Page 103 of Rosetti Family New York

She swings a metallic bag off the shelf and catches a mirror of herself doing it, making a face full of mischief. “How do you say ‘go big or go home’ in Albanian?”

I shudder at the reminder of my father but catch myself before it shows. “How do you say ‘slow the hell down’ in Rosetti?”

“Listen up,” Carmela says. She clears her throat like she’s about to do a magic trick. “A më rri prapanica shumë e madhe me këtë?”

The words hit me like a punch. Albanian. She is speaking Albanian. A language that echoes with my father’s rules and demands. Carmela's pronunciation is shaky and playful, but my father's voice slices through my mind, precise and cold. I forget to breathe.

I can hear him now, reciting the harsh syllables like commands. He would make us practice until we got it perfect. He said it was part of our legacy, something we had to hold onto, something we could never let go of, even if it meant cutting ourselves off from everything else.

I forget where I am for a moment.

Instead of the glossy boutique, I see the dim rooms of my father's mansion and smell the old books and stiff furniture. A place where fun was never allowed, where everything wasserious and planned, where birthdays were just another day on the calendar.

Carmela's words bring all of it flooding back, and I’m not prepared. I shudder, and this time I can’t hide it. My heart thunders, and my breath comes in shallow gasps. It's terrifying how one little phrase can make me feel like a child again, scared and trapped. I struggle to focus. The metal bags on the walls glint too bright, the air feels thin, and my vision starts to blur around the edges.

Carmela is in the middle of it all, her eyes wide, waiting for me to respond.

“Wow, I totally butchered it, huh?” She laughs, but when she sees my face, her expression changes. “Besa? You okay?”

I can’t speak. Her attempt was innocent, sweet, even. But all I hear is anger and control. My father only spoke Albanian when I’d failed him. When punishment came next. Carmela stands there, unsure of what to do. I have to get out of this store. Out of this conversation. My instinct is to look for Dom. He’d know what to say, how to make this stop spinning. But he’s not here.

“Besa?” Carmela’s voice is soft.

I blink, trying to pull myself back. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Was it awful?”

“No, it was...” I force a smile. “Surprising.”

We step outside, and the November air hits my cheeks. I can finally breathe again.

We walk a few blocks, Carmela careful not to say anything that might startle me. She must think me such a fool. My heart slows, but the confusion lingers. Dom ordered Carmela to take me shopping. Not because I’m an asset or a tool. Because he wanted me to have fun. To belong. My father never gave me anything without a price. Here, I don’t know what’s expected of me.

“You sure you’re okay?” Carmela asks. She stops and tilts her head. Her eyes are too sincere for someone in my life.

“I’m sure.”

“You want to head back?”

“Maybe... maybe we could do one more store.”

She beams like I’ve given her the best gift ever.

I let her guide me to another boutique, her energy warm and safe. Dom’s family is nothing like mine. I knew this when he married me. But what I didn’t know, what I couldn’t know, is how much I’d start to need it. To need him. My father trained me to believe in loyalty over love. I don’t know what I believe in now.

Carmela picks out a pair of shoes in a striking emerald to match the gown and insists on buying it for me. When she asks if we should head home, I surprise myself.

“Let’s do lunch,” I say. “Somewhere really expensive.”

15

Domenico

Il Lusso is alive. The lights of the club shimmer in glass and gold. The New York elite flock here like moths to a flame, their laughter spiraling toward the ceiling. My family built this place, and the way it thrums makes me feel alive. I’d rather be here than anywhere else, and with Besiana here, tucked tight against my side, I’m happy.

Her dress is sharp and black, mirroring the smoke and whiskey. It looks perfect against my suit. I pull her close, so there’s no mistaking who she’s with. She glances at me with those pale green eyes, always calculating, and I wonder for the millionth time what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers. I wouldn’t normally bring her along to a business deal, but after what went down at the warehouse on 12th, I don’t want her out of my sight.

After secretly trailing Besiana all day while she shopped with Carmela and bought half of Manhattan, I decided it was time she came with me. Now, I study her, trying to understand if she’s pleased or plotting, but her expression is blank and unreadable. I’m about to ask when the business partner finally appears.