Page 215 of Rosetti Family New York
My chest feels tight, but I won’t let him see me sweat.
“Because you know what’s best for me?”
His eyes are steel.
“Because I know how this works,” he says.
I lean back in my chair, push it so far I’m almost tipping over.
“This should be good.”
“The Red Hooks are asking about you.”
Everything drops away for a second. Everything except his eyes on mine and the space between us shrinking and expanding at the same time.
His voice is as dark as the space we’re in. “And that’s not all. They know who you are. You weren’t dumb enough to give them your name, were you?”
My throat goes dry. I force out a laugh, a breathy sound that doesn’t convince even me.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask instead of answering his question.
“So you understand why you have to stay here.”
I stand up, palms flat on the table.
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask.
“Tough,” he says, and he’s across from me in a flash, matching my stance. “I told you. You’re not leaving.”
“Or what?”
My voice rises, defiant, a challenge.
“Or I drag you back.”
“Seriously?”
His jaw is set like concrete, but his voice wavers, just a fraction.
“Don’t make me,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, softening, my anger melting into something else. “Why do you care?”
He hesitates. It’s just for a second, but it’s there. Then he looks at me with a kind of intensity that makes me hold my breath.
“Because I do.”
Three small words. They hit me like a punch, leave me reeling. They aren’t what I expected, and I don’t know what to do with them. Not at first. But they shift the ground between us.
I cross my arms again, this time more to hold myself together than to act tough.
“You’re still an asshole,” I say.
He smirks.
“But you’re still here.”
It’s almost funny, the way we are with each other. Like sparring partners who like getting hit as much as they like throwing the punches. Maybe that’s why I can’t hate him. Maybe that’s why I can’t leave. It doesn’t make sense, but it does.
