Page 337 of Rosetti Family New York
"Gun!" I shout as I reach the dance floor, my voice slicing through the applause. "Emilio, gun!" He doesn't hesitate. His hand finds my back, guiding me toward the service corridor. We move with calm urgency, just another couple looking for privacy, not deer escaping wolves through marble halls.
The first shot sounds like thunder. Crystal shatters as Connor's bullet hits the champagne fountain instead of a person. Screams erupt. Civilized society falls into chaos as people scatter.
"How many?" Emilio asks as we reach the corridor.
"Connor plus two specialists. European muscle, set up for crossfire."
Footsteps on marble interrupt us. They've followed us to a secluded spot, perfect for a deadly conversation. Connor and his men appear from the shadows with weapons ready. So arrogant.
"Going somewhere, Mara?" His casual threat sends chills down my spine. "The party's just getting started."
Emilio steps in front of me, placing himself between Connor's weapons and me. In the corridor's dim light, he looks like he's carved from ice. Fierce, determined, focused on protecting what matters to him.
"Connor," Emilio says, his voice turning low and intense. "I've been wanting to have this chat."
"Really? Because from where I stand, it looks like your girlfriend just spared Uncle Chase's life to save you. What kind of agent picks the target over the mission?"
The accusation lingers, heavy and toxic, but Emilio doesn't budge. He seems to relax even more, his muscles tensing with a quiet readiness.
"The kind that is mine," Emilio replies with deadly calm. "Everything else is just noise."
"Yours? She's been part of my operations, Rosetti. She had my trust. Why do you think—"
A knife suddenly appears, black and menacing, drawn from the shadows of Emilio's tailored suit without any fanfare. It absorbs the light rather than reflecting it.
"You should be very cautious," Emilio notes casually, "about what you say next."
Connor's eyes widen, recognizing the change. He sees a predator acknowledging another predator. A professional killer realizing he's facing something even more dangerous. He tenses, but Emilio's calm makes him pause.
"She chose me," Emilio continues, taking a deliberate step forward. Smooth and controlled, like a hunter who's already picked his moment. "Over the mission, over everything you andChase offered her. She faced a choice between finishing her task and saving my life, and she didn't hesitate."
"It doesn't matter—" Connor begins, but Emilio's laugh interrupts, sharp and swift.
"It matters more than anything," he says softly. "Because you made one critical mistake."
"And that is?"
"You threatened what belongs to me." Connor's finger tightens on the trigger, ready to end the talk with violence. But Emilio is already in motion.
The Ghost moves smoothly, like liquid death. His knife finds the gap between tendons in Connor's wrist, forcing him to drop his gun, which clatters to the floor. Connor's scream echoes as metal grinds against bone.
While Connor's men stare in shock for one precious moment, I pull the gun from my thigh holster and shoot one in the arm. Emilio slides his knife into the man's heart, and he drops like a stone. The second mercenary draws his gun, but Emilio spins with grace, moving inside the gun's range. His blade cuts the man's throat in a deadly arc, leaving a bloody mark on the walls.
"This," Emilio murmurs as the man falls, blood spreading across the marble, "is what happens to those who think they can take what's mine."
Connor is alone now, his gun on the ground, his wrist bleeding freely. He is shaking.
"You're going to die now," Emilio says, walking forward with heavy steps that sound like funeral drums. Red stains his white shirt, and I can't look away.
"You don't understand," Connor gasps. "Chase will—"
"Chase will die too," Emilio cuts in, now close enough to touch. "Not tonight, but soon. And when he does, he'll know the cost of threatening what I hold dear. But first," Emilio whispers into Connor's ear, "you will."
The second blade slips between Connor's ribs. This death feels different. Personal, marked by intimate violence.
"She's mine," Emilio says softly as Connor's life spills onto the marble. "And this is what happens to anyone foolish enough to think they can change that."
Connor tries to respond, but only dark crimson bubbles out of his mouth.
