Page 107 of Rosetti Family New York
I’ve also done it long enough to wonder why I’m still doing it. A week ago, I would have killed for this kind of information, a prize to bring to my father. Now, I’m paralyzed instead of giddy, barely hanging on with my knuckles white.
"That location was supposed to be secure." Sal leans forward, eyes on Dom. Not accusing but not letting him off the hook, either. "We agreed only the family would know."
Dom meets his father’s gaze. Calm. Unyielding. "Then one of us made a mistake."
My skin feels like ice.
"It wasn't me," Rafe snaps.
Salvatore turns to Rafe, eyes narrowing. "Then who was it? Matteo? Emilio? Carmela? Or Leonardo?" He leans back, stretching out like a cat. "None of them knew the address, Rafe, I'm betting it was you. A slip of the tongue, maybe. A little too much trust in the wrong person."
"That's bullshit, and you know it!" Rafe shoves back from the table, his chair scraping loudly on the floor.
He's standing now, fists clenched with rage, but there's more than anger in his eyes. There's a flash of disbelief, a wounded look that makes the breath catch in my throat. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him, for the way his father and brother can so easily cast him aside. But only for a moment. It’s not feelings that are going to get me out of this alive.
"Your brother is right, Dom," Sal agrees, and his voice is as smooth as cream, as calm as Rafe is furious. He looks to his heir with a slow nod. "Rafe needs to control his emotions."
Rafe's mouth twists in a half-smile, half-sneer, his frustration barely contained. The cross necklace hits the table with a clink as he flips it off like an insult, his eyes boring into his father. "What's next, huh? Gonna send me to bed without dinner?"
"We'll get to the bottom of this," Dom says.
The finality in his voice cuts through the room. It's a tone that demands obedience, and I can see it’s worked on Rafe before. He looks at Rafe with an authority that leaves little room for question. "Until we do, you're off the Iride project."
"You can't be serious," Rafe says, but the way he looks at Dom tells me he knows just how serious his brother can be. My father once called Dom the coldest of the Rosettis, and I can see why. There is no softness in him, no room for error.
“That’s a fucking mistake,” Rafe hisses.
"Letting you stay would be the mistake," Dom says.
Rafe’s voice drops low, and his accusation feels like a slap, even if I deserve it. "You think it's a mistake to trust me? That's rich, considering who you're fucking married to."
Seconds crawl by like hours. No one breathes. Sal's eyes flick to me and back to Dom, and I wait for my husband to explode, to defend my honor and innocence and all the other things he thinks are true about me. I watch him, waiting for his temper to wake, but he only shakes his head.
"This isn’t up for discussion."
Rafe glares at his father, then at Dom, and last at me. "You'll regret this, Dom."
He storms out, his steps like thunder on the floorboards. My fault. All of it. I caused the leak, the argument, the rift. And I can't fix any of it.
Sal lets out a slow breath and looks at me, an amused glint in his eyes. "I hope you don't mind this kind of family meeting, Besiana."
"I don't," I say, and my voice sounds like someone else's. Dom has no idea what a traitor he’s married to. "Thank you for including me."
“If it had been the Albanians who attacked, this would have gone very differently,” Sal says.
His voice is even enough, but I know a threat when I hear one.
“Don’t threaten my wife,” Dom says, and there’s a quiet steel in his voice that cuts through me.
The room goes dead still. It’s a tone I’ve heard him use when he’s promising retribution, when he’s inches away from snapping and bloodshed. His eyes are fixed on Sal.
Sal smiles, and the tension is gone. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Salvatore stands, straightening his jacket.
“I’ll leave you two to talk about Rafe’s bratty behavior,” he says, dismissing the entire situation with a wave of his hand.
My husband doesn't answer, and when Sal finally leaves, the silence is an open wound.
