Page 100 of Rosetti Family New York
“Sit tight, I’ll bring it over to you,” the barista says as I hand her the bills.
We find a table toward the back, away from the windows. It’s small and intimate, and there are mismatched chairs on either side. She sits, and her eyes catch mine. Something about it makes me want to drop the whole world at her feet. I’m not used to this feeling, this pull she has over me, and it’s driving me crazy.
I say, “This place is nice.”
“Not what you’re used to?” Besiana teases, setting her purse down.
It’s exactly the type of place I’d never walk into, but I know already it’s going to ruin me for everywhere else. I shake my head with a small smile. “Not even close.”
She scans the room, looking amused and pleased. “You sure you’re not too busy for all this?” she asks, but I hear a little hope in her voice.
“Never too busy for you,” I say, and it’s the most honest thing that’s come out of my mouth in years.
The barista bounces over, balancing a tray with our order. She sets two mugs and a little plate of pastries on the table.
“There you go, guys,” she chirps, “Holler if you need anything else!”
The smell of the coffee and warm figs wraps around us.
I watch her as we sit, as she orders and eats and fills the space with life, not tension. I watch her like a starving man watches the door of a full pantry, waiting for her to ask if I’m okay, waiting for her to ask if I care more about her or the goddamned ixaphorine. But she doesn’t say any of it. She doesn’t say much at all, just drinks her coffee and lets the corner of her mouth turn up in the smallest, brightest smile. I think I could stay here forever and not miss a single thing I left back at the house.
“Are you okay? After last night, I mean.” It’s me who breaks the silence. When did this woman get so much power over me?
A shadow passes across her face, but she clears it away with her usual skill. She smiles. “It was a shock, of course, but…”
“But what?”
Her voice falters. “But you took care of me.”
I reach across the table and brush the back of her hand. She leans into the caress for a moment, letting me glimpse her vulnerability, before pulling away and putting that damn smile back on her face.
“So, thank you, Dom. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking business associate,” I growl.
It’s like she’s driving a knife through me with every polite word.
She blanches, but her composure returns, her head tilting in that defiant way. Her eyes flash with a small glare. “I thought we agreed that’s exactly what we are.”
“Did you forget last night? The warehouse? The gunfire? The fact that you were in my goddamn arms?”
“Your point?”
“How can you—”
I stop, struggling to find the right words. I can handle bullets, betrayal, and bloody hands, but I can’t handle this; I can’t handle her pretending I mean nothing. She stands, scraping out her chair and leaving no room for further argument.
On the way out, a man sitting on the sidewalk nods as we pass. Besiana stops, puts a twenty-dollar bill in his hand, and ruffles his dog’s fur with a familiar touch.
“Take care, Dale,” she says, and the man’s face cracks into something that might have been a smile in a past life.
Water drips from his scruffy hair and jacket, and his green eyes have the same hard edge as his voice.
“You too, Bes.”
When we’re in the car, I say, “Didn’t I tell you not to smile at people unless I talk to them first?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. That was just for the Met Gala. I can’t live my life that way. Besides, I’ve known Dale for years.”
