Page 7 of Rosetti Family New York
In the glass, Juliet looks smaller and younger than she is. "You don’t have to do this," she says, and I want to believe she’s right.
But she’s not. I look at her, then at the floor littered with better options. I bend to pick up one of them, a baby doll dress in pale pink, and hold it to her. "You should wear this," I say. Pastelpink. I want her to look young, too young… and hope the Rosetti man isn’t into that sort of thing. "Help me with my hair?"
She takes the dress and nods. I sit in front of my vanity, her fingers working through the strands of my hair.
"He will love you," she says, a soft certainty I wish I could share. "It’s impossible not to."
I want to tell her that’s not relevant, that we learned to be unloved before we learned anything else. But she looks so hopeful, and I can’t bring myself to crush it. "Then this should be simple," I say instead. "And once he sees you in that pink monstrosity, I won’t have to worry about competition."
"Be serious," she whispers.
Her fingers weave my hair into a smooth, precise twist. I pull the strands tight with bobby pins, secure in all the ways I’m not, and force a grateful smile. “I’m always serious,” I tell her, and sadly it’s true.
While Juliet slips into the pink tulle dress, I look away, to the drawer full of my father’s jewelry. I pull out a diamond necklace and wonder if I can wear it without it choking me. It catches in the glow of the vanity. "Too much?" I ask her, holding it up against my neck.
She nods.
I sigh. I replace the necklace, taking out a string of pearls instead. They are more modest, but still beautiful, still capable of capturing Leonardo’s attention.
She moves away. Her fingers touch the edge of the dresser, needing something to hold.
"I’m scared," she says, as soft as a confession.
She’s not the only one, but she’s the only one who can say it. I smooth my dress. "You won’t be when he chooses me."
"And if he doesn’t?"
I reach for her hand, a sudden, certain grasp. "Then I’m not as good at this as I thought I was."
She holds on tighter than I expect. "You’re good at everything."
"I am, aren’t I?" I laugh, a soft break in the tension, but it feels more like crying than I want to admit. I give her a look that says, believe me this time. "We’re going to be fine."
It’s the same promise as before, but she lets me believe it’s working. We finish the last touches, two girls pretending they aren’t scared, pretending they know what they’re doing. The weight of my decision presses closer than the pearls around my neck.
We leave my room with everything we need, but it still feels like I’m missing the courage I’ve promised her. I can’t look back now. My father’s trained me better than that. We move forward, out of my room and toward what I’ve decided, toward Leonardo and everything he means for us. I just hope my lies are stronger than my fears.
4
Leonardo
The crowd’s a monster. I breathe in its sweat and smoke and wait for it to swallow me whole. There’s a cigarette hanging off my lip, half forgotten, and I thumb it loose, blowing a plume of smoke to watch it die in the stale, damp air.
Next to me, Dom leans back, arms crossed. His eyes are on the entrance, all cool and sharp like he can will the Price family to just appear. The guy doesn’t even look nervous. It pisses me off sometimes. The old man’s gotten to him; he thinks it’s a done deal. And me? I’m not so sure.
“You really think they’ll show?” I crack my knuckles, one by one.
He doesn’t look at me, just keeps watching the door. “They’ll show.”
I shrug. “Bet you a hundred bucks they don’t.”
“Leo,” he says, and I can hear the patience in his voice, like he’s talking to a kid who still believes in Santa. “They’ll show.”
I bark a laugh and flick the cigarette at his feet. “Then you owe me,” I say, but my heart’s not in it. If the Prices actually do this, ifthey really walk into the middle of Rosetti territory, I want to see it. I want to see how these princesses handle being on my turf.
The fight’s going, the ring’s a swarm of bodies. Bets and blood, shouting and swearing. I love this shit. I love it in my veins. I love it under my skin.
I push off the wall and shove my way through the crowd, aiming for the ring. Heat and noise rise off them, voices crash together, a hundred people yelling for blood.
