Page 16 of Rosetti Family New York
I trail him like a shadow. The words bounce off me, not sinking in. I feel small here. Small and silent.
The kitchen is as big as the rest of the house. Shiny appliances. Countertops like surgical tables. Everything sharp and sterile. I try to picture myself cooking here, but it’s absurd. I was raised on takeout and caterers, on take-what-you-can-get-before-it’s-gone. Meals weren’t about family. Just survival.
“Don’t know how to cook, do you?” Leonardo asks, and there’s that slight amusement again.
“I can learn.” I’m lying. We both know it.
I follow him through more hallways. The Rosettis’ voices echo in my mind. Welcome to the family, they said. It didn’t feel like a welcome. Not really. I don’t know why that bothers me.
Salvatore’s eyes, sharp and green, sizing me up like a new asset. Rafe, the second-oldest, his words blunt and dismissive. Not bothering to hide his dislike. I was a Price, an outsider.
But then there was Carmela. The only one who showed any true excitement or warmth. She is the only glimmer of hope in this family, as far as I can tell.
Leonardo stops, turns to face me. His eyes search mine, unflinching. “This place is big, I know. You’ll get used to it.” There’s more he wants to tell me. I know there’s more. He waits, wants me to ask. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “The rest ofmy brothers and sisters will be here tomorrow. They’ve given us the night to get to know each other.”
“A honeymoon,” I say. Does this stranger expect me to have sex with him?
Leonardo’s eyes narrow. “They’re not subtle, but they’re loyal.”
“I noticed.” Is that a command that I have to be loyal too, whether I like it or not? Screw that.
He takes a step closer. He’s intense, a fire burning just beneath the surface. “I meant what I said. We’ll tame you.”
I force myself to hold his gaze, but my heart beats fast. I hold up my hand with the wedding band and smile sweetly. “You already have.”
We both know I’m lying.
8
Leonardo
Eleanor kept her mask on for the whole family, but there’s no audience now. Just me and her, the new bride and her new cage. I stay a few paces behind, liking the way the echo of her heels turns more frantic. I bet she can’t wait to slam a door in my face. Bet she wishes I’d fall into line like everyone else does when she pulls her queen act. But I’m not anyone else.
The front hall opens up before us, cold and boring. I’ve always preferred small, cozy spaces, but the Rosetti name requires monstrous architecture, apparently. She tries to own the space with her clipped, precise strides. Good. Let her think she’s got the upper hand for a minute. Let her get a good taste of what she signed up for.
The dress fits her too perfectly. Lace and silk, delicate and deadly, a trap in white that hugs her body with an indecent precision. It makes her look innocent and dangerous, a fallen angel with a wicked smile and murder in her eyes. She wants to taunt me with it, and it's working. The thin straps leave her shoulders bare, the neckline plunges, her skin glows against the expensive fabric. I can't take my eyes off her, and she knows it.
A stab of desire runs through me, primal and raw, demanding that I take what’s mine.
I want to tear the thing off her. I want to grab her and rip the damn dress in two. I’m not even sure if it’s because of how beautiful she looks in it or if it’s because deep down she believes I never will. That I never could. Like I’ll be the one who comes down in this war of ours. I bet she thinks I’ll cave first. Her mouth says nothing, but the tight, confident sway of her hips says it all—I'm untouchable.
But I’ve never been one to give up or give in, and especially not to someone this infuriating and gorgeous. She can keep trying to push me away, but she’s made a deal with the devil. I’ll show her it’s the last one she’ll ever make.
Her hair is pinned up severely, a few dark brown strands curling against her neck and ears. She’s wearing the pearls, the spiked cream heels, the perfect pale lipstick. It’s all part of the arsenal, her armor and her weapon. But I know better than to underestimate her. She might look like she’s stepping out of some wedding magazine, but there’s venom under all that gloss.
I’m supposed to be the dangerous one, the one with bloody hands and a reputation to match, but the truth is, I’ve never met a match quite like her. It’s what makes this cat-and-mouse game so fucking thrilling. I thought this arranged marriage would be a hassle, a chore, but Eleanor Price is anything but. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t crack. She’s as stubborn as I am, and it pisses me off. She thinks I’m not a threat.
I can show her how wrong she is.
The closer we get to the bedroom, the more I want to ruin her. I want to mark her up so everyone knows she belongs to me. I want to do it because she’ll hate it, because right now she thinks she’s got all the power. It’s not just lust; it’s that drive to possess, to conquer, to have her need me more than she despises me.
Her father thought she’d be an easy payment. He’s a fool. I’ll keep her and own her and win, no matter how long it takes. She’ll come around, or she'll go down swinging. I almost don’t care which.
I catch up to her just as she reaches the end of the hall. “You always this quiet?” I ask.
She keeps moving, like I’m not worth answering. I see the curve of her shoulder, her bare neck, a few loose strands of dark brown hair against white skin that escaped from her uptight up-do.
Eleanor in my world. That’s what this is. And this world? It doesn’t have enough exits for her. I’d laugh if it didn’t make me want to break something. Break her. She’s not half as calm as she pretends to be, not with the way her dress clings to her legs and the way I can tell she’s gritting her teeth every time my footsteps get closer.
