Page 347 of Rosetti Family New York
I killed someone tonight. Not through intelligence feeds or distant manipulation, but direct, personal violence. My hands remember the weight of his wrist as I twisted it, the wet soundwhen Emilio's blade found his throat, how his eyes went wide then empty.
Sarah's memory sits heavy in my chest. Eight months dead while I served Chase's lies, believing her safety depended on my compliance when she was already beyond anyone's reach. Tonight felt like finally honoring her memory through action instead of misguided sacrifice.
"Hold still," Emilio murmurs, voice carrying controlled gentleness I remember from our quietest moments. The antiseptic burns against torn skin, but the pain feels distant compared to the chaos in my head. "Almost finished."
I watch his face as he works, the furrow between his brows when he concentrates, how his jaw tightens seeing fresh blood seep through the bandage. His hands are steady where mine aren't, although I know it masks barely contained fury. The predator wants to hunt down everyone who might threaten me, eliminate every possible source of future harm.
"I've never..." I start, then stop.
How do you explain that crossing that line for the first time leaves you feeling like your skin doesn't fit right anymore?
"Never what?" His fingers pause against my shoulder.
"Killed someone directly. With my own hands." The words scrape my throat raw. "I've done terrible things for money, but I've never felt someone's life end because of what I chose to do."
His expression softens. "How does it feel?"
I consider lying, giving him the answer I think he wants. But the truth spills out before I can stop it.
"Terrible," I whisper. "And right. At the same time." My voice breaks on the admission. "I'd do it again without hesitation if it meant keeping her safe."
"Does that bother you?"
"No. It doesn't. I crossed every line I swore I'd never cross, became someone I never wanted to be, and all I can think about is how grateful I am that your sister is alive."
His pupils widen at my confession, nostrils flaring as if he can sense the change in my morals. This is what he's been waiting for without knowing it, not just my return to his side.
"That's what makes you mine," he says softly, leaning closer until our foreheads almost touch. "Not your body, not your intelligence, not even your loyalty. But your willingness to become dangerous for the people you love."
The certainty in his voice sends a rush through my veins despite the sterile smell and harsh lights. My body recognizes its counterpart even as my mind tries to grasp what I've become.
"I'm not the same person who left you three years ago," I say, needing him to understand the depth of the change inside me. "I'm not even the same person who walked into that gallery tonight."
"No," he agrees, his thumb brushing my lower lip with a gentle touch. "You're better. Stronger. More honest about your capabilities when it really counts." The harsh lighting casts shadows on his face, making him appear fierce, like a storm barely contained. Yet his touch is still soft, acknowledging that I have become just as powerful.
"You killed for my family," he continues, his voice dropping in a way that makes my heart skip. "Without thinking, without planning, just pure instinct to protect what matters. Do you know what that means?"
"That I've become someone I don't know?"
"That you've become someone I can finally hold onto forever." His hands move to my waist, tracing patterns on the silk that make it hard to focus. "Someone who knows that love isn't safe or easy, it's the most dangerous force there is."
His words settle in me, burning and addictive. This is what I've been running from, afraid to become. Not just his partner, but his equal in the darkness, sharing the kind of violence that protects what's important.
"I'm scared," I admit, my voice catching with emotion. "Not of you, but of how right it felt and how easily I could do it again."
"Good." His smile is sharp, both beautiful and terrifying. "Fear keeps you human. But being ready to do anything for family? That makes you a Rosetti."
"When I saw that blade pointed at her throat," I whisper, wanting him to understand the moment that changed everything, "I didn't think about the consequences, my training, or what it would cost me. I just acted. Like my body knew what to do before my mind could stop it."
"Instinct," he agrees, his thumbs gently brushing my ribs where my torn dress reveals warm skin. "The kind you can't teach or fake. You were made for this life, Mara. You just needed the right push to accept it."
The acceptance, not just from him, but from myself, settles over me like a cloak. This is who I am now. Someone who kills to protect family. Someone who chooses blood over comfort. Someone who's finally ready to admit that loving a Rosetti means becoming dangerous too.
Sarah's death taught me that some sacrifices are pointless, that serving lies in her name dishonored her memory. But tonight felt like I was finally honoring her, protecting the living instead of serving the dead.
"Show me," I say, my decision clear as I look at his face in the bright light. "Show me what it means to be like you."
His response is quick. His hands grip my waist, lifting me from the examination table and placing me on his lap in the room's single chair so we're face to face in the small space. The leather is cool against my back while his warmth burns through the tornsilk. The movement tugs at my stitches, but the pain seems far away compared to the strong need to be claimed by him.
