Page 435 of Rosetti Family New York
"That's terrifyingly mature of you." But Carmela's voice carries pride, the kind that comes from watching someone you care about become better than they were. "What if she chooses to stay away?"
"Then I'll still be hers." The truth spills out before I can stop it, honest as a confession. "Even if she never comes back to me, even if I never see her again, I'll still be hers. That's what this is."
The words land in the kitchen like a stone dropped in still water, ripples spreading outward. Carmela stares at me with something approaching awe, seeing her brother transformed into someone she's never met before.
"She's broken you," she says finally.
"No." I flip the coin one last time before pocketing it, decision made. "She's made me whole."
We sit for a moment, processing the weight of that admission. Then Carmela breaks the silence with characteristic directness.
"So what's the plan? Just sit here drinking whiskey until she decides?"
"I'm not just waiting." I pull the coin back out, let it dance between my fingers with steady confidence. "There's a position opening on the Whitney's board next month. Isabella's research on lost women artists? It's exactly what they need for their new acquisition focus. I made some calls."
Carmela's eyebrows rise. "You're building her a career."
"I'm building us a life. One where she gets to do what she loves, with the resources to actually make a difference. When she's ready." The coin stills in my palm. "She'll have her own power base, her own legacy. Not just taking over what Chase built, but creating something better."
"And if she chooses to do it alone?"
"Then she'll still have everything I've set up for her. The board position, the research funding, the contacts. Because loving someone means wanting them to thrive, whether they choose you or not."
"For what it's worth," Carmela says eventually, "I think she'll come back. Anyone who could change you this much... that's not something you walk away from easily."
I want to believe her. Want to trust that the woman who stitched my wounds and chose my family over her past will choose me over the safety of distance. But wanting and having are different animals entirely.
"We'll see," I say, finishing my whiskey. The amber liquid burns going down, warmth spreading through my chest like false courage.
"Matt?" Carmela's voice stops me as I head toward the door. "Whatever she decides... you did good. Becoming the kind of man worth choosing. That matters."
The words follow me through marble hallways, up stairs that lead to a bedroom that feels too empty without her in it. I don't sleep. Just lie in the dark, listening for footsteps that might never come, waiting for a choice that might break me.
But for the first time in my life, I'm willing to risk everything on someone else's decision. Because that's what love actually means. Not taking what you want, but creating space for someone to choose you freely.
And trusting that you've become the kind of man worth choosing.
The coin sits silent on my nightstand. No need to flip it anymore. The only gamble that matters now is hers to make.
28
Isabella
The clock glows 3:17 AM when I jolt awake, but not from nightmares.
My apartment. Not the guest room at the mansion, not the safehouse, but my own bed in my own space. The familiar pale walls and carefully chosen art feel foreign now, like artifacts from someone else's life. The digital clock glows 3:17 AM, but I'm wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
No nightmares. Again.
I sit up slowly, testing the absence of terror that used to greet me every morning. For weeks now, since that first night Matteo claimed me completely, the dreams have been peaceful. No more waking in cold sweats, no more Chase's voice echoing through my subconscious, no more fragments of my parents' death playing on repeat.
The realization hits me with stunning clarity. The nightmares that have haunted me since childhood didn't just fade. They stopped the moment I let myself belong to him. The moment I stopped fighting what I felt and let myself be held, protected, treasured.
I've been sleeping peacefully for weeks, but I've been too stubborn to acknowledge what that means.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching cold hardwood. I'm wearing one of Matteo's white button-downs that I took from the mansion, the sleeves rolled up, the fabric hanging loose on my frame. It still smells like him. Expensive cologne and something clean and masculine that makes my chest tight with longing.
When did his scent become home to me?
