Page 445 of Rosetti Family New York
Afterward, we retreat to his office on the top floor of the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the harbor, afternoon light turning the water silver. The desk is massive mahogany, positioned to intimidate anyone sitting across from it.
I automatically note the security camera in the corner, the way he positions himself between me and the door even now. Old habits from both of us—his need to protect, my need to catalog escape routes even when I have no intention of using them.
But I perch on the edge of the desk instead, bare legs crossed, heels discarded somewhere by the door. A display of trust I couldn't have managed months ago.
"How did I do?" I ask, sipping the espresso he made me.
"Perfect." He settles in his chair, hands sliding up my calves to rest on my knees. "Though I spent half the meeting thinking about getting you alone."
"Just half?"
"The other half I was thinking about bending you over this desk." His thumbs trace circles on my skin, sending heat spiraling through me. "Still am, actually."
"Is that so?" I set down my cup and lean back on my hands, the position arching my back slightly. "And what exactly were you planning to do?"
His pupils dilate, hands tightening on my legs. "Everything."
"Matteo." I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out breathless.
"What?" His hands slide higher, pushing the hem of my skirt up my thighs. "You asked."
"Someone could come in."
"Door's locked." He stands, moving between my legs, hands settling on my waist. "Besides, they all know better than to interrupt when I'm with you."
The unwavering certainty in his voice sends liquid heat through my veins. Months of being claimed by this man, of learning that his control extends to everything around us. Including making sure we're never interrupted when he wants me.
Which is constantly.
"You're still a control freak," I murmur, hands fisting in his shirt.
"And you're still mine." He kisses my neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin. "Utterly, irrevocably mine."
The words make me shiver with want. Not because I'm his possession, but because being his means being treasured, protected, worshipped. It means belonging somewhere I never have to pretend to be anyone else.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks against my throat.
"The future." The words surprise me, but they're true. Once I lived day to day, never daring to plan beyond surviving the next family dinner or charity event. Now I can imagine years ahead. "Growing the business together. Maybe that house in Italy you mentioned."
"Tuscany," he says, pulling back to look at me. "Vineyard, olive groves, no neighbors for miles."
"Sounds perfect."
"For vacations." His hands slide up to cup my face. "This is home. Manhattan, the family, all of it."
I think about the Rosetti mansion, how it felt like a fortress when I first arrived and feels like sanctuary now. Carmela's laugh echoing through the halls, Besiana's quiet wisdom over morning coffee, the way Dom nods his approval when I contribute to strategy discussions.
"I love them," I say, the admission still new enough to surprise me.
"They love you too." He kisses me soft and deep. "You know what Carmela asked me yesterday?"
"What?"
"If I thought you'd want to help plan the charity gala this year. Take point on the whole thing."
The offer makes my chest tight with gratitude. Not just inclusion, but leadership. Trust. The kind of responsibility I've been training for my whole life without knowing it.
"What did you tell her?"
