Page 433 of Rosetti Family New York
"Getting there." I lean into him, letting his strength support me. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying. For not being afraid of me. For helping me remember that I'm still human."
"You were never anything else." His arms tighten around me. "Even at your most dangerous, you were never anything but human."
The feeling swells in my chest, terrifying and wonderful and too big for words. Something that might be love, if I were brave enough to name it. But I'm not. Not yet.
After we're both clean, he helps me into one of Carmela's soft robes, the cashmere gentle against my tender skin. Back in the bedroom, I settle against the pillows, feeling more human than I have since the warehouse.
"That's okay," he says when I mention not knowing how to do this. "We have time."
Time. When was the last time I had time? When was the last time I could just exist without calculating angles, without performing for an audience, without wondering what was expected of me?
"Everyone leaves," I whisper as he settles beside me, careful not to jostle my injuries. "Everyone dies or disappears or finds something better."
"Not me." His voice is fierce, certain. "I'm not everyone."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But trusting feels like stepping off a cliff, and I've spent my entire life learning to keep my feet on solid ground.
"Promise?" The word comes out smaller than I intended.
"Promise." He brushes a strand of damp hair away from my face. "I'm not going anywhere."
I study his face in the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows. The late sun turns his auburn hair to copper, highlights the strong line of his jaw. When did I start memorizing these details? When did this face become something I wanted to wake up to?
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now?" He leans back against the headboard, pulling me carefully against his side. "Now we figure it out. Together."
That word again. Together. It settles into my bones like something that was always meant to be there.
Outside, I can hear the distant sounds of the city. Life continuing, the world spinning on, people going about their daily routines with no idea that everything has changed. That thewoman I used to be died in that warehouse, and someone new is learning to breathe in her place.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"Of what?"
"Of this. Of you. Of what I might become if I let myself want something." I press my face against his chest, breathing in his scent. "But I'm more scared of going back to who I was before."
"Then don't." His arms tighten around me. "Be who you are now. Be who you choose to be."
The simple permission breaks something loose inside me. Some final wall I didn't even know I was still holding up.
For the first time since I was eight years old, I'm not afraid of what tomorrow might bring. Because whatever it is, I won't face it alone.
27
Matteo
The underground vault beneath Il Lusso feels like a tomb. Concrete walls sweat with moisture from the city overhead, fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that make everything look sickly. The air smells of mold and fear, with an underlying scent of something metallic that could be rust or could be old blood.
Marco sits bound to a steel chair in the center of the room, bloodied and broken but still breathing. One eye swollen shut, clothes torn, the kind of damage that comes from hours of questioning by professionals. My guards stand silent in the corners, waiting for orders, weapons ready but hands empty.
No pacing. No rage. My coin stays motionless in my pocket.
Marco represents betrayal stripped of excuses. Twenty years managing Il Lusso, twenty years of knowing every secret that passed through those doors, every deal that got made in the VIP rooms. And he fed it all to Chase Callahan. Every client, every meeting, every piece of intelligence that gave Chase the ammunition he needed to plan his attacks. Twenty years of family trust, traded for triple his salary in an offshore account.
