Page 204 of Rosetti Family New York
I swallow hard and place my phone in the woman's outstretched hand. She passes it to Domenico, who pockets it without a word.
"And your watch," she adds, eyeing my wrist. "Anything else smart or connected?"
I remove my watch, feeling increasingly vulnerable. "That's it."
The woman nods, seemingly satisfied. "She stays in the east wing. Restricted access. No wandering."
Domenico doesn't look happy about it, but he steps aside. "One night," he says to Rafe. "Then we discuss this as a family."
Rafe doesn't argue. He places his hand at the small of my back and guides me into the house. As we pass Domenico, I feel his gaze burning into me like a physical touch.
The front hall is cavernous, with high ceilings and marble floors that echo with our footsteps. Everything glistens, steel, glass, stone. Even the art is the kind you only find in fancy museums, all abstract and incomprehensible.
"Your brother seems nice," I mutter under my breath.
Rafe almost smiles. "He's cautious. For good reason."
"And the woman?"
"Besiana. Dom's wife." He glances at me. "Don't let her catch you calling her that."
We move through the house quickly, passing closed doors and hushed voices. I feel eyes on me from every shadow, every corner. This isn't the welcome I expected, but then, what did I expect? To be embraced with open arms by a crime family?
Rafe stops in a long hallway. I count more doors than I can believe.
"You'll be safe here," he says, tugging off his gloves and jamming them in his coat pocket. "Cameras, guards. No one's getting past."
I rub my wrist, where the rope burns are still raw. "Is this a bad time to ask if I'm a prisoner?"
He frowns, then leans in, and I get a whiff of his cologne, sharp and clean. "You think I went through all that trouble just to keep you locked up?" he asks. "If I was gonna do that, I'd at least put you in gold chains."
"Well," I say, trying not to melt into a puddle. "At least they'd match the décor."
Before he can respond, footsteps approach from behind us. I turn to see a lean man in a hoodie, his dark eyes watching me with undisguised suspicion.
"This is Emilio," Rafe says. "My brother."
Emilio doesn't offer his hand. "We need to talk," he says to Rafe, ignoring me completely. "Now."
Rafe sighs. "Can it wait?"
"No," Emilio says flatly. His gaze flicks to me. "Family business."
The dismissal is clear. I'm not family.
"Go ahead," I say to Rafe. "I'll be fine."
Rafe hesitates, looking between us. "Emilio—"
"I already ran a background check," Emilio cuts in. "Stanford undergrad. Psychology PhD candidate. Father is Jack Carter, formerly of the NYPD, specialized in organized crime. Mother is Nigella Carter, a high school English teacher. Brother Frank, sister Lisa."
My mouth falls open. "How did you—"
"That's what he does," Rafe explains. He turns to Emilio. "And?"
"And she's clean," Emilio admits reluctantly. "No police contacts besides her father. No social media connections to anyone we should worry about. No suspicious financial transactions."
"See?" Rafe says. "I told you."
