Page 5 of Rosetti Family New York
“There are two women,” Dom says, as if waving a golden ticket in front of my face. “You can take your pick.”
“The Price sisters. Great.”
Dom shrugs as if he’s handing me a gift instead of a life sentence. “Not a bad deal.”
I shake my head, my pulse keeping the time to a growing rage. “Fuck you.”
“You’ll thank me.” He turns to leave, and I’m ready to throw something at the back of his perfectly groomed head.
I call after him, because I have to say it. Because even when I’m pissed to hell, I’m still a Rosetti. “You know I’d do anything for the family.”
“That’s what worries me.” Anyone else, he’d say thank you, but me, he insults, like I can’t keep my temper for five minutes straight.
I watch his back as he goes, gliding into the crowd like a bullet sinking into flesh. That’s how it is with him: precise, cold, businesslike. Not like me, blood running out of me faster than I can keep it in.
I look around this gilded room again, and it doesn’t look like blood after all. It looks like rust. A tarnish that’s setting into everything. I’m part of it, even if I never wanted to be. Dom’s words echo,Choose the one who wants it most.
I’ll do it. For the family, I’ll do anything. I just don’t know who I’ll be when it’s done.
3
Eleanor
The walls seem to tighten around me, though I never show it. Not to him. I’ve stood outside my father’s study too many times before, made of glass under his scrutiny, but this is different. My heart drums a fevered tempo as I knock. He’s forbidden Juliet and me from entering this room, but I know my value to him. A value I’m about to auction off.
Inside, the room smells of cigar smoke and varnish, a heavy mix that chokes the air. Dark leather and polished mahogany fill the space, each piece precise and expensive, yet the whole feels as sterile as an operating table. His back is to me at first, a tall figure in an immaculate gray suit, staring out the window.
"Eleanor." He doesn't turn around. My name leaves his mouth like a business card slipped across a table. "I trust this is important."
"It is." The words catch, just slightly, and I force them through. The room seems to shrink as I step farther inside.
He turns, and his eyes meet mine with the cold weight of appraisal. Richard Price: Gem trader, empire builder, the man who thinks even blood is an asset to be liquidated. Juliet andI have no business here, he often says, except when we are the business. I breathe in, but the air feels thin.
"You look determined, my girl. Dangerous, that." He leans against his desk, perfectly composed, a cat toying with a cornered mouse. His fingers tap a steady rhythm against his onyx ring, a motion that always means he's planning three steps ahead. "Have a seat." He gestures to the leather chair opposite, but I don't move. Sitting feels too much like submission.
"I'm here about the Rosettis," I say.
"Ah." He smiles, but there’s no warmth. "So, you’ve heard."
"I’ve heard," I echo, keeping my voice as smooth as silk. "And I’ll do it. I’ll marry Leonardo Rosetti."
The room stretches with silence, every tick of the clock loud and slow. I wonder if he can see the way my heart pounds, if the fine silk I wear betrays my pulse. He doesn't answer right away, lets the quiet press in on me.
"It isn’t up to you," he says finally. "Leonardo will choose. The one he likes best." He sounds almost amused, as if I’m still a child, still so easy to mold.
"Then I’ll make sure he likes me." My voice doesn’t waver, but inside, I’m unsteady, balancing on a knife's edge.
His gaze sharpens, and I see a flicker of the ruthless man behind the polished surface. "Are you sure you can play the mafia wife?"
I’ve practiced for this moment, locked away my fear where even Juliet can’t see it. Still, my hands feel cold. I clasp them together, a mirror of his calm. "I’m worth more to you married into that family than kept here. You’ve been teaching me that my whole life. So I will do whatever is required of me to achieve my goal."
He laughs, a sound more cutting than pleasant. "Careful, Eleanor. You’re starting to sound like me."
I am like him in some ways—sharp, deliberate—but not in the ways that matter most. "This is business," I say, letting each word stand on its own, a barrier between what he thinks I am and what I’m becoming. "I know how to play the game. Juliet doesn’t."
"Ah." His eyes flicker, calculating, as if weighing his daughters in carats. "So that’s it. You’re protecting her. Again."
I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to. Instead, I hold his gaze.
