Page 55 of Rosetti Family New York
Before I can speak again, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen. Unknown number. Eleanor stops pacing, watching me.
“Who is it?” she asks, but I don’t answer. Not yet. I have a sinking feeling, a clench in my gut.
I swipe to take the call. “Rosetti,” I say, but there’s silence on the line. Then a voice, smooth and taunting, with a thick Albanian accent.
“Your men were watching the wrong house.”The voice echoes, each word a bullet. I freeze. Everything tilts, then spins, then stops altogether.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growl, but there’s an emptiness taking over, a cold pit in my stomach that spreads. The man just chuckles in response.
“Your pretty wife’s sister. She’s ours now,”he taunts.
“Juliet,” I say, my voice hollow and distant, like it’s coming from someone else. Eleanor’s eyes widen. Horror spills into them.
“We will return her in one piece after our shipment of rubies is returned to us. One priceless princess for one crate of rocks. That seems a fair trade to me.”His voice is calm and cool.
I’m already moving, heading toward the door, my mind calculating, scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. But Eleanor’s look stops me. Her terror is paralyzing.
“Where is she?” I demand. My voice is calm fury.
“You don’t need to worry about that. All you need to do is give us back our rubies, stop interfering in our business with Price, and your pretty wife gets her sister back,”comes the reply, measured and smug. I know he’s smiling. Fuckwit.
I laugh, bitter and short. “Richard Price won’t do business with you after you’ve kidnapped his daughter.” My mind reels. I’m losing control of the situation, and I know Eleanor sees it.
It’s the Albanian’s turn to laugh.“I wouldn’t be so sure he values his children more highly than his business.”I glance at Eleanor. She’s already figured it out.“Keep your phone nearby for more instructions.”The call cuts off, leaving me in a suffocating silence.
“No,” Eleanor whispers, shaking her head as if she can will my words away. I want to reach for her, to comfort her, but she looks at me like I’m a stranger.
“The Albanians hit your father’s house instead.” I try to keep my voice steady, but the blame is as much mine as it is hers. Her breath catches, sharp and painful.
“They took her.” It’s not a question, but I nod, each movement slow and deliberate. Eleanor’s knees nearly buckle. I step forward, ready to catch her, but she shoves me away, fury and terror in her eyes. “We were here,” she says, her voice breaking. “We were fucking here, waiting, while they—” She slams a fist against my chest, her anger turning into something wild, uncontrollable. “We should have been there!”
I let her hit me. I take it, because I fucking agree.
“They’ll pay for this,” I say, but my words don’t reach her. She’s too far gone, her emotions raw and violent. She hits me again, her fists a blur of desperation and rage.
“This is my fault,” she cries, and it’s like she’s unraveling, every stitch of control coming loose. “It’s my fucking fault! If I hadn’t got caught up with criminals, she’d still be safe. If I had insisted on bringing her with me earlier…”
“Eleanor,” I say, grabbing her wrists, pinning her to me. She struggles, but I don’t let go. I can feel her heart racing, feel the tremble in her body. “Look at me,” I demand, and her eyes snap to mine, full of tears and fury. “We’ll get her back.” My voice is steel, each word a promise. “Whatever it takes.”
She stops fighting, but her body shakes, the last of her defenses crumbling. I press my forehead to hers, our breaths colliding. “I swear to you—I will bring her home.” A beat of silence, her breath ragged, her eyes locked with mine.
Then she nods, and it’s like she’s come back to life, a spark reigniting. She’s not broken. Not yet.
I spin toward my men, already barking orders. “Every fucking contact, every safe house, every Albanian bastard in this city—I want them found.”
The house erupts into controlled chaos. Guns load, phones ring, voices overlap in a rising urgency.
Eleanor wipes her face, shoving her grief down into something sharp, something lethal. “I’m getting her back, Leonardo.” Her voice is clear, defiant.
The night air hums with violence. The gates open, and men pour out, each one ready for the coming storm. We expected a battle tonight—just not this one. And now? Blood will spill.
Our war just became personal.
29
Eleanor
The mansion echoes with noise. The perimeter gates are open and SUVs are flying through them. Men shout into phones, volleying threats, promises, violence. They're swarming like bees, drunk on adrenaline and stingers out. Leonardo stands at the center. His hair is a shock of dark red, and he cracks his knuckles as he barks commands, never stopping to breathe, just biting down on curses and letting them loose again. My pulse is a bullet train in my ears. No one looks my way. They should. I’m about to do something unforgivable.
