Page 304 of Rosetti Family New York
As the night deepens, I hold her while she drifts off, fighting the urge to press my lips against hers. This moment matters more than any physical act: her choice to trust me with her vulnerability, to accept care rather than run from intimacy.
The predator in me wants to carry her to bed and tear her clothes off, worship her body and soul. But I know patience nowwill pay off later, and earning her trust is worth more than taking her body.
So I wait, holding her as Manhattan glitters below. I let her rest while my own desire aches. I count her heartbeats, memorize her weight in my arms, and plan exactly how I’ll court her tomorrow.
12
Mara
The morning sun catches the pendant around my neck, casting small rainbows on the bedroom ceiling as I wake up. Days have gone by since I got here, and instead of figuring out how to escape, I'm lying in his bed wearing jewelry that marks me as his, thinking about how his hands shook when he fastened it last night. Everything changed after the balcony. After he returned a part of my mother I thought was lost. After I fell asleep in his arms and woke up carried to bed like something valuable.
I find him in his kitchen-slash-office, surrounded by his tech. Multiple screens show data streams I'm starting to recognize. Financial info, communication intercepts, surveillance feeds from the city. The Ghost is at work in his element. Today, instead of feeling uneasy about his skills, I'm intrigued.
"Show me how you found it," I say from the doorway, fingers touching the pendant. "The necklace. I want to understand your methods."
He looks up from his monitors, eyes surprised but then pleased by my interest in his world. "You sure you want to seebehind the curtain?" he asks, but he's already making space for me at his workstation. "Once you see how deep this goes, there's no unknowing it."
"I think I'm past the point of blissful ignorance."
His smile is sharp, beautiful, and pleased. "Sit. Let me show you."
I sit next to him, close enough to share the light from his screens and catch his scent. Being near him feels different now. Not trapped but included, not watched but trusted with secrets.
"Prague," he says, fingers moving quickly over the keys. "October 15th. You pawned three items at Novotny's shop on Wenceslas Square."
The screen fills with financial records that make me catch my breath. Not just the transaction, but detailed information, security footage from the pawn shop, analysis of my emotional state, even guesses about why I made that desperate choice.
"You were crying," he notes, enhancing the blurry footage until my face appears clearly. "Not just upset, devastated. Whatever led you to sell your mother's necklace, it wasn't just financial pressure."
I look at the image of myself from years ago, hollow-eyed and desperate, holding family heirlooms like they might save me. It was Sarah's birthday. The woman on screen looks broken in ways I'd forgotten, worn down by things I couldn't control.
"How did you know to track pawn shops?"
"Because I know you." His voice is certain, sending warmth through my chest. "You'd never sell something valuable unless you had no choice. And you'd pick carefully. Reputable places where you could buy it back if things got better."
The logic is perfect, using intimate knowledge to protect rather than control. He didn't just track my financial troubles, he understood them, planned for them, and was ready to fix them.
"The shop owner?" I ask, looking at metadata showing months of communication.
"Convinced him to contact me if anyone asked about the necklace. Set up automatic purchase approval with a high premium." His fingers show financial records of how much he'd been willing to pay. "I've been watching estate sales, auction houses, and collectors. If it had appeared anywhere, I would have found it."
The extent of his planning makes my head spin. Not just buying back jewelry, but creating networks to reclaim any part of my history that might show up on the market.
"What else have you bought back?"
"Your grandmother's ring. Your father's watch. The music box your mother gave you for your sixteenth birthday." Each item appears on screen as he speaks, listed with great detail. "Everything you've been forced to sell, I've acquired and kept safe."
"Jesus." The word comes out breathless. "You've been collecting my entire history."
"I've been protecting what matters to you when you couldn't protect it yourself." His eyes lock onto mine with intense focus. "Some things are too precious to lose forever."
The way he describes watching as preserving, stalking as saving, makes something unsettling stir inside me. This isn't just obsession, it's a careful rebuilding of everything that makes me feel human.
"Show me more," I hear myself say, deciding despite my rational mind warning me. "I want to understand how you see me."
"I see all of you." His voice drops to that tone that tightens my core. "Every perfect inch."
"Show me," I whisper, scared of what I'm asking for.
