Page 160 of Rosetti Family New York

Merciless Vows

The Rosetti Family

Pia Sinclair

1

Rafaele

An alleyway off the FDR isn't my first choice of places to be, especially in January, but I've been asked to meet the Callahans here. By 8:45, I'm leaning against a brick wall, out of sight and early like always. I dig the toe of my boot into a pile of trash and wait. Cold bites my cheeks and fingers. My breath mists the air like smoke from a cheap cigar. The girl is late. Typical.

I told the Callahans to have her here by nine, but they don't listen, don't know how to do things right. I pull my leather gloves tighter, shift from one foot to the other. I've got no beef with her. Not yet, anyway. I might do them a favor, get rid of her. Or I might save her. Or I might just leave her to them. Haven't decided. I blow warm air on my hands, watch it drift in front of me. They've got me standing in an alley, in the freezing cold, without even knowing if I'm going to do the job. Amateur hour.

A car engine sputters and dies. A door slams. She's close. I stand still and wait. Snow starts to fall, tiny specks on my coat. There's the sound of footsteps. Quick, uneven, getting closer. I peer around the corner. She's pretty, movie-star looks, blondehair. Twenty-eight, maybe. Nothing remarkable about her, just another girl who got herself in too deep with the wrong people. I don't feel bad for her.

I lean back against the wall, keep out of sight. If I save her, I'm asking for trouble. The Callahans will take it as a slap in the face. Do I care enough about this girl to make waves with them? Not likely. But I'm not going to do their dirty work either. Not when I don't know her, and not when I don't owe them anything.

She's nearby now, standing in the mouth of the alley. She's confused. Cold. I know she's been told to meet me, and she must be desperate to go through with it. She pulls her coat tight, peers into the shadows. I hear them moving, the Callahans. They're closing in, but she's not worth the effort it would take to stop them. I turn, ready to leave. There's a sharp sound, and then she's on the ground. They've shot her, made a mess. Blood, red as paint, splatters the snow.

I wait. They drive off, no headlights. One of them throws a bottle out the window. They've left the body in the alley, like idiots. I crouch down and watch. I'd never have done it this way. Too messy, too many witnesses. They've got no skill, no respect for the job. I look at the girl. She had that look in her eyes, just for a second. I've seen it before. She knew what was coming, knew what was waiting for her, but she faced it anyway. Some would call that brave, but not me. I call it stupid.

I'm about to leave the Callahans' mess when more footsteps bounce off the paving stones, echoing off the close walls. I don't expect anyone else, and the thought gets my pulse kicking. I stay still, already working angles in my mind. Too light for cops. Too heavy for anyone from my world. Someone else, then. Another girl, maybe. I edge closer just as she comes around the corner. She stands out from the shadows, different from everything here, and I immediately size her up.

She's more trouble. I can see that, plain as day.

She's about 5'5", with dark brown hair loose around her face. Sharp green eyes that pierce the night and catch the light. Her clothes are casual—jeans, boots, a leather jacket that hints at hidden curves—but she wears them with a kind of grace you don't see with most women. Like she doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks of her, but has enough inner poise to make her insouciance look like elegance. She's a picture of confidence and calm, but there's no way she belongs here. Not in my world and not in a back street off the FDR.

My body tenses instinctively, the way it always does in the presence of an unexpected witness. But there's something different this time, a strange warmth spreading through my chest, a tightening in my gut that has nothing to do with caution. My eyes linger on the curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls, how her lips part slightly as she takes in the scene. She's fucking beautiful. Not in a way that should matter to me, but it does.

Is she lost? Did the Callahans screw up and send the wrong girl? Have they sent another warning?

I don't like mysteries. I take a step back into the shadows, trying to make sense of her. She isn't a threat, not with the way she's moving. She walks like she's got nowhere to be, like the cold doesn't touch her. There's something about her that punches me in the gut. Unexpected. Strong.

I want to protect her. The feeling makes no sense at all, and I can't put my finger on what about her makes her so different from the rest of this scene. But she is, and I know it the second I see her. It's there in my mind, as clear as her silhouette against the darkness. She's something special. I'm not sure I like the thought.

She's getting closer, and I should move. She might keep going along the street, but if she turns into the alley and sees the body, all hell will break loose. If I stay, I'll be even more tangled up in something I didn't want to start with. I should leave her, put allthis behind me before I get involved. But I'm glued to the spot, my feet obeying their own rules. As she steps into the alley, I can't look away.

I can't just walk out on her.

She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes as wide as saucers, bright green against the darkness. She sees the body there in the snow, and her entire face changes. Shock. Horror. Maybe even fear. It is written all over her. Her mouth opens, like she's trying to scream, or maybe call for help, but nothing comes out. I know what that's like too, when the words get stuck in your throat and you can't breathe much less speak. I should get out of here, but I can't. I don't even blink.

She stands there, frozen in place, her feet stuck to the pavement. And I'm still watching, still hiding. If she looks around, she'll see me. If she sees me, then what? I feel a strange pull, an overwhelming need to go to her. Get her out of here. Make sure she's safe. The Callahans could be back any moment, remembering they have a damn body to clean up, and that would put this woman right in their sights. I never thought I'd care what happens to a stranger, not in this line of work, but for some reason, I don't want to see this woman lying on the pavers with her blood spilling out around her.

She looks at the dead girl, then over her shoulder. She doesn't see me, but I see her, clear as day. I don't know who she is, but she's already in my blood. I should walk away from this, from her. I don't.

Then she goes for it, an explosion of movement I didn't expect. She turns on her heel, runs back the way she came, her boots pounding the pavement and echoing off the walls. She's fast, but I'm faster. I follow, careful to keep my distance. Her breath catches in the cold air, a misty rhythm marking her panic. I gain on her, not as close as I could be, but close enough. She can feelme there. Her head whips around. Panic. I've almost got her, but she's quick, ducking under my arms.

"Leave me alone!"

I don't stop. I can't. She's in trouble, and I've got to keep her alive long enough to find out why.

We're out of the alley now, on the empty street, the river close and black in the night. It's freezing, but she doesn't care. She breaks her pace just enough to look back again and sees me behind her, her face lined with terror. She should be scared. I would be. But she's got guts, I'll give her that. She slows down just a fraction, just enough to yell back at me.

"I didn't see anything!"

Her voice is clear, strong. Nothing frozen about her now. She's going to keep running, and I can't let her get too far.

"Wait!" I call.