Page 98 of Rosetti Family New York
And then I'm in, and we're racing down the deserted street, gravel spitting behind us. The car lurches forward, lights cutting through the night, the engine’s roar almost drowning out the pounding of my heart.
My plan, my father’s plan—I can't even hold onto those thoughts right now. They slip away like the dark blur of the warehouse disappearing into the distance. All I can think about is Domenico, the way his hand felt when he pulled me from the ground, his relentless need to get me out. Out of the chaos. Out before Iride. Out before anything. Domenico, who chose me, his unwanted wife, over the precious ixaphorine he was supposed toprotect, over the business he never compromises. It’s reckless, insane,
His expression is dark, closed off, but he still hasn’t let go of my wrist.
Why?
Why me?
The streets fly past, and I'm left with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've made a terrible mistake. The Rosettis have treated me better than my own family ever did, other than Mami and Dritan. But they aren't here anymore. Maybe this Italian family is where I belong. But the prospect of failing Baba sends a shudder through me, and my whole body shivers.
At the tiny movement, Dom’s head snaps up, as though his attention has been laser-focused on me this whole time.
Here he is, as fierce and commanding as ever, his jaw tight and set as though he’s trying to hold something back. Passion, rage. It’s the look he gets when he’s deciding whether to ruin someone’s day or their entire life. I hold my breath, waiting to see what his verdict on me will be.
Wordlessly, he leans across, and the closeness makes my heart trip over itself. I’m sure he can feel it, wild and wayward, the beating of a guilty woman’s chest. His hands are swift and sure as he unbuckles my belt, the brush of his fingers light against me. The warmth of his touch sends shivers through my entire body.
In a single, smooth motion, Dom slides me across the backseat, and I let him. The desperation and relief that flood inside me make me feel reckless and alive. And just like that, everything is wrong-side-up and backward. After this, after my betrayal, I deserve nothing from him. I deserve to be left in a heap on the floor, to be nothing more than an afterthought. But instead, he tucks me tight against him, and it’s everything to me.
I draw a deep breath against his chest. There it is, that clean, crisp Dom smell I hate and crave. The one that makes me feel like I’m safe. It’s a scent I can’t get enough of.
After his distance and aloofness since that night he punished me for running in the night, this is everything to me.
This small, silent gesture is as big as the entire world.
I lean against my husband and breathe in his scent. The warehouse attack should be a victory for me. But here I am, beside the man I'm meant to betray, and I don't know which side I'm on anymore.
13
Domenico
Imake more noise than I need to getting out of bed. Drawer scraping, door slamming, shoes heavy on the marble floor. I don’t care if I wake the dead as long as I wake her, but her breathing stays even. Her eyes stay closed.
I’m out the bedroom door and down the stairs. My thoughts twist in the empty air. They fill the rooms with all the things I couldn’t say last night. All the things I should have said. It wasn’t the warehouse I thought about when the bullets flew. It wasn’t the product. It was her, her, her. When did she become my everything?
The house is too large and too empty at this early hour. I sit at the head of the long dining room table, waiting for company. Waiting for my family. For my wife. Rain pecks at the windows, the only sound to break the silence. A maid brings me coffee and toast, dipping a small curtsey, then she’s gone.
“Hey.” Emilio is the first to arrive. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt like he’s a nobody from out-of-town, not a damn Rosetti.
“Hey,” I grumble.
“You’re up early.”
“Always,” I say.
Emilio nods. “Where’s your wife?”
“Go easy, Emilio.” I sigh. “Not before I’ve had my coffee.”
He shrugs and snatches up a piece of toast from my plate while he waits for his own. The maid comes and goes, and my eyes stay glued to the doorway.
Footsteps echo. I look up, but it’s Raffaele, not Besiana, that slouches in. Black leather gloves already on his hands.
“You look well-rested for a man whose warehouse got torched,” he says. “You sleep like a baby, Dom?”
I give him a look. He knows better than to finish that thought. I could tell him about waking in a cold sweat at 3 AM, reaching for her before I even reached for my gun. Instead, I just sip my coffee and wait.
Rafe takes the hint and slides into a seat next to Emilio.
