Page 41 of Rosetti Family New York
The words hang between us, and it’s Eleanor who breaks the silence this time. “Maybe I wanted you to come after me.” I stare at the road, not trusting myself to speak. “Or maybe,” she says, twisting the knife a little deeper, “I wanted to see if you would.”
The Cadillac glides to a stop at the light. I turn to her, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You’re wrong, you know. You’ve broken the most important rule of all.” She doesn’t answer, but I see it in her eyes. The defiance giving way to confusion, then curiosity.“You’ve got no clue what that is, do you? It’s this: Don’t be reckless with your fucking life, Eleanor.”
Her lips press into a thin line. She looks out the window, and I wait. I wait for her to get tired of the game, of pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she means to me.
The light changes, and the car speeds forward. The city blurs around us. “You love reckless,” she finally says. “That’s you to a tee. Leonardo Rosetti, the young hothead. Reckless is your middle name.” She’s playing with the ring again, fingers working fast.
I grip the wheel, so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. The words come out rougher than I mean them to, because I can’t help it, because I’m losing my mind. “Not when it comes to you.”
It lands. I can tell by the way her fingers freeze, mid-twist, then start again, slower this time. The car is quiet, the fight bleeding into something softer. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. I see it in her eyes, in the way she turns back to face me, the anger fading.
We don’t speak the rest of the way. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a war.
21
Eleanor
Il Lusso rises before me, all sleek and exclusive. I enter alone, if you don’t count the half dozen of his men flanking me as I walk through the doors.
Inside, the club smells of expensive liquor. At this late hour, it’s loud, the music thumping like a collective pulse. Eyes turn to me. A woman walks past, her dress so tight I wonder if she can breathe. I wear my black silk blouse and leopard print pants, my armor, dark red lipstick my only concession to Leonardo’s demands that I make myself pretty. I hear him in my head:Come to Il Lusso. Don’t make me ask twice.
This is my first time here, and I must admit I’m curious. Marble floors and dim lights, everything gold and indulgent. I pass the bar, men in suits laughing, women draped over them. One guard sticks to my side like glue, the others drop back a few paces.
Across the room, I spot Leonardo sitting with a bunch of men I don’t recognize. I move toward them, uninvited. Unstoppable.
There’s a moment of silence as I approach. Some of the men don’t know what to make of me. Is she here to watch? To help?To make sure her father’s deal sticks? I ignore their looks, and then I’m standing at the table, at Leonardo’s side, looking him dead in the eye.
I’m the first to speak. “Room for one more?” I take the chair before they have time to answer, a bold move that unsettles them, makes it clear I’m not afraid. If Leonardo expects me here, I expect to be heard. I am more than just my lipstick.
The talk resumes. Drugs. Payments. No one holds back on my account. One man leans back, his voice low, deliberate. “With the police commissioner out of the picture, the next handoff should be smooth.”
Leonardo watches them, watches me, eyes alive and sparking. He raises his drink and speaks over the noise. “The Irish backed off. The Russians too. Nobody wants to test us right now, not with the Albanians sniffing around.”
“And what about Price?” one of the men asks. “Is he still in play?”
Leonardo’s gaze snaps to mine. “Eleanor’s father isn’t a problem,” he says, too calm. “Our arrangement still stands.”
He doesn’t say it out loud, but I hear him just the same: You’re the collateral.
They all look at me now, studying, wondering. I meet each gaze until they turn away. Leonardo watches this, watches me claim a space they don’t think I deserve. They probably think I’m too soft, but what they don’t see is the blood underneath my nails. My father’s, my own. I never wanted any of this, but I will survive it. I have to, if I want the Rosettis’ help rescuing Juliet.
An hour passes, maybe more. The tension eases but never leaves. Raffaele shows up, late, his black gloves flashing as he claps Leonardo on the back. Rafe is the sibling I know the least, but it’s still nice to have another familiar face around the table. Leonardo gives his brother a hard look. I’ve learned this language already. He’s displeased. “How was Jersey?”
Raffaele shrugs. “They know who runs the ports now.”
Leonardo closes the meeting, no more questions, no room for doubt. His men disperse, Raffaele saunters over to the bar, and it’s just the two of us now.
He stands, nods toward the back of the club, a place I haven’t been yet. “Come on.”
I follow him past the dance floor, through the crowd. People move out of his way. The bass vibrates up through the soles of my boots, into my bones, shaking something loose. I feel like a ghost, untethered from my body, floating after him as the lights flash and the music pounds. His hand is on my wrist, guiding me, but the grip is gentle, almost as if he cares.
We reach a glass-walled room, a stark, soundproof cocoon. The rest of the club swirls around us, but we’re separate, inside our own world. He shuts the door behind me, and I feel the silence like a punch to the chest. There’s a long couch and a low table. A single chair, its back to the glass. He gestures for me to sit, but I don’t. I’m not here to obey.
“I thought you’d make more of a scene,” he says, watching me as he pours two drinks. Whiskey, the good stuff. It smells like my father’s study.
“I tried my very best to,” I tease. “Next time I’ll make a suggestion on who to sell guns to. I know a few people with big bankrolls.”
He sits in the chair and crosses one leg over the other. For now, he’s in control, but there’s a tension in his posture, a wariness in the set of his jaw.
