Page 475 of Rosetti Family New York
I'm not playing soldier anymore. This is strategic warfare, and I have family resources that make the Torrinos look like amateur hour. Let them come with their professional surveillance and coordinated teams.
They have no idea what they're up against now.
Carmela appears behind me, her small hand settling on my shoulder as she studies the photos. "Wow, they got my good side. Though following me to get coffee seems excessive—they could have just asked for my usual order like normal stalkers."
"Carmela, this—"
"How bad is it?" she asks, turning serious.
"Bad enough that your family's involved now."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then her hand tightens on my shoulder—not fear, but determination.
"Good," she says, voice carrying ice I've only glimpsed before. "Let them try to take what's ours."
Ours.
The word slams into me. Not debt payment. Not obligation. Ours.
The word hangs between us, heavy with promise and threat. She's standing there in my sweater, barefoot in my kitchen, staring down surveillance photos of men who want to kill her—and she's not afraid. She's furious. The sight of her fierce protectiveness over what we've built together destroys the last of my control.
Before she can react, I'm moving. Spinning from the chair to face her, my hands finding her waist, lifting her onto the counter. Thephotos scatter beneath her as I step between her legs, my mouth claiming hers with desperate hunger.
She tastes like coffee and sleep and home—everything I never thought I could have. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, matching my desperation with her own fierce need.
"Say it again," I growl against her lips, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the sweater higher.
"Ours," she breathes, and the word makes something primal and possessive roar through my veins. "This is ours, Van. They can't have it."
My mouth moves to her throat, tasting the pulse that beats wild against my tongue.
The surveillance photos crinkle beneath her as I push her back against the counter, my body covering hers. Anyone who wants to take her from me will have to go through hell first.
And I'll make sure that's exactly where I send them.
"Bedroom," I command against her ear, my hands already working to lift her. "Now."
She wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her away from the photos, away from the threats, toward the sanctuary where she's mine and I'm hers and nothing else exists.
The Torrinos can plan all they want.
They'll never understand what they're truly up against—a man who's found something worth killing for, and a woman who's claimed him right back.
10 - Carmela
I'm sore after being thoroughly taken by Van twice in as many days. My body isn't used to this.
The silence in his sterile apartment feels different now—charged with energy. I pad through his space in one of his surgical scrub shirts, my body still humming from the intensity of him.
Van's already left for an emergency surgery—something about a multi-car accident that couldn't wait. Before he left, he kissed me hard, then pressed a credit card into my hands. "Back soon. Buy whatever makes you happy." Then he grabbed his keys and was gone before I could say anything back.
Whatever makes me happy. I think about those words until they merge. When's the last time someone said that to me without adding conditions? Without expecting something in return?
The soft cotton of his scrub shirt hangs to my thighs as I move to the kitchen and look at the credit card, matte black with his name embossed in silver. No spending limit listed.
My chest does this weird flutter thing. I'm making a decision without family approval, without asking permission, without considering what anyone else wants. Just me, claiming space in this sterile apartment that feels more like a medical facility than a home.
Am I actually doing this? Playing house with a man who could break me in half? The thought makes me grin as I go get changed into jeans and a t-shirt.
