Page 97 of Rosetti Family New York
Heat pools low in my below at the thought. Hmm, maybe I should try that more often.
"Fine. I'll swing by," he says.
"I'm waiting," she replies.
He hangs up, tucks the phone away, and turns to me. "We need to make a stop before dinner."
I try to play it cool, shrugging. "Fine by me."
It's more than fine. Seeing the warehouse? Seeing where the Rosetti magic happens? I act like I'm not thrilled, but inside, I'm mapping out what I can tell my father. This could be huge. My chest flutters with anticipation, but there’s a tug of something else too. Guilt. Maybe even regret.
"We'll make it quick," Domenico says.
He's looking at me with a furrowed brow. Always watching, always calculating. I smile back, pretending I don’t care, pretending that this isn’t the most complicated night of my life.
We pull up to the warehouse, and it's a nondescript building, but large, dark and imposing against the night. Security guards, heavy jackets, guns.
Domenico opens his door, and the cold New York air rushes in. "Stay in the car," he tells me.
I nod. But this is one order I have no intention of following. Not when this could change everything. I watch as he crosses to the guards, his stride confident.
The driver's watching me. I flash him a smile and get out, the crunch of gravel under my heels. Domenico is already inside. I take a breath and follow, pulse racing with each step. This is dangerous, stupid, exactly what I shouldn’t be doing. But I need to know what’s in there. I need to see.
The guards let me through after I explain who I am, and in this expensive gown and heavy diamond necklace, they’d be stupid to doubt it. Besides, they saw me get out of the same car as my husband.
The warehouse inside is huge, cavernous, the kind of space where shadows stretch long. I catch sight of Domenico. He’s with Clara now, her blond curls wild, lab coat flapping as she gestures angrily. I slip into the shadows, close enough to hear them.
"Do you want the product or not?" she demands.
"We’re ahead of schedule," he replies, calm and composed.
"Not ahead enough."
They disappear into another room, leaving me with a rush of adrenaline. I’ve got something real now. Something my father can use.
I move closer, careful not to make a sound. I want more. More information, more to report. That way, my father won’t—
The explosion shatters the air. Heat, noise, everything all at once. I hit the ground hard, my ears ringing, my palms and knees grazed. Smoke fills the space, thick and suffocating.Chaos. Guards shouting, running. The lights flicker and die, plunging everything into darkness.
We're under attack. It can’t be anything else. My father’s men, my intel, my betrayal. I did this.
I try to get up, try to see through the smoke. Footsteps, pounding closer. Domenico. He’s here, pulling me to my feet, his grip like iron.
"We have to move," he says, voice low and urgent.
"What about—"
"You." The word is an order, cutting through the noise.
He drags me with him, dodging crates and chaos, and for a second, I forget everything but the feel of his hand and the certainty in his voice.
We hit the outside air, and I breathe it in, cold and clean. Behind us, shouting. Men with guns, their shapes blurred by the smoke.
The car is there, engine running. Domenico pushes me toward it, but I stop, turning back.
"What about the ixaphorine," I say.
His jaw tightens. He's not used to losing. Not used to failure. "Get in the car."
