Page 109 of Rosetti Family New York
He shifts me so I’m lying on the couch, my head on his lap. Stroking my hair in long, soothing lines.
"You have a new family now," he says.
I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop. It’s a long time before they do.
His touch is still gentle. His voice a whisper in the darkness. "We’re your family."
I fall asleep like that, wrapped in him and his promises. Telling myself the biggest lie of all: that he’ll never find out.
17
Domenico
It's quiet in the restaurant, a kind of hush that falls over a room full of rich people. They're dressed to kill, these Upper East Side types. Slick suits and sparkling jewelry, wearing their importance like an extra layer of skin. Besiana looks like she belongs here, straight-backed and poised. I'm not used to seeing her outside of business meetings and family gatherings, always a buffer between us. But here she is, sitting across the table, staring me down.
"So, we're doing this backward," I say. "Married first, now our first date."
Her mouth curves into a smile. It's small and precise, the way she does everything. "Would you have it any other way?"
Her dress is flawlessly tailored and simple. It clings perfectly. A stark white against her dark features. The neckline is low, the hemline flirtatious. She sits with one leg crossed over the other, each heel like a weapon, lethal and elegant. Besiana doesn’t just wear clothes; she weaponizes them. My first impression is one of precision, but the longer I look at her, the more I see past the armor. The hours she must have put into getting ready. Ourmarriage might be a business move, but this—the dress, the dinner, the almost-smile—is something else entirely.
The restaurant is high-end, every detail immaculate. Marble floors, white tablecloths, and chandeliers that cast a dim glow over everything. We're surrounded by the city's elite—people who own skyscrapers and entire boroughs, all moving pieces on a chessboard they think they control. Besiana's eyes meet mine, and for once, I don’t feel like I'm playing a game.
"It's a first for me," I say.
She lifts an eyebrow, amused. "Dating?"
"Doing anything out of order."
Our table is by the window, the lights of the city flickering just beyond the glass. She's wearing a dark blue dress, sleek and elegant, clinging to her frame in all the right places. It hits me how long I've been waiting for this—this moment, this woman, this space between us finally starting to shrink.
A server appears with menus, so quiet I barely notice. I let Besiana order first, and her voice is like velvet when she speaks to the man. She orders salmon and asparagus, the words slow and careful. Then she closes the menu with a snap.
"I'll have the same," I say, handing my menu over without looking.
Her eyes narrow a fraction. "Are you copying me, now?"
"Hard to improve on perfection."
The server slips away, leaving us alone again, surrounded by the murmur of moneyed conversations. I remember what she asked me a few weeks back, a hint of curiosity that threw me off guard. It’s the perfect opening, so I take it. "The chemist you were interested in," I start. "The one you wanted to meet."
I watch as her expression shutters, interest gone. "I don't want to know."
"That wasn’t what you said before."
She shifts in her chair, fingers tightening around her napkin. "I've changed my mind. Besides, I’ve already gone to the drugstore. I don’t need any chemist."
She's putting up a wall, and for once, I'm not in the mood to break it down.
"All right," I say, knowing when not to push.
But it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, the lost opportunity to do something for her.
I glance out the window, giving her room to breathe. People stroll down the sidewalk, their lives simple and untouched by our world. A car horn blares, the city never quiet. It reminds me of something else I'd planned, a gesture that's starting to feel clumsy now. "I thought I'd learn a few words in Albanian for you," I say, turning back to her. "Carmela told me not to bother."
A flicker of emotion passes over her face, as quick as a flash of lightning. I recognize it as pain, but it’s gone so fast it makes me question if I imagined it. Besiana’s careful composure takes over like an editor rewriting a messy draft, correcting any sign of vulnerability.
"Carmela is very observant," she tells me smoothly.
