Page 345 of Rosetti Family New York
I follow his gaze without moving my head, using my peripheral vision to spot the threat. The men in expensive suits that don't quite fit, European style that doesn't match the American scene, their posture hinting at military training rather than art appreciation. They move through the crowd with deliberate awareness, scanning faces and positions instead of admiring Renaissance art.
"Contractors," I whisper, my heart racing with recognition. "Italian specialists. I've seen their kind before in European missions."
They're not just looking at art or chatting about culture. They're waiting, ready to strike when the moment is right. Assassins pretending to be art lovers, as patient as spiders, aiming to target my future sister-in-law.
"We need to move her," I say, realizing the urgency as I see the lead assassin signal his team with subtle hand gestures. "Now, before they finish getting into position."
"Agreed." Emilio guides me toward Carmela, moving with authority, weaving through groups talking about art and sipping champagne. "But carefully. Panic leads to chaos, and chaos helps them."
We walk through conversations about art trends and market rumors. Carmela sees us first, her green eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing with suspicion. Her excitement fades when she recognizes me, the woman she still hasn't forgiven for her brother's long obsession.
"Emilio," she says, accepting his kiss on both cheeks while giving me a sharp look. "I wasn't expecting you. Or her."
Her cold tone could freeze champagne, but I get it. To her, I'm the one who broke her brother's heart and disappeared, then failed to prove my loyalty by killing Callahan.
Emilio replies calmly, his voice cutting through her defenses. "Mara wanted to see the exhibition. She has a great eye for Renaissance art."
I step forward, offering my hand smoothly despite the tension between us. "Your brother mentioned your work as a curator," I say warmly. "The way you've arranged these pieces creates a beautiful conversation between different historical periods."
Carmela's handshake is firm and steady, but her eyes stay on my face. She's examining me closely, like she's checking a painting for authenticity, looking for flaws or anything that reveals my true nature beneath the surface.
"And what draws you to Italian masters specifically?" she asks, hinting at more than just small talk.
It's a test to see if my interest is real or just for this meeting. I look at the large Caravaggio reproduction on the wall behind her and answer with real appreciation. "The way darkness makes light valuable," I say sincerely. "How shadows add depth that plain light never could. Beauty that only exists because of the danger around it."
Something in Carmela's expression changes, maybe surprise, or recognition that my words are genuine, not just social niceties. Before she can respond, I notice movement on the side that makes my stomach tighten with concern.
The contractors are moving with more purpose, dropping their act of casual browsing for something more serious. The leader touches his earpiece, getting instructions that make his face set with deadly focus.
"We have a problem," I say quietly, trying to keep my tone normal while I think of what to do. "They're moving closer." Emilio doesn't change his stance, but I can sense the shift in his energy, though he still looks like a cultured boyfriend chatting about art with his sister. His hand moves from my back to my waist, putting himself between the threat and the two women he promised to protect.
"Carmela," he says, his voice dropping to a tone that demands attention. "I need you to listen carefully and do exactly what I say." His voice cuts through the gallery's refined atmosphere like a sharp knife. Carmela, with her artistic nature, senses the serious danger, knowing her brother doesn't exaggerate.
"What's happening?" she whispers, her green eyes showing her quick thinking.
"Nothing that concerns the other guests," Emilio replies with authority. "But you need to walk casually to the service exit behind the champagne station. Right now."
"Emilio, I can't just leave the exhibition. I've spent mont—"
"You can and you will," he says with a tone that ends all arguments. "Trust me or risk dying here. Those are your only choices."
The harsh truth hits like cold water. Carmela turns pale as she realizes the danger, understanding her brother is serious about family safety. Around us, conversations continue smoothly, unaware of the threat among the art and champagne.
"Service exit," she whispers, realization hitting her. "Behind the champagne station."
"Slowly," I advise, already stepping in front of the contractors and their target. "Act like you're checking the catering. Don't look at them, don't run, don't do anything that shows you know."
We start to casually head toward safety, three people talking about art while danger lurks among the champagne and culture. The contractors watch us but don't hurry, they're waiting for the right moment their training has taught them to spot.
We're fifteen feet from the service exit when everything changes.
The lead contractor's earpiece crackles, and his face shifts from calm watching to quick action. The signal they needed just came through. He signals his team sharply, and suddenly they're moving with deadly intent through the crowd.
"Go!" Emilio shouts, dropping all pretense as the threat becomes real. "Move now!"
Carmela runs, her heels clicking on the marble as she leaves behind sophistication for survival. The service door slams open, and she vanishes into the corridor, leaving Emilio and me to face enemies who no longer see the need for patience.
Around us, the gallery's vibe changes as people's survival instincts kick in. Conversations stop, champagne glasses freeze mid-air, and people in expensive suits suddenly remember they can be hurt.
