Page 26 of Rosetti Family New York
"I was just in the garden," she says. Her chin is up, defiant, and goddamn if it doesn’t make me want her more. “I’m allowed in the damn garden, Leonardo.”
"Of course," I say, although she wasn’t asking, she was telling. I sit on the bed and lean back, arms crossed. Waiting.
She stays by the door, watching me, like she’s waiting for something too. I don’t move. I don’t blink.
After a minute that stretches forever, her gaze softens, a sigh escaping her lips. “Was the big bad gangster worried about his little princess?” she teases.
I smirk, some of the tension leaking out of me. "I was worried you’d broken one of the rules."
She looks up, annoyed now. "Piss off, Leonardo." I take it as a win that I’ve annoyed her enough that a curse broke through her perfect, poised exterior.
“The family calls me Leo,” I remark.
She folds her arms across her chest. “We’re not family.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, and I’m not, but the words still sting. “What are we, then?”
She shifts her weight, purses her lips while she thinks for a word to describe our relationship. “Business associates,” she finally says.
I bark out a laugh and stand up, crossing to the bedroom doorway where she’s still standing. I pull out a long, narrow box from the back of my jeans and hand it to her. “Nice doing business with you, Price.”
The shock on her face is delicious as I hand her the gift, but I don’t stick around to see her open it. I walk out the door, my words hanging in the air.
13
Eleanor
Isit on the edge of an oversized sofa in a vast, empty room, reading and re-reading the same paragraph. The words slip from my mind without even touching it. My thoughts run to Leonardo instead, my husband in name and title, and I wonder why he keeps leaving me alone in our bed. Every night, he sneaks in beside me and I roll into him like a heat-seeking missile, half asleep. But in the morning, he is gone. I want to ask him, but that would mean losing. Instead, I pretend not to care, pretend to read.
He is not like I imagined, this hotheaded boy-king of the Rosetti family. More bark than bite, more kindness than cruelty. He demands everything but never insists, setting out rules with a grin that invites defiance. When I test him, little lies to see if he is paying attention, he punishes me in tiny ways, by not letting me snuggle with him as long as I want to, by gifting me extravagant diamond necklaces and not waiting around so I can thank him. That’s not punishment at all. And still, it stings, his refusal to play by the script. I want him to be like my father. I want him to be cruel. I want to know how to hate him.
I turn a page, aware I haven’t read the last, and a cat jumps into my lap. It’s small, orange, like the fuzzy toy Carmela has on a keychain. This is her pet, I’ve seen her playing with it, but I want nothing to do with it.
“Go away,” I tell it, brushing fur from my blouse. The cat pushes its head against my palm, a wet little nose, purring like a machine. I push it to the floor. It jumps back, fearless and foolish. “Go away.” I push it harder this time, then cross my legs so it has no lap to sit on. It is relentless, but I am even more so, and eventually it gives up and wanders away.
I press the two thin gold bands around my fingers, one on each hand, one my mother’s, the other my husband’s, turning them until they leave a red mark.
He has three rules, all about staying close to him. I’m glad he doesn’t have a rule that I can’t sleep in his bed. He knows this is where I feel safest, warm and lost beneath sheets that smell of him. When he leaves me every morning, I tell myself it doesn’t hurt, and sometimes I almost believe it.
The cat is back. It stretches against my leg, small claws pressing through my skirt. I push it again, gentle but firm, and I hiss to make it fear me. The sound scratches at memories. I remember a cat like this one, small but so important. It was everything in the world to me and Juliet, our reason for getting up and our reason for smiling, until father gave it away to a visiting sheik who admired it.
“Handsome cat,” he’d said.
“It’s yours,” father said, extending his hands in generosity, giving away a piece of my heart.
The lesson was clear, and I learned it well. Don’t let anyone get too close. Don’t love. That way, nothing can break your heart.
I pick up my phone, calling Juliet. She doesn’t answer. She and I speak every day, but she hasn’t answered my calls or messages in days. Something must be wrong.
I stare at the screen, willing it to flash her name. There is nothing. The walls press in.
She’s left alone with father, and I am as helpless to save her now as I was when I left. It was supposed to protect her, this marriage, this bargain. I thought my body would be enough to barter, to keep her free of his rules. But maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I’ve put her in more danger. I never should have left her alone with him.
I dial again, watching the cat watch me. “Fine,” I say, my voice high and tight when she fails to answer, a half-choked whisper. “I’m coming.” I let the phone fall onto the marble floor, hard enough that the case cracks.
I left Juliet alone with a monster. What was I thinking? I have to reach her. Now.
There are voices in the hallway, more brothers than anyone needs, and I open the door to see which ones. Raffaele is there, talking to Emilio. “Rafe,” I say, catching the one I think is listening. “I need you to drive me somewhere.”
