Page 90 of Rosetti Family New York
Something in him snaps, and before I know it, I’m over his shoulder, staring at the floor. His arm is like steel around my legs, and I pound on his back in protest.
“Put me down, you asshole!” I scream, flailing as he carries me out.
“Keep it up, Besiana,” he says, his voice rough and promising punishment I almost want. “I dare you.”
He’s too strong, and I know I’ll pay for this later. My fists thump uselessly against him, but I don’t stop. I won’t let him win that easily. A crowd watches as he hauls me outside, and I catch my breath in the cold night air. He slaps my ass, a warning, and I yelp.
“Don’t push me,” he growls, possessive and hot. “Unless you want to find out how far I’ll go.”
We reach his car, and he throws open the door, tossing me inside. I glare up at him, drunk and defiant, admiring him and hating him all at once. He looms over me, the fury still in his eyes, and I can’t help it—I want to push him further, to see what happens when the perfect Rosetti control breaks. But I know this much: it’s going to be explosive.
9
Domenico
Her fists beat against my back as I drag her up the stairs, but I barely feel them.
I can barely feel anything except that white-hot pulse of rage and jealousy and lust all tangled up inside me like a noose. She thinks she can run, that she can get away from me. She has no idea how wrong she is. She’s slipping, her body falling further down my shoulder, and I jerk her back into place, feeling the satisfying thud as her stomach hits bone. She’s cursing at me, saying words in Albanian she doesn’t think I know, but I know them all and I don’t give a shit. This is her, unmasked, and it’s about time I saw it. I kick open the bedroom door and fling her onto the bed.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand.
Besiana looks up at me from the tangle of sheets. Her hair is a mess and there’s fire in her eyes, and I want to rip those tight jeans off her body and do a hell of a lot more than talk. But she owes me answers, and I’m going to get them.
“What the fuck wereyouthinking?” she throws back. Her voice is drunk and vicious. “Dragging me out of there like some caveman!”
“Dragging you out of a dive bar in Brooklyn,” I snap. “Getting drunk with some lowlife. My wife.”
The words taste bitter and hot, and the jealousy’s right there with them, choking me. I see the man again, the one with the smug look and the eyes all over her. The one I almost killed before carrying her out of there.
“Is that who you’re running to?" I ask. "That piece of shit?”
She stands, swaying a little, like she thinks she’s going to walk out of here. “Why do you care? You’ve already got me in your fucking prison. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Sit down.”
I grab her arm and push her back to the bed. She lets me, but not because she’s giving in. She’s got that wild, reckless look in her eyes, like she wants me to fuck her and kill her all at once. I can barely stand it. I’m so goddamn hard I can’t think straight, but she’s not getting off that easy.
“You can’t keep me here.” She’s laughing at me, the way only a drunk woman can laugh at her husband. “You think you can force me to be your obedient little wife? Dream on, Dom. I’ll run every fucking time.”
Her defiance is an aphrodisiac. I can’t remember wanting her more than I do right now. She doesn’t realize I’m giving her exactly what she needs, that her mask suffocates her even more than it suffocates me. I lean in close and let her see it in my eyes.
“You think you’re calling the shots, Besa?” I say it low and quiet, the way that makes everyone else afraid. “Not tonight.”
Her chin’s up and her eyes are locked on mine, and it’s a challenge, a fucking dare. It’s almost my undoing.
“What are you going to do, Domenico? Punish me?” She’s taunting, the words slow and sharp.
“If that’s what you’re begging for.”
She makes a sound, half laugh, half scoff. “You think you I don’t know how to beg?”
I pin her to the bed and feel the fight in her muscles and in the erratic thud of her pulse. She’s hot and furious under me. She’s alive in a way I never see when she’s in her cage.
“I know you’re going to,” I tell her.
There’s that laugh again. Icy and reckless. “Fuck you.”
Her knee comes up and catches me off guard, ramming me hard enough to send a sharp bolt of pain through my ribs. It's enough of a hit to let her squirm free, slipping from my grip with a speed I didn't expect. She’s on her feet in seconds, and she’s grinning.
