Page 280 of Rosetti Family New York
"Not until you promise me you won't do anything stupid. This isn't one of your chess games where you can predict every move. This is real life, and she's a real threat."
I turn to face him fully, my voice dropping to the quiet register that even Matteo knows to fear. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't run every scenario, calculated every risk? I'm not the one who thinks with his dick, Matt. That's your specialty."
"At least I know who I'm fucking," he fires back. "You? She had you so twisted you couldn't see straight. And now she's back, and you're right back to being her puppet."
"I said get out."
Matt steps closer instead, invading my space. "Make me. Or are you too busy planning how to betray your family for a woman who never loved you?"
The blow lands exactly as intended. For all his social intelligence, Matt has always known precisely where to place the knife. I turn away, not trusting myself to respond.
He lingers, deliberately pushing the boundary of my patience. "You know what your problem is, Milo? You think because you can see everything through your cameras that you understand everything. But you don't see shit. You never have."
After he leaves, the silence feels charged. I wonder, not for the first time, how two people sharing identical DNA could becomesuch different men. Where I seek patterns, Matteo seeks power. Where I calculate, he dominates.
I turn back to the screens, to Mara's face frozen in mid-conversation with Chase Callahan. Maybe Matteo's right about one thing—seeing isn't the same as understanding. I've watched Mara for three years without comprehending why she left.
Tomorrow night, I'll do more than watch. I'll finally get
3
Mara
Bautiste's VIP section glows with intimate lighting. I sit across from Connor Callahan, forcing my smile to appear genuine while my pulse hammers against my ribs.
He's handsome enough, with dark hair swept back, a strong jaw, bespoke suit. But all I can think about is the last time I sat at this restaurant, three years ago, when storm-gray eyes watched me across the table.
"You seem distracted," Connor observes, his tone carrying amusement that makes my skin crawl. "Second thoughts about our evening?"
"Just taking in the atmosphere," I lie smoothly, gesturing toward the restaurant's opulent interior. "It's been a while since I've been somewhere this... civilized."
The irony isn't lost on me. Nothing about this evening is civilized. Not the weapons I can sense beneath Connor's tailored jacket, not the surveillance I know is tracking our every movement, not the trap we're setting for a man who once made me feel like the most precious thing in his world.
A man I warned three days ago, potentially signing my own death warrant. And his.
Connor leans forward, and I resist the urge to lean back. "It's been a while since Paris. Uncle Chase mentioned you stayed in Europe after that. Impressive work in Prague, from what I hear."
The casual reference to my criminal activities should flatter me, a recognition of competence in a world where respect is earned through violence. Instead, it reminds me how deep I've fallen, how far I am from the woman who once believed in things like justice and redemption.
"Prague was... educational," I reply, accepting the wine he pours with hands that remain steady despite my internal chaos. "Sometimes you discover capabilities you didn't know you possessed."
"Such as?" His eyes hold predatory interest that makes my stomach clench with warning.
"Survival. Adaptation. The ability to become someone else entirely when circumstances require it."
Like becoming someone who could sit across from Connor Callahan and pretend attraction while praying the man I once loved stays far away from whatever trap we're constructing.
But even as the thought forms, I know it's futile. Emilio knows I'm back in New York. The question isn't whether he knows I'm here. It's what he plans to do about it.
Connor's hand finds mine across the table, thumb tracing patterns against my knuckles that should feel intimate but instead make my skin crawl. "You know, when Uncle Chase suggested this evening, I wasn't sure what to expect. But you're... intriguing."
I should lean into his touch, and sell the performance Chase has scripted. Should smile and blush and pretend this charming sociopath is winning my heart. Instead, I find myself scanningthe restaurant's corners, cataloging exit routes and potential threats with hypervigilance I can't suppress.
"Expecting someone?" Connor asks, following my gaze with sharpening attention.
"Old habits." I force my focus back to his face, projecting calm I don't feel.
His grip tightens on my hand with claiming strength that makes warning bells shriek in my mind. "I should mention that Uncle Chase has positioned security throughout the restaurant. Just in case your... educational experiences attracted unwanted attention."
