Page 346 of Rosetti Family New York
The first contractor pulls back his jacket, showing a black gun that catches the afternoon sun through the big windows. The sight of a weapon in this place of beauty causes panic. Women scream, champagne glasses smash on marble, and men with big share portfolios realize they're mortal.
I move quicker than I can think.
The crystal champagne flute in my hand turns into a weapon, its sharp edge capable of cutting deep with enough force and timing. I can use anything nearby, turning fancy items into tools for harm.
The contractor focuses on Emilio, seeing him as the main threat and ignoring me as a minor concern. Big mistake. While he's distracted, I move in and stab the jagged crystal into his throat.
Blood splatters on a nearby Monet as his life drains away. He falls with a wet thud, his weapon clattering on the marble floor amidst the chaos of screaming guests and breaking glass.
"Behind you!" I yell as the second contractor sneaks up on Emilio.
Emilio spins swiftly, a knife appearing as if it were part of him. The blade finds its mark between ribs with the precision that has made him famous in circles where hesitation equals death. The contractor drops instantly, blood spreading beneath Renaissance paintings.
The third man hides behind a pedestal, using a statue as a shield while guests flee in panic. He aims at Emilio, waiting for the perfect shot to end the standoff.
I pick up the fallen contractor's gun, its weight familiar despite the adrenaline rushing through me. The safety clicks off softly, somehow audible over the surrounding chaos.
"Drop it!" I demand, aiming steadily at him. "Now!"
Instead of listening, he turns toward me, his gun swinging my way quickly. Time seems to pause. The barrel looks huge, promising a deadly end.
I shoot twice. Both shots hit the center, showing my training. The bullets push him back into the statue, marble and flesh colliding with a brutal end.
Silence blankets the gallery like a thick curtain. Armed attackers are down, leaving behind traumatized civilians and enough chaos to mar walls that once knew only beauty. The sharp smell of gunpowder mixes with champagne and fear, creating a scent that will haunt this place forever.
"Carmela?" Emilio calls out to the service exit, his voice strained with emotion.
"Safe," she replies from the hallway beyond. "Are they all down?"
"All down," I confirm, my hands trembling as I secure the weapon. The reality of what just happened starts to hit me, armed attackers taken down by force, turning a peaceful Sunday into a nightmare.
Sirens scream in the distance, the police alerted by gunfire in Tribeca's art district. We have only minutes before this turns into a crime scene, before questions arise that could unravel everything we've built.
"We need to go," Emilio says, heading quickly toward the service exit. "Before this turns into a crime scene investigation."
I follow, stepping over bodies that moments ago threatened everything he holds dear. The stains on my hands catch the gallery light, dark and lasting. After years of escaping violence, I've shown I can deliver it precisely when my family needs protection.
In the hallway beyond, Carmela waits with wide eyes and shaking hands. She looks at me like I'm something new anddangerous, something that revealed its true nature by saving her life.
"You saved my life," she whispers, her words carrying more than just simple gratitude.
"I protected you," I reply, meaning every word. "That's what family does."
Her expression changes.
"Thank you," she says simply, and for the first time since I returned to New York, I hear forgiveness.
At last.
30
Mara
The Rosetti mansion's medical room feels like a confessional. Sterile and intimate, designed for injuries that can't be treated in public hospitals. I sit on the examination table while Emilio cleans the knife wound across my shoulder, my black silk dress torn away to reveal skin that's always been too precious for the violence now marking it. Blood mixes with antiseptic and jasmine perfume, creating a scent that makes my stomach turn.
My hands won't stop shaking.
I clench them in my lap, willing the tremors to subside, but they continue like aftershocks from an earthquake that's rearranged everything inside me. Tonight I threw everything away in a single moment of instinct. When I saw that blade arcing toward Carmela's throat, everything else disappeared. Training, self-preservation, the careful balance I've maintained… gone.
