Page 259 of Rosetti Family New York
"Going somewhere?" Dom asks. His voice is flat, steady, and dangerous. The kind of voice that should have Dale shaking in his shoes.
He pivots, fast, weighing his odds.
"Whoa!" Leo shouts, raising his arms like he's calling a touchdown. "Where do you think you're going?"
Dale turns toward the back, and there's Emilio, leaning against the wall, flipping his knife in one hand. The movement is slow and easy, but there's no mistaking the threat. He's not even trying to pretend.
"Take your time," Emilio says with a dry smile. "We're not in a rush."
Dale is practically sweating bullets.
"Okay," he says, giving it one last shot. "So maybe I skimmed a bit. That's all. Nothing crazy."
"Nothing crazy," I repeat, slow and deliberate, watching as he starts to sweat. "All those zeros. Just a bit of pocket change."
I pull on my gloves, taking my time with each finger. The room goes silent. Dale's eyes are fixed on my hands like they're already around his neck.
"I didn't kill her, man. I didn't touch her," Dale insists.
I respond, my voice low and lethal. "You didn't have to. You just handed her over."
I feel something shift inside me – a strange, unfamiliar heat that has nothing to do with family honor or Rosetti business. Normally, this would be about sending a message, about protecting our interests. Clean. Professional. But this is different. This is personal in a way I've never allowed myself to be.
I think of Sloane – of the way she looked at me on the rooftop, of how she trusted me with her pain. Of how she's crawled under my skin and made a home there. And suddenly, this isn't just another job. This is for her.
"It was just numbers. Just a few accounts. You would've done the same if—" Dale starts.
"Don't you fucking compare yourself to me. Get in the ring," I interrupt.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"Get in the fucking ring," I repeat.
Dale crosses the floor slowly, eyes darting for exits, and walks right into the damn cage. I follow, and the cage door groans shut behind me.
With hands raised and backing off slightly, Dale pleads, "Look, we've been through shit together. Juvie. The streets. I never meant to cross you."
Leonardo moves over and locks the cage behind us.
I continue walking forward, my boots scuffing on the concrete floor.
The fighting ring represents barely five percent of our income, but it's symbolic: neutral ground in a city carved up by decadesof territorial agreements. Breaking those unspoken rules meant more than just stealing money; it was a direct challenge to the delicate balance that kept both families prosperous and the streets peaceful.
Dom had made it clear: this wasn't just about the cash. This was about maintaining the Rosetti reputation. In our world, respect was currency. Without it, we'd lose our grip on everything from the protection rackets in Little Italy to the union contracts that filled our legitimate business fronts with cash.
"You crossed me the second you made an innocent girl bleed for your profit," I tell Dale, my voice hard.
What I don't say is that he crossed a line that would normally require a formal sit-down between families. My father and Old Man Callahan would normally negotiate the penalty, usually a substantial financial payment and the sacrifice of the offending soldier. By taking matters into my own hands, I was breaking protocol. Starting something that would have ripple effects through every criminal operation in the city.
Dale's mask finally drops. He knows this isn't a warning. It's a death sentence.
He shifts, nervous. "Your dad'll kill you if you start something with us," he says. "A war between the families? You think Sal wants that?"
Terror creeps in under his words as he realizes how bad this is. It's the kind of fear that breaks a man before I ever lay a finger on him.
"He's pissed, alright." I step forward, slowly. "That you already started the war."
My brothers are watching me, and I know what they see – the same Rafe who's handled business for years. Calculated. Controlled. But inside, I'm burning with something new. I've never wanted someone to suffer like this before. Not for business. Not for family. This is different. This is for her.
