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you were about to be eliminated by professional killers until I intervened."
The reminder of how close I came to death last night makes my stomach tighten, but I suppress the fear. Showing weakness now would be a mistake. "And your solution is to lock me in a tower like some fairy tale princess?"
"My solution is to keep you breathing long enough to appreciate the effort."
I settle into a chair by the bed, the leather soft under my trembling hands. The shakes are getting worse, either from whatever he used or adrenaline needing an outlet. Either way, I hate that he can see my vulnerability.
"This isn't protection, Emilio. This is possession."
His expression remains unchanged, but something flickers in his gray eyes, satisfaction quickly hidden, the predator pleased his prey finally understands the game.
"The two aren't mutually exclusive," he says simply.
The honesty cuts deeper than deflection would have. At least he's not pretending this is purely altruistic, that my welfare matters more than his need to control everything in my life.
"You can't keep me here against my will."
"Can't I?" He asks, genuinely curious about my thoughts on his abilities rather than feeling threatened by my defiance. "What exactly do you think is stopping me?"
I examine his face for any signs of bluff, any hint that he's just testing me rather than being serious. But the Ghost doesn't bluff.
"The law, for starters."
