Page 39 of Rosetti Family New York
Juliet blinks, a single tear slipping free. “What if you can’t? What if you’re stuck there, and I’m stuck here, and we never—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Don’t even think it. I will get you out. Whatever it takes.”
She nods, the motion small and unconvincing. Her faith in me has always been blind, but it’s never been this brittle. We sit in the crowded bistro, surrounded by laughter and oblivious strangers. The rest of the world carries on while ours crumbles.
“You’re so brave, Eleanor,” she says, and it feels like an accusation. I’m the one who left her behind.
“You’re the brave one. Holding out against him all this time.”
“I can’t hold out much longer.”
Her admission tears through me, fierce and unforgiving. I tighten my grip on her hands and her hope. “Just a little while,” I say, “and I’ll be back. I swear.”
She forces a nod, but it crumbles into a sob.
“Juliet,” I murmur, squeezing her hands, trying to anchor her to the promise I can barely keep. “You know I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t think I was protecting you.”
“I know,” she whispers.
Her words hang heavy between us. I look at her, and I see everything I left to protect. Her small hands in mine. Her tearful resolve. I see all the ways I’ve failed her and all the ways I still might. It’s a new kind of desperation, one that makes my reckless promise burn brighter.
“You can’t tell father we met,” I say. “Or that you spoke to me.”
She hesitates, and I see the fear in her eyes. She doesn’t just fear our father. She fears I’m not coming back. Her nod is more of a question. It hurts to see her so unsure. It hurts more knowing I put that uncertainty there.
“I miss you,” she says, and the words break something open inside me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep it together. “I miss you, too. But you’ll be with me soon.”
The confidence I force into the words is more than I feel. I’ve left her defenseless against father’s whims, the way he left me defenseless against Leonardo’s. It’s a cruelty I never thought I was capable of, but here we are.
She bites her lip, fighting back tears. It’s the same fight I’m waging. We sit there, our hands tangled, our plans collapsing around us while the noise of the restaurant presses in.
“What’s it like?” she asks, changing the subject. “Being with the Rosettis. Being with Leonardo.” I look at her, startled by the question. I think of Leonardo, his touch, his wild grin. My heart trips over itself, and Juliet catches the stumble. “You like him,” she says. Not an accusation. Not a question. But a surprise.
“It’s complicated.” The understatement of a lifetime.
“Does he know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t like him, okay. I just don’t loathe him as much as I expected.”
Her face brightens. “Well, that’s something.”
Yes, it certainly is something.
20
Leonardo
The call connects, and I hear the quiet chaos of the city through the line. Horns. Footsteps. Voices. "Where is she?" I don't bother with niceties. "I know you took her."
Emilio sounds like he always does, deadly calm, and it pisses me off even more. "Relax," he says, and I can almost see him rolling his eyes. He gives me a location, and I don't even wait for him to finish before I head there. Eleanor. Out in the open. Like she's not the most tempting prize in New York City. Like the Albanians aren't waiting to grab her.
I can’t believe Emilio would be so reckless. He knows the rules. Keep a low profile. No surprises. She’s supposed to be at the mansion, bored out of her mind but safe. I can’t protect her if I don’t know where she is. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel. By the time I hit 80th Street, I’m running red lights.
The car barely stops moving before I’m out the door. There he is. Emilio. He stands there with his hood pulled low, shoulders loose and easy like he's got all the time in the world. Looking casual and unconcerned on the sidewalk. Waiting for a bus. Like he’s just another bystander and not the reason my blood isboiling, my fists clenching. I'm a raging storm compared to his stupid calm. He hardly spares me a glance, and my anger spills over.
I take four long, hard strides, and I'm on him, letting my fist do the talking. It connects with his face, and I feel the satisfaction of impact as everything I've pent up lashes out.
