Page 356 of Rosetti Family New York
"Are you listening?"
I flip the coin one more time before palming it, metal slick with warmth. "Chase is moving faster than expected. I heard you the first time."
"Then act like it matters." But there's amusement in his voice, the kind that comes from knowing exactly where I've been this morning. "How was the Lonnigan girl?"
Leonardo snorts from his chair by the window, wild dark-red hair catching the light as he turns toward us. "Predictable, probably. They always are with Matt."
"Gentlemen," I say, spreading my hands with exaggerated dignity, "a gentleman never tells."
"Good thing you're not a gentleman," Rafe comments dryly, not looking up from his tablet. His ice-blue eyes scan intelligence reports while his broken nose gives his handsome face the kind of character that comes from years of enforcement work. "Besides, half of Manhattan already knows you left with her."
"Only half?" I flip the coin again, letting it dance between my knuckles. "I'm losing my touch."
Dom shakes his head, but his expression carries fond exasperation rather than real disapproval. "One of these days, your reputation is going to catch up with you."
"My reputation is an asset," I counter, letting cocky confidence drip through my voice. "Women expect charm and seduction from Matteo Rosetti. Makes them easier to handle when I need something."
"Speaking of handling women," Leo says, hazel eyes bright with mischief, "maybe you should focus on the one who actually matters to business."
He gestures toward the folder on the table, and the mood in the room shifts. The air conditioning hums louder, or maybe that's just the sudden tension. Playtime is over.
Chase Callahan has been testing our boundaries for months, probing for weaknesses like a rat searching for holes in the walls. But weakness isn't something Rosettis show, and patience isn't something we're known for.
Rafe leans forward in his chair, ice-blue eyes fixed on the digital map displaying red markers across our territory. "He's bought three more properties near the docks," Rafe says, tapping his tablet. "Shell companies, but the paperwork leads back to Callahan accounts. He's laying groundwork for something big."
Leonardo shifts restlessly beside him, fingers drumming against the polished table. "So we hit him first," Leo says, voice carrying that familiar edge of barely contained violence. "End this before it escalates."
"It's already escalated." Dom slides another folder across the table. "He flipped Marco at Il Lusso last night. Twenty years of loyalty, gone because Chase offered him triple what we were paying."
The betrayal cuts cold through my chest. Marco has been managing our main club since before Leo and I were born, a steady presence who knew every secret that passed through those doors. If Chase can buy him, he can buy anyone.
"How much did he offer?" I ask.
"Enough to make other people start calculating their worth," Dom replies grimly. "And he's got new muscle coming in from Jersey. Professionals, not street thugs."
"He wants a war he can't win," Rafe observes. "Maybe it's time we remind him who ends wars in this city."
Dom nods toward the surveillance photos scattered across the glass. Isabella laughing politely at some gallery event, heremerald green eyes distant. Isabella exiting her Tribeca loft, every line of her posture perfectly controlled. Isabella mid-step through the Met's courtyard, caught in a moment of unguarded grace.
"Which is where she comes in."
The room falls silent except for the hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of traffic forty floors below. I reach for the folder, fingers brushing against the edge of her photograph. The same face that's been haunting my sleep, the same elegant profile that made me volunteer for this job before Dom even finished explaining it.
"Isabella Callahan," I say, keeping my voice level. "Art girl. Tribeca. Walks to work like no one's watching."
"She isn't involved," Dom confirms. "No ties to his operations, no knowledge of the business. Clean record, clean reputation. The perfect niece."
"Then she's the perfect pressure point." I close the folder, but her image remains burned in my memory. "She's not part of the business, but he'll still bleed for her."
Leo turns from the window, hazel eyes bright with curiosity. "What makes you so sure you can handle this cleanly?"
The coin slides between my fingers again, metal slick with sweat despite the air conditioning. I think about the way she looks in the photos, poised and untouchable in her designer dresses. The kind of untouchable that makes a man want to mess up all that perfection, see what's underneath the careful control. Run my hands through that honey-blonde hair until it's as wild as the dreams she's been starring in.
I've had plenty of women who thought they were untouchable. They're usually the most fun to break in. Usually the ones who scream my name the loudest when I'm done with them.
"Because I'm good at what I do," I say, letting my dimpled grin surface. "And she's exactly the kind of challenge that makes this job worth doing."
"Just don't get distracted by the target," Leo warns, but he's grinning too. "We all know how you get around beautiful women."
