Page 322 of Rosetti Family New York
“Charming,” Mara says, though I see her eyes sweeping the exits and looking for anything she could use as a weapon. “Very family-friendly.”
“The Rosetti empire wasn’t built on charity work,” I reply quietly, knowing how sound echoes in this concrete tomb. “Sometimes violence is the only language people understand.”
“And sometimes it’s just profitable.”
True. The ring makes millions, launders money through betting pools, and offers a discreet meeting spot for people who can’t gather in public.
The guard returns and nods toward the stairs. “Five minutes.”
The VIP area looks thrown together but well-placed. It’s quiet enough for talk, with burgundy carpet softening the noise andplain chairs against bare concrete walls. From here, the fights below play out like theater, the glass turning the crowd’s roar into a low rumble.
Domenico doesn’t look up as we approach. He’s watching the cage, where one fighter has a clear lead. Blood pours from the loser’s broken nose, staining the floor under harsh lights. Even through the glass, the metallic scent drifts up and mingles with Dom’s subtle, expensive cologne.
“Milo.” My name sounds like a fucking disappointment. “And of course Mara Vale. We meet again.”
He keeps his tone polite but gives nothing away. This is Dom at his most dangerous, measured and precise, the rightful heir to our father's empire.
“Dom.” I settle into the chair across from him. Mara slips into the seat beside me. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Did I have a choice?” He finally looks up, his gray eyes, so like mine, scanning us. “After your mysterious absence from family business and now this late-night summons?”
His disapproval presses on me, but I push forward. “Mara has information about Callahan operations. Intelligence that could help us end this war.”
“Intelligence.” Dom lifts his glass, taking a slow sip. “And how exactly did you come by this information, Miss Vale?”
Mara leans forward, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I have contacts in their organization. People who owe me favors, who’ve shared information about their operations and security weaknesses.”
“Contacts.” Dom’s tone is skeptical. “In the middle of a war, you have friendly contacts feeding you Callahan secrets?”
“Not friendly,” Mara corrects smoothly, her tone honey-over-steel. “Profitable. Information is a commodity, Mr. Rosetti. And I’ve been in the business of acquiring valuable commodities for years.”
It’s a careful dodge. It doesn’t admit her involvement but gives a believable reason for her knowledge.
"Intelligence as commodity." He tries out the idea, nodding slowly. Below us, the fight hits its peak as one man finally falls, his opponent standing over him with raised fists while the crowd erupts in celebration. "A motivation I can understand. What intelligence are we discussing?"
"Financial systems, communication protocols, planned operations." Mara speaks with the confidence of someone who truly has valuable information. "I know their weaknesses, their security gaps, their next moves."
"Including the attack on Pier 17?"
"I got advance warning through my network," Mara says carefully. "Enough to alert Emilio before the worst damage happened."
Dom's expression stays the same, but he glances at me, a sure sign we'll be discussing that later. Like why I hadn't mentioned the warning about the attack came from Mara. Fine, I would deal with that later.
"And what do you want in return for this intelligence?" Dom asks.
"Protection," I answer before Mara can reply, my tone harsher than I meant. "A place in the family organization. Immunity from reprisal."
"Immunity." Dom's laugh is soft, dangerous. "You're asking me to bring an information broker with questionable loyalties into our organization."
"I'm asking you to accept someone who warned us about an attack that could have wiped out half our income. Could have killed Leo." My voice hardens despite trying to stay diplomatic. "Someone who's offering to share valuable intelligence that could end this war."
"And coincidentally happens to be your former lover who's now back in your bed."
The cruel comment makes my vision blur red. I clench my fists so tight my knuckles crack. "Careful, Dom."
"Or what?" He sets down his glass with deliberate care, the crystal ringing against the table. "You'll choose her over family again?"
The truth stings because he's right. I am choosing her over family stability, over protocols, over the balance that has kept our organization running for generations.
