Page 484 of Rosetti Family New York
His pupils dilate at my words, and I see the exact moment his last walls crumble. "Then you need to know," he says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "I'm never letting you go. Whatever comes next, whatever your family expects, whatever threats we face—you're mine to protect, mine to claim, mine to keep."
The promise hangs between us like a vow, and I know with absolute certainty that everything is about to change. The way he's looking at me, the possessive satisfaction in his touch—this isn't just about tonight.
This is about forever.
And in this dangerous world, forever promises come with consequences I'm only beginning to understand.
13 - Van
The moment Carmela steps into my bedroom the next day, every muscle in my body goes taut with need. She moves through my space like she belongs here, trailing her fingers along my dresser, and my cock responds immediately - half-hard just from watching her claim territory that's supposed to be mine alone.
Christ. I close the door behind us, the click echoing like a warning shot. She's dangerous to my control, this bright, joyful woman who makes me want things I have no business wanting.
"Van?" She turns toward me, eyes bright with anticipation and something that might be nervousness. "You look like you're fighting yourself."
Smart girl. She sees the war happening beneath my skin - the phantom ache starting in my wrists, the way my jaw clenches as I watch her stand near my perfectly made bed. Every instinct screams at me to either run or pin her down.
"I am." The admission comes out rougher than intended. But she's here, willing, and my cock throbs against my zipper despite the trauma trying to surface.
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her skin. "What do you need?"
What I need is to possess her completely. What I need is surgical precision to navigate this without letting my PTSD contaminatewhat we're building. What I need is to establish protocols that will keep us both safe while I lose myself in commanding her responses.
"To establish our dynamic properly," I tell her, positioning myself directly in front of her. "Formal protocols. Clear boundaries. This isn't a game, princess."
Her chin lifts slightly, and the movement sends heat straight to my groin. "I know that."
"Do you?" I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that she can probably smell my arousal, see how her presence affects me. "Because once we negotiate these limits, once we establish what belongs to me, there's no taking it back casually. No changing your mind when things get intense."
She swallows hard, and I track the movement of her throat, wanting to put my mouth there. "What do you need to know?"
I pull out my phone, opening the notes app with the same methodical approach I use for surgical consultations. My hands are steady despite the blood rushing to my cock, despite my mind trying to drag me back to darker places.
"Safe words first." My voice finds its professional cadence, the one that keeps me grounded when trauma symptoms surface. "Standard traffic light system - green means continue, yellow means slow down or check in, red means full stop immediately. No exceptions."
"Green, yellow, red," she repeats, nodding.
"Hard limits. Things that are completely off the table." I watch her face carefully as I continue. "Anything involving other people. Anything that could cause permanent damage. Anything in public spaces where your family name could be compromised."
Relief flashes across her features at that last point. Smart girl - she understands the implications.
"Soft limits," I continue. "Things you're uncertain about but might be willing to explore with proper preparation and communication."
She bites her lower lip, and I want to bite it too. Want to suck it into my mouth until she moans. "I… I don't know enough to have many soft limits yet." She thinks a little, then smirks. "Though I draw the line at anything involving your collection of hot sauce. Seventeen bottles is excessive, Van. We're not incorporating condiments."
The smile grows across my face. This woman is something else. But I need to remember that she jokes when she's nervous, and that she's just learning how this works.
"That's why we start slowly and build trust through consistent protocol." I set my phone aside and grip her chin gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. The contact sends electricity through my fingertips. "When we're in scene, you address me as Sir. You ask permission before coming. You don't hide your responses from me - I want to see everything you're feeling."
I wait for her to quip about that, perhaps suggest calling me 'Supreme Commander of the Bedroom.' But she doesn't. Instead, her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Yes, Sir."
The title in her sunshine voice makes my cock throb against my zipper, but I maintain control. The formal structure helps - gives me something to focus on besides the desperate need to pin her down and claim every inch of her skin.
I pause, letting the weight of what I'm about to say settle between us. "Outside of scenes, we negotiate as equals. You have full power to modify or end our arrangement. But understand what you're committing to." My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. "I'm not just some civilian you're playing around with. I'm a man who owes his life to your family, who's been entrusted with protecting their most precious asset. When you submit to me, you submit completely - not just as a woman to her dominant, but as a Rosetti daughter to the man who will kill anyone who threatens what's his."
Her pupils dilate at my words, recognition of what claiming the youngest Rosetti daughter truly means flickering in her gaze. The dangerous world we inhabit, the protection this relationship will require, the family power it represents.
"I know what staying with you means," she says quietly. "What you claiming a Rosetti means. I choose all of it."
