Page 173 of Rosetti Family New York
But then a quiet, determined fire rises inside me, pushing back against the hollow ache that has become so much a part of me. I decide that I won’t let this define me, that I won’t let these memories bury me. I wrap my arms tightly around my legs and gently rock back and forth against the waves of pain.
Slowly, I stand up, every muscle stiff and reluctant. My vision sways with exhaustion as I stumble through the small apartment, gathering the chaos of scattered papers and stacking them into uneven towers that seem ready to topple over at any moment, a small distraction from the overwhelming helplessness. My hands tremble when I water the drooping plants that stubbornly refuse to thrive. I feel haunted, and that feeling seeps into everything around me.
Books, case files, coffee mugs, all these things feel utterly useless now. None of them can bring her back.
Finally, I collapse on the floor and hug the pain tightly, overwhelmed by desperation. I can’t survive another failure. I must find out who did this, who took her away from me.
6
Rafaele
The gunshots ring out like we’re at war. An explosion of sound, an echo in the ears. Down here, no one cares if it’s day or night. Time doesn't work the same when you're below ground, locked in a battle with yourself. The air smells of gunpowder, the kind of place you can lose yourself in.
Emilio's already lost, deep in his zone, eyes narrowed as he squeezes off another round. I fire and miss by a mile.
“You’re distracted,” Emilio says, still aiming at the target.
He’s the quietest brother, the Ghost, the one who slips through shadows. And he can tell I’ve got too much on my mind. I never could keep a secret from him.
“I’m fine,” I grunt.
I’m a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them. The other guys at the range shout and joke as they blast away at their targets. I should be more like them. Focused. Unfazed. But I can’t get my head straight.
I fire again. The bullet hits, but I’m way off center. I curse under my breath. Emilio lowers his gun, gives me one of those looks that say more than a full sentence ever could. I swear he’sgot a sixth sense for when shit's about to go sideways. Or maybe he just knows me too well.
I pull my gloves tighter and try to block out the noise.
“No point being here if you’re gonna shoot like that,” he says, his voice as calm as the eye of a storm.
His gray eyes mirror the steel targets, cold and unyielding.
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I mutter, refusing to meet his gaze. He raises an eyebrow at me, a silent challenge.
I take a deep breath, smelling the acrid smoke, hearing the sharp echo of bullets hitting metal. This time when I shoot, I hit closer to the mark. Not perfect, but better. Emilio gives a small nod of approval.
This isn't just about the missing money; it's about what it represents. The Rosetti name means something in this city. It means respect, power, control. When someone skims from us, they're not just taking cash, they're challenging everything we stand for. Dad drilled that into us since we were kids. The family business isn't just business; it's who we are. And I'll be damned if I let anyone undermine that on my watch.
But it's more than pride. The missing money creates cracks in our foundation. Those cracks don't just threaten me, they threaten Carmela, Matteo, everyone with our blood. I've spent my life being the enforcer, the one who makes problems disappear so the rest of them don't have to get their hands dirty. It's my role, my purpose. Failing at it isn't an option.
And now there's Sloane, somehow tangled up in all this through her dead friend. I shouldn't care. She's not family. She's not even close to being my type. But something about her desperation, her stubborn refusal to back down, has gotten under my skin. She doesn't know what she's walking into, and for some reason I can't name, I don't want to see her become collateral damage in a war she doesn't understand.
“Find out why the Callahans ordered the hit on Madeline Torres,” I say.
Emilio reloads his gun, slow and easy. He’s the best person I know with computers, and the best at keeping his mouth shut.
“Thought you didn’t care about those guys,” he says, fishing for information.
“I don’t.” I aim and fire, dead-on this time. “But I need to know.”
“You mean, you need to know if a certain name’s come up,” he says.
He doesn’t even glance my way, just squeezes off another shot.
My gun clatters to the table as I grab Emilio by the shirt and slam him into the wall, and everyone at the shooting range freezes. Looks shoot our way. No one wants to be around when a Rosetti fight kicks off. The smart ones start packing up, not risking a glance in our direction. I know some of these guys will probably spread rumors by the end of the day, but right now, I don’t care.
“How the fuck do you know about Sloane?”
The words come out sharper than a bullet. My fist tightens on his shirt.
