Page 138 of Rosetti Family New York
“Carmela! Listen!” I shout too loud. The librarian shushes me. I clutch the phone and lower my voice. “Carmela, it’s a trap. You have to tell them.”
“Whoa, slow down, hon.” Her words are bright. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know. “What are you—”
“Your brothers!” I can’t stop the words. They tumble over each other. “Carmela, your brothers are in danger. It’s a setup. They can’t go to that meeting. You have to believe me.”
The line goes quiet, and for a second, I think she’s hung up. “Where are you?” Her voice is different now. Uncertain.
“It doesn’t matter. Just listen.” I see the list in my mind. See the names crossed out. My hands hurt from holding the phone so tight. “It’s tonight. Tell them not to go.”
“But you left. You—”
“Carmela! Please! I made a mistake. This isn’t—”
“You went back to them, Besiana. Why should I believe anything you say?” I hear her breath catch, hear her voice drop to a whisper. “Why did you call?”
They’re running out of time. “Just stop them from going to the meeting, and I’ll explain it all afterward,” I say.
Silence again. My chest hurts.
“They already left,” she finally tells me. She sounds far away, like I’m listening through a closed door. “Rafe said you might pull something like this. A trick. They—”
“Don’t go!” I’m shouting again.
“They’re already there, hon.” Her voice is so soft I barely hear it. “You’re too late.”
The call ends. I’m alone.
Not too late. I can’t be too late.
I slam out of the library and run. Cold air bites at my face, but I don’t feel it. My lungs burn, and the pavement pounds beneath my feet. There’s a subway entrance ahead, the stairs steep and unforgiving. I throw myself down them and squeeze through the turnstile. My coat catches, but I tug it free and stumble to the platform. I’m gasping, out of breath, and out of time.
The train arrives. It shrieks to a halt, and I push my way inside, the doors closing behind me. They’ve already left. Carmela’s words echo with every rattle and clatter. Dom won’t listen. The kill list is full of Rosetti names, and I did this. But I can undo it. I have to.
I clutch the pole, and the metal is cold in my hands.
29
Domenico
The old theater sits on the edge of Hell's Kitchen like a relic from a forgotten time. Dusty, unwanted, and damn cold. If the wind gets any sharper, it might cut straight through my suit. I stand outside on the grimy sidewalk with Rafe, Leo, Emilio, Matteo, Sal, and a half dozen of our best men. Waiting for the Albanians to show. It's the kind of place that feels like a trap, but Sal insists we hear Adrian out.
"They’re not coming," Rafe says, glaring at the old glass doors.
Leo cracks his knuckles, restless. "When they show their coward asses, I’m putting a bullet in each of them."
Emilio huffs from his corner, tucked in the shadows.
The old man had better be right about this. The waiting will drive me insane. And Matteo doesn’t help.
"They show, or they don’t," he shrugs. "Who cares?"
His coin catches the light, spinning between his fingers. I catch him watching me, a smirk plastered across his face. We don’t like this. Any of us. But if Adrian was willing to share that Besiana’s been spying on us, he might spill other important truths. We can’t ignore him. Even if it costs us.
"We go inside," I say, my words clipped and final. “They might be there.”
We pass through the foyer, and the moment we step into the theater, I know something’s wrong.
It’s too quiet. Too pristine for a place that’s supposedly been shuttered for decades. The chandeliers are intact. The velvet curtains dustless. And the air—it smells like fresh polish.
