Page 133 of Rosetti Family New York
I press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Let me decide if I need protecting.”
A long pause. The wind curls around us again, catching the edges of our hair and the hem of my dress. He brushes a strand from my cheek like it’s a sacred act.
Then he whispers, so quiet it’s almost lost to the wind:
“God help me, I’d burn the world for you.”
And I believe him.
The hesitation in his eyes flickers out, replaced by the raw, blazing certainty that has always been between us. With a rough sound, halfway between surrender and triumph, he kisses me again. There’s none of the calculated restraint this time, none of the holding back that has always felt like punishment.
The force of it makes my head spin, makes my world explode into a chaos of his skin, his heat, his inhale and exhale. I’m pinned between him and the wall, pinned by the weight of everything we are together, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it.
My hands slip beneath his shirt, desperate to feel the flex of his muscles beneath my fingers, and I’m surprised by the warmth of his skin and the way he reacts, like even the slightest touch will break him apart. But he doesn’t break. He holds on with the intensity of a man who’s found the only thing worth losing himself for.
“I love you,” he murmurs, the words claiming every inch of me.
He pulls back, just enough to see my reaction, and I catch the storm in his eyes. I look at him and I feel like I’m falling but finally in the right direction.
“I love you,” he says again as if I didn’t hear him the first time, as if he can’t believe he finally gets to say it.
My hands travel up his chest, and I free him from his tie, letting it drop like a final surrender to the rooftop patio.
“Don’t you ever forget it again,” I tell him before I reach up on tiptoes and press my lips to his collarbone.
27
Domenico
Iwait for the sound of breaking glass, for the storm to finally crash through and smash everything to pieces. Instead, the mansion holds firm, its foundations as strong as my father’s beliefs. The wind howls through the city and against the windows of my study, but it can’t drown out the words I don’t want to hear.
“It was her,” Rafe says again.
He stands by the window, all hard edges and dark silhouette, a tracker chip between his fingers like an accusation. He looks at me, and I don’t move. If I move, this will become real.
“The chemist, the lab, the drugs—Besiana gave them up.” Emilio’s voice is low and lethal.
Rafe crosses the room. He throws the chip on my desk. It makes a small, solid sound, final and brutal.
“It was sending coordinates directly to Adrian.” His jaw is tight. I’ve seen him angry, but never like this. “She knew what it was. Hid it in her fur coat instead.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. My voice is soft. Too soft. It’s like it belongs to someone else. “You don’t know for sure.”
He looks at Emilio. Emilio is at the edge of the room, half-hidden in shadow. His gray eyes are unreadable.
“You don’t want to see what’s right in front of you,” Emilio says. He holds up a burner phone. “Adrian sent us a message.”
He tosses the phone. Rafe catches it one-handed and throws it on the desk, next to the chip.
“She was a spy, Dom,” Rafe says. “He says it right here. We should’ve known when we found the chemist dead.”
“She infiltrated the lab,” Emilio says. “Got the coordinates for the ixaphorine, torched the warehouse, then destroyed the lab.”
Sal leans back. His presence fills the room.
“You trusted her, Domenico. I trusted you,” Sal says. The words are heavy. He flicks ash into the tray. “Go find her and bring her to me.”
My mind is a roar. I try to block it out, to push it down until I know what to do with it.
