Page 361 of Rosetti Family New York
"Where in SoHo?" she asks finally.
My chest tightens with anticipation, but I keep my expression neutral. "Little French place on Spring Street. Intimate, quiet. Great for getting to know someone."
She glances toward the SUV, then back at my face. I can see her wavering, caught between curiosity and caution. Another woman might have walked away by now, but Isabella Callahan has spent years navigating dangerous social waters. She knows how to read people, how to stay safe while taking calculated risks.
What she doesn't know is that I'm not a calculated risk. I'm a certainty.
"Alright," she says quietly. "But just to SoHo."
"Of course." I gesture toward the passenger door, already moving to open it for her. "After you."
The interior of the SUV is exactly what I planned: leather seats the color of midnight, subdued lighting, classical music playing softly through premium speakers. Everything designed to suggest wealth without ostentation, power without threat. My driver, Anton, nods politely in the rearview mirror but doesn't speak. He knows his role in this performance.
Isabella settles into the passenger seat with unconscious grace, her posture straight even in the confined space. I slide in beside her, close enough that my thigh almost brushes hers, and watch her reaction to the proximity.
"This is beautiful," she says, running her fingertips over the soft leather. "I don't think I've ever been in anything this nice."
"Really?" I let surprise color my voice. "Your family doesn't believe in luxury?"
The question is innocent enough, but I watch her face carefully. She stiffens slightly, a barely perceptible shift that tells me I've hit something.
"My family believes in many things," she says carefully.
I lean back, letting the silence stretch. Sometimes the best way to get information is to create space for people to fill it. But Isabella doesn't take the bait. She's too well-trained, too careful. Time for a different approach.
"Must be nice, having family that cares enough to worry about you. Chase Callahan seems like the protective type."
The words drop into the space between us like stones into still water.
The words are out before I can stop them, and I watch her face change. Shutters slam down behind her eyes, transforming warmth into wariness in an instant.
"How do you know my uncle?"
Too late to take it back now. I've shown my hand too early, let eagerness override strategy. But maybe it's better this way. Cleaner. More honest, in its way.
"Business," I say simply, and signal Anton to drive.
The locks engage with a soft click. Child safety locks, engaged from the driver's panel. Isabella doesn't notice immediately, too focused on my face, trying to read the truth there.
The power of having her trapped beside me, completely under my control, sends a dark thrill through my blood. She's close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. Every breath she takes makes me want to lean closer, to claim what's mine.
"What kind of business?"
"The complicated kind."
The SUV pulls smoothly into traffic, heading uptown instead of south toward SoHo. Isabella notices the direction change first, then tries the door handle. It doesn't budge.
"This isn't the way to SoHo."
"No," I agree. "It's not."
Her breathing changes, becoming quicker and shallower. I watch her run through options: scream, fight, negotiate. But she's too smart to panic, too controlled to make a scene that might get her hurt. Still, I catch the way her fingers tremble slightly as they grip the door handle. Fear, carefully hidden but not quite invisible.
"This isn't a favor. This is a setup."
"Smart girl." I lean back against the leather seat, letting my voice drop to something more dangerous. "I was starting to worry you were just pretty."
She tries the door handle again, then turns to face me fully. No tears, no hysteria. Just cold, calculating fury that makes my pulse spike with something that isn't quite fear. But I notice the way she presses herself against the far door, putting as much distance between us as possible in the confined space. The careful control in her voice that can't quite hide the tremor underneath.
