Page 32 of Rosetti Family New York
He doesn’t flinch or move. "You think I'd hand you over," he says, his tone cutting through the night air, "like some kind of—"
"It’s what I know," I whisper.
"Then you don’t know shit about me, Eleanor." His words are harsh but his touch isn’t, his hand at my neck, in my hair, pulling me close, like he’s trying to anchor me to him.
"I am yours now?" I say. "Until you decide—"
"You’re mine, but not like that." The heat of his mouth is close, close enough to scorch. "Not like that. Never like that. I will kill your old man for doing that to you."
I suck in a breath, shaky and uneven. "Please. If you touch my father—I can’t—he's all we have. Me and Juliet."
The desperation in my voice is raw, more than I want him to hear. My hands are splayed against his chest, and I can feel the rapid pounding of his heart under my palms. An ache wells up inside me, a pressure so intense I can't tell if it’s anger or longing or fear. Leonardo’s face is inches from mine, his breath burning hot against my skin.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, blue locked on blue. "I won’t let anyone have you. Not Chase, not anyone. I told you before—you're mine in ways you can’t even imagine." There is nothing easy or indifferent in Leonardo's grip on me. He doesn’t let go. His arms tighten around me, a vice, unyielding. "You think I’d let anyone else have you? You're not a deal. Not a fucking commodity. You're Eleanor. My Eleanor. That's not going to change. Ever."
The certainty in his voice should scare me. Maybe it does. But it thrills me just as much. My heart trips over itself, stumbling in my chest, and I realize I am not, have never been, afraid of him. It’s what he makes me want that terrifies me.
“And father? You won’t kill him?”
His eyes flash with an intensity that shakes me to the core. For a moment, he’s silent, and the world stops turning. His armshold me tight, fierce and protective. Then he speaks, his voice hard and unyielding. "Ok, baby, I won’t touch him. For now. But if he ever treats you like shit again, I’ll do whatever I fucking want to him.”
I lean into my husband, feeling safe. Because I am here in the garden, and light is spilling from the windows, laughter is pouring from inside. And Leonardo's hands are on my skin, rough and warm and not father. Not like father at all.
"You don't know what it was like," I say, finally.
"Tell me."
And I will. But not tonight.
Tonight, I let him pull me close again, the dark wrapping around us, and it feels like the first breath after too long underwater.
16
Leonardo
New York bleeds into May. The Rosetti mansion is wired tight, nothing and no one in or out without Dom’s say-so. It’s not enough to calm the rage knifing through me. Not with the Albanian shipment closing in, with the threat they’ll see us coming.
The Albanian shipment comes in two days. A shipment Richard Price wants more than air to breathe. A shipment big enough to turn Eleanor's father to our competition instead of us, which is why we're going to steal it. Price doesn't give a shit about family, and blood means nothing when there's business to be done. He'd slit his own daughter's throat for a gem that caught his eye. He’s already done the next worst thing: traded her to me.
I pick up the phone to squeeze our guy on the dock. Before I get a word out, his panic boils over. “They’re onto us,” he stammers. “The Albanians. They’re planning an attack.”
The phone slips in my grip, but I catch it. Rafe said we’re ready to hijack the shipment when it hits the docks. So why the fuck is my informant on the line right now, telling me it's all about tounravel? I can barely keep the doubt out of my voice. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," the man says, out of breath. I can hear waves and creaking metal in the background. “They’re doubling their men. And, boss, there’s something else.”
“Spit it out.” I don’t have time for histrionics, I just want to know the facts so I can act on them.
“They heard about your marriage,” he says, and dread pools in my gut. “Word is your wife’s your new weakness. They say she’s a way in.”
The air leaves my lungs like I've been punched. The Albanians finally got something right. They’re onto us. Onto me. Onto Eleanor. “Let them fucking try,” I growl and hang up. They won’t touch her. I’ll kill them first.
I throw the phone onto the couch and it bounces to the floor, a plastic explosion. Eleanor is somewhere in this giant glass box we call a house, probably with her ice-blue eyes ready to skewer me when I tell her she’s locked up even tighter now. My fists ache to hit something. I crack my knuckles instead and grab the first thing my fingers find—a long-necked vase from some dynasty or other worth more than a man’s life.
With one easy throw, it’s in pieces, shattering across the marble. My hands shake. Nobody fucks with my wife.
“Dom!” I yell, hearing my voice echo through the house. “Domenico, where the hell are you?”
A door opens, then shuts. Dom is in the study, hunched over a phone of his own. Always in the same damn brand of suit, like he was born in it. Calm as ever. Even his green eyes are flat-lined when he looks at me.
