Page 458 of Rosetti Family New York
"Tell your father," Van says conversationally, pressing the gun against Vinny's temple, "that Carmela Rosetti is under protection. Try this again, and I'll send him pieces of you in a gift box."
That should repel me. Instead, something dark and unfamiliar stirs in my chest. Maybe this is what I've been running from—not just my family's violence, but my own response to it. The part of me that finds beauty in dangerous things.
"Carmela, now." He's beside me suddenly, hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the exit with military precision. "We need to move."
Only now do I realize what just happened. He knew to find me here. Knew my real name. Knew exactly how to handle armed men.
"You're Van Reyes," I say stupidly. "You signed up to be my bodyguard."
He grunts and motions to his sedan.
"That was incredibly fucking stupid," Van says once we're in his car, his voice deadly calm. "Playing normal while Torrinos tracked your every move. Dom should have locked you in a tower."
His controlled fury fills the confined space, and my inappropriate brain notes that anger makes his jaw do interesting things. Focus, Carmela. Men tried to kidnap you. This is not the time to notice jaw structure.
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't know because you didn't want to know." His hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled force—surgeon's hands that just broke bones with the same precision they probably use to save lives. "Walking around Chicago like you're just another college graduate when you have a target on your back."
"I just wanted to be free," I admit.
"Playing normal, convincing yourself you could walk away from who you are. How'd that work out?"
The question stings because we both know the answer. My independence lasted exactly as long as it took real predators to find me.
"I wanted to find out who I could be," I say quietly. "Without the name, without the protection, without everyone treating me like I might break."
"And instead you nearly got yourself killed by men who would have used you to hurt people you love." His voice hardens. "That's not independence, Carmela. That's selfish stupidity."
The words hurt, but something about his anger feels protective rather than cruel. Like he's furious because I could have been hurt, not because I inconvenienced him.
"I'm not a child," I say finally, hating how young I sound.
Van pulls over into an empty lot with barely controlled precision. The engine ticks in sudden silence, and when he turns to look at me, his eyes burn with something that makes my breath catch.
"No," he says, voice rough. "You're not a child. You're a twenty-three-year-old woman who makes me want to do things that have nothing to do with keeping you safe." His jaw clenches, fighting for control.
The confession hangs between us, and suddenly I understand that racing pulse, that strange heat, that inappropriate fascination with his violence. It's not just adrenaline. It's not just fear.
It's attraction to something dark and dangerous that mirrors something inside me I'm just beginning to recognize.
"You're Carmela fucking Rosetti," he says finally, like that explains everything.
Maybe it does.
5 - Van
The charged silence from the car follows us into the elevator, thick with unresolved tension. Carmela leans against the wall, close enough that her scent—something warm and expensive that doesn't belong in my ordered world—fills the confined space. The declaration I made in the car hangs between us like a live wire, and bringing her to my apartment feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
Her green eyes catalog everything—the security camera in the corner, the emergency button panel, the way I automatically position myself between her and the doors.
"You know," she says, that bright voice cutting through the tension, "most people's elevator small talk involves the weather. Yours involves death threats and tactical positioning."
"Most people aren't being hunted by the Torrinos."
"True." She tilts her head, studying me. "Though I bet you stand like that in every elevator. Ready to take down threats at the grocery store. Scanning for snipers at Starbucks."
The accuracy of her observation makes my jaw tighten. "Awareness keeps people alive."
