Page 335 of Rosetti Family New York
"Breathe," Emilio whispers in my ear. "You look like you're ready to run."
The words hit home because they're true. My fingers touch the pendant at my throat—mom's necklace, the one he kept safe for me while I was busy betraying him.
The crystal vial in my clutch feels as heavy as my guilt. Twelve minutes from delivery to effect. The neurotoxin is colorless, odorless, and undetectable. I just need two seconds with Chase's champagne.
And Sarah will finally have her justice. Eight months dead while I served her killer, believing his lies about her safety. Tonight, Chase will pay for every deception, every fake photo, every message pretending she was alive while her body was cold.
"He's not here yet," I note, looking for Chase's silver hair. "The head table's empty."
"He'll be here exactly at eleven." Emilio's fingers press firmly on my back. "Chase is obsessively punctual. He controls through precision."
I note the security. Men with earpieces, weapons under their jackets, guests who can quickly head for the exits. Assassins pretending to be part of polite society.
"Mara Vale." The voice behind me is threatening enough to make smart people reach for their weapons. It's Connor Callahan, my old date. "I didn't expect to see you here."
I turn calmly, showing my surprise but hiding my fear. Connor stands with two men I don't recognize. They're built like soldiers, not socialites.
"Connor." I add warmth to my voice while my mind searches for escape routes. "I heard you'd left town. Something about fixing your broken teeth?"
I'm pushing the edge here, but I can't help myself.
"Plans changed last minute." His smile is too wide, showing too many teeth, all of which are back in their usual places. "Uncle Chase wanted family at tonight's celebration."
Something feels off. Connor wasn't in our plans. His bodyguards look European, not the usual Callahan crew.
"How nice," I say, leaning into Emilio's warmth. His hand moves to my waist, his thumb gently stroking, a casual gesture that prepares him for action. "I love family gatherings."
"Don't we all." Connor's eyes move between us, understanding things that make my stomach knot. "Your choice of company is surprising. Emilio Rosetti. Quite a bold move showing your face here."
In a gathering of hyenas wanting to pick apart the Rosetti family corpse, he means.
"I've proven I can handle you," Emilio says, his voice calm. "Or have you forgotten our meeting at Bautiste?"
The threat is clear, as the two size each other up while I stand stuck in the middle.
"Indeed." Connor's smile grows, planning something that makes my skin crawl. "My date with Mara. You know, that wasn't our first evening together. We worked closely in Paris, right, Mara?"
The way he says 'closely' makes Emilio grip my waist tighter, his body tense with barely controlled aggression.
"We were business partners," I say smoothly, though my heart races. "Nothing more."
"Of course." Connor's tone suggests he finds my comment funny. "Though you did spend a lot of time in my hotel suite. You called them strategy sessions."
Emilio's breathing changes beside me, deeper and steadier, a predator getting ready for action. His thumb stops its calming motion, and his fingers press into the silk hard enough to leave marks.
"If you'll excuse us," Emilio says, his voice dropping to a low tone, "the lady promised me a dance."
"Of course." Connor's voice follows us as we head to the dance floor. "Enjoy the evening. Both of you."
The orchestra starts a waltz. Around us, couples begin to move. Emilio pulls me into his arms with smooth grace, one hand on my waist while the other holds mine with possessive tenderness. As our bodies align, everything else in the ballroom fades away. No more threats or suspicious nephews, just his hand burning through silk, his scent weakening my knees.
We move together as if we were made for this, his thigh sliding between mine as he guides me through the turn, his chest firm against mine as he pulls me closer than is proper. Every step is a choreographed seduction, his hand keeping me steady while his thumb traces circles that make my core tighten.
"Connor suspects," I whisper against his throat, using the closeness of the dance to hide our urgent talk.
"How much?" His voice stays steady despite the tension in his body.
"Enough to be dangerous." He spins me, the motion helping me note security positions that have changed since Connor's arrival. "The men with him are professionals. European specialists, not regular muscle."
