Page 30 of Rosetti Family New York
“Yes. Please, Leonardo.”
I step back and drink in the sight of her, pinned by the wall to her wrists, naked and beautiful, writhing in pleasure. “Not today. This is your punishment, remember?” My punishment too, as it turns out.
I turn away, and she rattles her handcuffs, fighting against them. “You aren’t going to leave me here, are you?”
“Not for too long. Just until you calm down,” I tell her.
"Fuck you," she screams, her voice raw and shaking. She bucks her hips against the air, trying to find relief. "I hate you. I hate you."
Her anger thrills me, makes me even harder, makes me fucking immortal. I leave her there, panting, shivering, desperate for me, desperate for what only I can give her. She curses me as I close the door, her shouts ringing through the hallway, making me smile.
15
Eleanor
“Why do you siblings all live together? Why don’t your parents live at the mansion too?”
Leonardo stares straight ahead, both hands tight on the wheel. He acts like he didn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t. I barely heard myself. But the house looms in front of us. Smaller than the mansion. More brick and wood, less glass and steel. I still count the guards. But this place is a lot more inviting. More alive. It feels like a home. The kind of place a woman could breathe. The kind of place you might want to live.
I wonder if he’ll ever take me anywhere that doesn’t require armed security.
“Is this our house?” I ask. The words sound stupid once I say them, but I can’t take them back. Leonardo looks at me, confused.
“It’s my parents’ place,” he says. “You think it’s ours?”
The mansion is too big for the two of us. Too big for any sane person, but too small for all the Rosetti siblings. “Why not?” I shrug. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to live somewhere like this? Somewhere a bit smaller. Just the two of us.” I let the restof the question dangle between us, but he grabs it like he grabs everything.
“What? You don’t like all the glass and steel?” He sounds amused. “No, wait, you don’t like all my brothers.” He cracks his knuckles.
I shiver. “I’m just not used to so much... chaos.”
“You should’ve told me. We’ll move out tonight.” He seems like he means it, like it would be nothing to load me into the car and drive away, buy a new house in the city, just for us.
"I don’t know," I say, more to myself than to him. My father’s house was quiet. You could hear your own breath in the halls. The Rosetti mansion? It's chaos. It's Carmela pulling me into the kitchen to show me how to make eggplant parmesan, which ends up more like eggplant charcoal. It’s Matteo dragging me to the smallest living room to watch reality TV. It's Leonardo sneaking into bed beside me every evening, then sneaking right back out before morning. "It's so different, living with so many people," I say. "No secrets."
"Nothing but secrets," Leonardo says. "Say the word, and we’ll move out."
I pause. I think of the warmth and life in the mansion. “Let’s not rush.”
Inside Salvatore and Gianna's house, the smell of garlic and red sauce swarms my nose, a full-on assault. We turn the corner, and everyone is gathered in the living room, sitting on couches, talking loudly, filling the space like only Rosettis can. There’s Dom, serious as ever, his back perfectly straight, never wasting a second, never slouching. Rafe, his face shadowed under hisclose-cropped hair, looks like he’s watching all the exits at once. Matteo, too comfortable for my taste, flips a silver coin between his fingers. No sign of the other siblings, but Leonardo’s parents, Sal and Gianna, are seated in armchairs like the king and queen they are.
Gianna Rosetti is impeccably dressed, even at home. Her auburn hair, streaked with silver, is twisted elegantly at her neck. She meets my eyes with a warm but assessing look. The only woman who’s ever scared me more than her is my own grandmother. Salvatore Rosetti, the kingpin, wears a neat wool sweater. While his body sits in a plush chair, his presence looms larger than any figure in the room. I heard legends about him long before I met him. Ruthless but charismatic, his word is law, his judgments swift and final. Around here, some people say he runs Brooklyn from that single armchair, his orders shaping the city like hands shaping clay. Even his own children don’t cross him. He commands respect just by breathing, earning it with every scar and story from decades at the top. He acts like he’s got the right to sit anywhere like that, and maybe he does.
He nods at me with a knowing glint in his dark eyes. He has a sneaky kind of charm to him, like he already knows what you want and is thinking about whether you can have it. Loyalty is his biggest currency. Family his one true alliance. But right now, he looks more like a grandpa babysitting his grown-up kids. A rosary hangs from his pocket, swinging slightly as he lifts his arms to wave Leonardo and me closer, kissing us both on the cheeks. I remember what they say. The more he smiles, the more you should worry.
My nerves are alive, thrumming. Two strangers are in the room. They are introduced to me as Chase Callahan and his son, Dale.
“The Irish family,” Leonardo murmurs in my ear.
Dinner is as tense as I expect. The air sharp with power. I sit next to Leonardo, who smells of whiskey. Chase Callahan sits across, a hawk's gaze from under salt-and-pepper brows, and Leonardo bristles every time the man glances at me. This is Rosetti territory, but with two families at the table, you can never be sure who holds the power.
"Christ," Leonardo mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear. "Does he ever take his eyes off you?"
I smile tightly, ignoring the unease prickling at the back of my neck. I could ask the same about you, I think. The room is warm with low lighting, glass chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. This house is smaller, more intimate than the Rosetti mansion, but still heavy with money. Two men flank the front door. Even when they're eating pasta and cannoli, the Rosettis never let down their guard.
A maid sweeps in from the kitchen, setting a tray in the middle of the table.
"Dig in, everybody!" Gianna calls, her lilting Italian accent filling the room. "I don't want to see any leftovers, or there will be trouble."
