Page 9 of Rosetti Family New York
“Just Eleanor,” I say. I want to see how she handles this. I want to see what she’s made of.
He gives me a long look, like he’s already calculated a thousand different outcomes and all of them end with him winning. He thinks this is a done deal. But Eleanor? Eleanor looks at me with those ice-blue eyes, and I can’t tell. I can’t read her.
I pull her through the mob, lead her toward the ring. I can see the next fighters getting ready, wrapping hands and checking each other’s moves. I can see the shoving, the shouting, the ugly underbelly of this place. But I can’t see what she sees.
She’s walking next to me, stubborn and determined, not quite managing to match my stride but refusing to fall behind. Her heels are ridiculous for this place, but she doesn’t even flinch when we pass a thug with a broken nose and a ring girl in a bikini top and Doc Martens. Either she doesn’t notice, or she really doesn’t care. I stop and watch her for a second, trying to figure her out, but her face is perfectly calm.
“Little fancy for a place like this,” I say, nodding at the dress. I half-expect her to bite back, start giving me shit about the venue and how I should have warned her, how she’s never set foot in such a disreputable place. I’m poking this princess and waiting to see her bruise. I’m daring her to show me she’s as delicate as she looks.
She surprises me again with a confident shrug. “I like to dress well.”
I narrow my eyes. This isn’t what I expected. Not even close. I thought she’d fold, thought I’d have to drag her through the hellhole that is the Rosetti fighting ring. Instead, she’s moving through the chaos like she’s got nothing to lose. I thought she’d show a crack, even just a tiny one, but she’s holding up like this is a goddamn tea party.
“And if you get blood on your pretty frock?” I ask.
She turns her gaze on me, eyes the exact color of her ice-blue gown. “Then I’ll send you the dry-cleaning bill.”
I huff out a laugh. “Is that why you want to marry me? For my family’s cash?”
She turns her gaze away from me, bored, watching the fight instead. “I have plenty of money.”
I crack my knuckles. “Why then? Did your old man say you had to?”
“He’s very pragmatic,” she says, cool as ice, a flicker of something under the surface.
I take a step closer, test the way she holds herself. “So? What’s a princess like you want with a thug like me?”
She twists her ring, a quick, almost invisible motion. Then she looks me in the eye. “This is a business transaction, Mr. Rosetti. I’m interested in your family’s power.”
I bark a laugh, loud and sharp. I can see her wince, even though she hides it. “A business transaction,” I say, mocking her cold tone. I hate it. I hate her act, hate that she thinks she can fool me. I start to turn away.
But I don’t.
I see something raw and real flash in her eyes, just a second, but it’s there.
I don’t think she knows I’ve seen it. I don’t think she meant to let me. She’s holding herself like she’s the queen of this place, and I almost want to call her on it. It’s a goddamn show, but part of me wants to find out if there’s more. Part of me wants to see if I can break through that tough, elegant shell.
She’s smart, sharper than I gave her credit for. I can see now that I was wrong. She doesn’t scare, doesn’t flinch, and even when I try to walk away, I know she’s not going to let me off that easy. She wants this too bad.
“You think I’m lying?” she asks, head tilted, challenging. She’s testing me again, seeing if I’ll call her out. She’s daring me to prove her wrong. She’s colder than I thought she’d be, more stubborn, probably more like Richard than she’d ever admit.
It should make me walk away. It should make me leave her here the way I want to, the way I need to. But that flicker is stuck in my head, and I turn to her instead. “I know you’re lying,” I say, watching her face, watching for that crack again. She doesn’t even blink. “I don’t deal with liars.” My voice is hard, final.
She’s watching me, unreadable. I hate it. I hate that she’s got me thinking twice when she’s supposed to be easy to figure out.
The crowd’s like a roar in my ears, a tidal wave of shouts and jeers. I don’t look at her when I leave.
She’s a princess and a liar, and she blew it.
I get back to Dom, who’s still waiting like a statue.
“How’d it go?” he asks, too calm.
It's on the tip of my tongue to call the whole thing off, but then I glimpse her through the crowd, smiling as she watches the fight, an expression of pure joy instead of the calculated mask she showed me, and I don’t answer. Instead, I watch her.
5
Eleanor
