Page 97 of The Freedom in Captivity

Take the drama unfolding in front of me, which makes my head pound trying to follow it.

Aurora’s soon-to-be ex-fiancé, since she adamantly refuses to wed anyone but Rosen, who also happens to be the underboss of the New YorkFamiglia, is travelling here to assist what he believes will be his future in-laws. It’s a precarious move on my underboss’s part.

My one and only dealing with Ariella was when she visited Rozelyn in the basement the other day. But based on everyone’s reactions, and Della’s mini freak out, her offer to take Aurora’s place is out of character for her.

I do wonder what would compel the silent woman towantto be married off to a stranger. It’d mean leaving her sister and moving to New York to be with another organization. More so, she’d become the equivalent of Della—an underboss’ wife.

As the yelling concludes and Nico commands his mother and sister to remain in the room for now, my attention finds Rozelyn again, who watches on, almost like she has a place here. It’d be easy to see her involved with everyone else here. She might have looked like a princess from the moment I met her, but she certainly isn’t one. Corsettis don’t do gentle women; everyone here is strong in their own way, and Rozelyn fits in.

What am I saying?

After addressing Aurora’s request to follow Ariella and Della, Nico says, “Either way, Rossi is coming here. We’ll deal with the engagement details another time. First,” he turns to Rozelyn, announcing to her directly, “we go to B.C.”

And then we capture her father.

And then she’s free.

And I am too.

He’s barely finished speaking when his phone rings again, this time with a call he answers immediately. After a beat, white flashes over his face in what I’d almost believe is fear, except I know Nico well enough that few things make him scared.

“I’ll be right there,” he manages after a minute, his voice lower than normal.

His thumb taps the red button to hang up as he lowers the phone back to his side. He glances right to me, tipping his head toward the door in a silent command for support. My hands brush over the weapons in my holster, reassuring me for whatever I’m about to follow him into. Nico exits his office first, followed by me, Rosen, Rafael, who jogs to catch up, and Lorenzo, who takes up the rear.

“Gonna explain what this is about?” Rafael calls out.

Nico leads us down the hallway and toward the front entrance. “Thirty seconds and you’ll see for yourself.” Over his shoulder, he commands to Rosen, “Get every soldier you can here on standby.”

Rosen immediately takes out his phone, and my ownpingsa moment later with the call-out he places.

By the front entrance, the double doors are already open, a line of four of our own blocking the entrance with rifles positioned at a fifth’s face. The fifth in question is merely gazing through them, his expression bored, only getting brighter when spotting Nico’s approach.

Behind him, parked in front of the mansion, is a black car, with a single man leaning against the side door, gazing on. He’s wearing sunglasses and his arms are by his sides to appear non-threatening.

Two against all of us, but still, I pull the gun from my holster and cock it, angling it toward the ground, ready to be utilized if needed. Beside me, Rosen does the same as the four lining the door step aside, parting for Nico.

The stranger watches on, patient, with no sign of fear in his cold, dark gaze. He’s poised, dressed in a suit, much like the Corsettis around me, with his hands shoved into his front pockets, a relaxing guise despite being surrounded by many who’ll drop him with a single hand gesture from Nico.

“Nico Corsetti. We share a mutual friend.” The stranger’s voice is oddly poetic, meant to be soothing, and immediately, I hate him for it. People who speak like that are proficient at playing others.

“Which is who?” Nico questions carefully.

When the man gestures something, everyone seems to shift at once, watching Nico for a command, which he doesn’t give. Instead, the man snaps his fingers toward his driver, who turns to open the back passenger seat of the car.

When Nico tilts his head a fraction, two of the four soldiers surrounding us move outside, their weapons pointed toward the car and driver. The stranger in the entranceway even shifts to the side, allowing them quicker passage by him. Obviously, he’s not stressed about having weapons pointed at his man.

The driver reaches inside the vehicle, ignoring the numerous threats behind him, and drags out a large sack of something.

A body.

A limp body who he drops to the cement driveway and rolls the person to his back, even angling the man’s face toward us.

Even though we all clearly see him, even though Rafael curses at my side and Rosen takes a step closer, the stranger declares, “Stefano De Falco.”

What the fuck?I share a look with Rosen and then Rafael, who both seem worried and confused. Rafael inches closer, his hands folding and unfolding twice.

“Then I presume you’re the Seven,” Nico states. Anyone who knows him well enough will catch the slight hitch in his tone. The exclamation of stress.

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