Page 106 of Rosetti Family New York
For a moment, we just sit, and I watch her in the dim light. The noise from the club below is muffled here, making the room feel like a different world, a different life.
I’m so used to getting everything I want, everything I fight for. It’s how it’s always been. But Besiana is still a mystery. I can’t tell if she’s obedient because she loves me or because she plans to gut me the moment my back is turned. It makes me want her even more.
She looks at me again, that same quick, calculating glance, and the ground shifts beneath me. I’m used to power. Used to control. But Besiana makes me wonder if, this time, I’m the one being outmaneuvered. She’s made me obsessed, made me want to unravel her until I know exactly what’s at the core.
Until then, I’ll keep her where I can see her until she either betrays me or loves me.
16
Besiana
Everything in the office tower speaks of steel and power, but there’s still no security in Dom's eyes. I see it every time they catch mine, the determination that nothing else will slip through his fingers. Not the way the Iride warehouse did. The cold elevator carries us to the Rosetti suite, and Dom has me at his side, hand resting at the small of my back, an unspoken order to stay close.
He keeps me with him for everything now, a way to keep me safe since the attack on the warehouse. When the elevator opens, Salvatore and Rafe are already waiting, the father and son. Rafe's stance is rigid, his father's the opposite. He has that look on his face, the same one I’ve seen many times on my father’s, and I know he's about to tighten the screws on someone.
My heels echo on the marble, and I think of what my father always says about broken bones and broken loyalty.
"Looks like a goddamn ghost town in here." Rafe gestures at the cavernous space, the empty rooms beyond the conference table. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, looking straight at Sal.
His father smiles. A quick flicker of teeth. "Fewer people means fewer mistakes."
Dom takes a seat and pulls me into the chair next to him. He said he doesn't want me alone after the attack.
It works out perfectly for me, having unfettered access to all my husband’s business meetings. Every closed-door meeting gives me access like I've never had before, a chance to pass along information my father won't get anywhere else.
But the closer I get to Dom, the less I want to betray him. Every day makes it harder, but I've done it anyway. I can hardly look at him.
"We need to discuss the situation with the Iride project," Dom says, and the way he looks at Rafe makes it clear that Rafe is the one in trouble here.
"You mean how it went to hell? We lost most of our fucking ixaphorine." Rafe’s voice is sharp, impatient.
Sal looks from one face to the next, and the room hums with the mounting tension. “We know who launched the attack,” he says, and two sets of Rosetti eyes go hard with interest.
My own pulse skyrockets. I have to stifle my instinct to run, to make a quick excuse before they say a name that points right to me. If they know it was my father, if they even suspect the Albanians, then I’ll be implicated. I’ll be exposed.
My knuckles go white as I knot my hands in my lap.
The two brothers lean forward in their seats, a shared focus sharpening the air. Even Rafe’s impatient movements still as Sal toys with the next words he’s about to say. There's a flicker of excitement between them, the promise of violence. I feel like the noose has already tightened around my neck, like in seconds they’ll turn to me with damning certainty. I’m twisting under their gaze, waiting for the hammer to fall.
Sal's eyes glint with satisfaction, and my breath hitches as he pauses. My mind races over a thousand possibilities. Howmuch do they know? How long before they turn those looks of accusation and suspicion on me?
"They left us a little gift," Sal says.
He opens a drawer and drops a bag on the table. Rafe's black-gloved hand snatches it up.
"Son of a bitch," Rafe growls, raking his thumb over the object: a gold chain with an Orthodox cross. The glint of metal might as well be a flare in the night, a beacon announcing enemies everywhere. "It's Russian."
"It was left behind during the raid," Sal confirms.
“So it was the Russians,” Dom concludes.
His voice is firm, but I catch a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, a shadow of blame that could still shift its aim.
Relief washes over me. My father laid the red herring well, the way he always did. Was it to protect me, his daughter? Or just to protect me, his informant? My breath shudders out, and I force it back again, trying to hold everything in place, the secrets I’ve buried, the lies I’ve told.
I look at Dom beside me, and guilt gnaws at my insides. He’s so convinced of my loyalty. That I would never deceive him. That I wouldn’t shred him from the inside out with the truth. The irony of it cuts deeper every day.
Sal and his sons lean back in their chairs, satisfied predators, but I know the momentary calm will storm back around. One slip, one wrong detail, and suspicion could land on me again. I’ve done this long enough to know how quickly things change.
