Page 198 of Rosetti Family New York
I hate it when he plays boss. I want to tell him to swap his ledger for a handgun, but he's been right. Cash flow keeps the fights running. I press my palms to the tape roll and wrap my hands tight. My knuckles go white.
"Obviously," I drawl.
I snap out a jab and connect with his ribs, earning myself a groan.
"You trust too easy," I say.
He steps forward and punches. I block easily.
"And you don't trust anyone," he says.
He pulls back, watching me, careful now. He's a planner, deliberate in his words and his hits.
This morning on the phone, Sloane ignored every word out of my mouth. Pretty head too stubborn for her own good.
"Thanks for the support, Rafe," she said, dripping with attitude.
I block Domenico's next blow with a crack of skin on skin. I wish another hit could erase the sting of that argument—her request for "backup", her humorless laugh when I told her no.
She doesn't want me to stop her, I get it. I don't need to stop her. Just need to make sure she doesn't die. Need to know she's still breathing when she decides to call me again.
If she does.
That thought guts me more than Dom's last punch. What if she doesn't call? What if I find out too late that I should have been there?
"What's eating you?" Dom asks, catching my expression. "Haven't seen you this worked up in years."
I shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Nothing important."
"Bullshit," he says, lowering his gloves. "Talk or I'll beat it out of you."
"You can try," I snap, but there's no heart in it.
Dom steps back, eyeing me with that look I've known all my life, the one that says I'm not fooling anyone, least of all him.
"It's the girl," he guesses, his voice too knowing. "The friend of the dead one. What was her name again?"
"Sloane Carter." The name feels heavy on my tongue, significant in a way I'm not comfortable examining.
Dom doesn't miss my reaction. He never does. "What'd she do?"
"She's walking into Red Hook territory alone." I try to sound unaffected, but I can hear the tension in my voice. "Looking for answers about her friend."
"And you care because...?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I don't have an answer I'm willing to give, not even to myself. I reach for a towel, wiping sweat from my face.
"She's a civilian," I mutter. "Knows nothing about this world."
Dom raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about civilians?"
Since never. That's the problem. I've spent years keeping people at a distance, doing what needs to be done, staying focused on family business. But Sloane has gotten under my skin in a way no one has before.
"She could expose things," I say instead. "Make noise."
Dom snorts. "Then let her. We've dealt with worse."
"She's..." I search for the right words. "Different."
