Page 58 of Rosetti Family New York
They are all around me. Shadows and bodies. The scent of gasoline is thick and choking. I squeeze my eyes shut and let them see nothing. The dark gets darker.
They close in.
30
Leonardo
She’s taken my phone and stolen a car. Eleanor fucking took my phone and drove off alone, and I’m losing my goddamned mind. What the hell is she thinking? What is she planning to do with nothing but my phone and a damn SUV? Is she going to take on the Albanians alone?
I glance at Carmela’s phone, which I’ve commandeered. Nothing from Emilio. Nothing from Leo. Nothing from any of Dad’s men. No one’s found her.
No calls, no goddamn messages. I know she’s scared for Juliet, but this? This is fucking reckless.
The mansion feels like a desert, an empty, impersonal wasteland. The floor echoes under my pacing feet. No one knows where she is. I’m going to kill her for this if I don’t lose my mind first.
Half of New York’s underworld is on a wild goose chase for Eleanor Price, and still no one's caught up to her. I’ve diverted almost everyone from searching for Juliet to searching for Eleanor before she does something that gets her killed. I’vepulled men from the fighting ring, from the docks, from Il Lusso itself, and still, not a single whisper of where the hell she is.
I’m losing patience with these useless bastards as fast as I’m losing patience with Eleanor. The second she's safe, I swear to God, I'm going to wrap my hands around that stubborn little neck of hers. I’m going to kill her as soon as I have her safe in my arms again. The wait is eating me alive, and Eleanor is going to pay for every goddamn second.
I stop pacing long enough to punch a nearby wall in frustration. Nothing. I’ve told the men to call me on Carmela's number first, no matter what. I need to be the first to know she’s safe. I need to be the first one to see her. I need to be the first one to...
Nothing. No call. No message. Nothing.
It’s been forty minutes. Forty minutes since that woman blindsided me. Since she ran off without a trace and left my entire life in chaos. I don’t even know why the guards let her out the front gate, but I know for sure they’ll regret it. The longer I stand here, the more I’m ready to tear this place apart and everyone inside it if she's not back soon.
I should have tied her to the bed. I should have tied her to my fucking side.
I start pacing again, furious with myself for letting her think for one second that I don't have this under control. She didn't trust me to handle it. She didn’t even trust me to protect her sister. Does she think I'm jacking off out here while she's out there facing down the whole Albanian cartel with nothing but a car and a phone? If she doesn’t get back soon, I’m going to...
The door swings open. Juliet bursts through the grand mansion doors with tangled hair and wide, panicked eyes. Her dress is ripped at the shoulder, thin fabric stained and hanging loose around her shivering frame. She looks terrible. Her pale skin is smudged with dirt, her cheeks hollow. Rosetti men flankher like a ragged army escort. An ugly red marks the skin at her wrists. Her panic spills out in an uncontrolled, breathless cry.
"Leonardo!"
Her voice echoes through the hall, and instantly, a chill seizes my veins. How the fuck did Juliet get free?
"One of our patrols picked her up down by the docks," a guard tells me.
I ignore him and cross straight to Juliet. "Where is my wife?" I demand slowly.
Juliet collapses to her knees, her breath coming in desperate, frantic gulps. "Eleanor," she gasps, her hands clutching at the air as if grasping for the right words. "She... she traded herself for me. The Albanians had me, and she just turned up and said they could have her if they—"
"I asked where." My voice cuts through her panic, sharp and deadly quiet.
"At a warehouse in Hunts Point.” Her words slam into me like a fist, and I bolt past her, my heart a furious drum.
"You’re coming with me." My feet barely touch the ground as I tear down the long, empty hallway, the echo of my footsteps a rapid-fire pulse in my ears. I bark orders, my voice ringing off the cold marble. Rosetti men snap into action, weapons drawn, following like a black-suited storm as we pile into the SUVs. The drive to the warehouse is a blur, my knuckles white around the grip of my gun.
What has Eleanor she done? Why does she need to martyr herself all the fucking time? Why can’t she stay in one place when she’s told and keep safe?
She broke every fucking rule. Lied. Ran. Let the fucking Albanians touch her. And now? Now she’s in their hands.
By the time we reach the docks, I’m vibrating with barely restrained violence. The warehouse is quiet, too quiet. Bad fucking sign. I signal my men, and we fan out, moving in silentcoordination. Two guards outside—amateurs. I take the first one myself, a blade to the throat before he can make a sound. The second barely has time to reach for his gun before Matteo puts a silenced bullet between his eyes.
We slip inside through a side entrance, shadows swallowing us whole. The air stinks of oil, blood and sweat. My heartbeat is a steady drum, but my pulse is fire, burning through my veins.
I hear them before I see them—low voices, the scrape of a chair. And then Eleanor. “At least offer me a cup of tea,” she says, sounding elegant as fuck.
Her knees are scraped, raw patches of skin against the dirty floor. There's blood on her hands, more than from the scrapes, like she'd fought her way out of somewhere only to end up here. She must have given them hell. Her dress—a slick, turquoise thing I’d seen on her just this morning—is torn at the hem and stained with spots of crimson. She's barefoot and filthy, but her eyes are glacial fire, refusing to show an ounce of defeat. They thought they could break her. They don't know Eleanor.
