Page 21 of Rosetti Family New York

She shoves her hair back, fixing me with those cold eyes. “Good.”

She drifts upstairs. I hear the shower in the bathroom off our bedroom. Eleanor thinks she can wash last night off, but she can’t. Not when I’m just outside the door, listening, imagining her in the water. I take my time before dressing, and when she emerges from the steaming bathroom, I grin. Her towel is wrapped around her body, and her arm is still red where she was laying on it. Her expression almost looks human.

I sprawl onto the bed, stretching my legs out in front of me, shoes still on. “Careful. You’re giving me the idea you didn’t sleep like a baby.”

Eleanor looks up. Blank face, brittle voice. “And you’re giving me the idea you think I care what you think.”

I laugh. Her voice might be stone, but I hear the cracks now. “They’ll expect us to have breakfast with them. Put on a good act.”

She gives a thin smile, the kind I can tell is meant to cut. “Watch me.”

I plan to.

I follow her to the kitchen. My family is a tangle of loud and blunt, black suits and bellowing voices. They’re drinking coffee, and Carmela is putting eggs on the stove. We gave the staff the night off, and they aren’t back yet, so we are fending for ourselves this morning. I take a moment to look over the lot of them, then I clear my throat, getting their attention.

“Newlyweds!” my sister says, looking up from her cup.

“Thought you’d still be—” Matteo’s voice is slick, teasing, but Raffaele shoves him before he can finish. “Fighting.”

Eleanor has pulled on a dress that wouldn’t be out of place in a boardroom. Her eyes flash at me. I shrug, unbothered.

Domenico stands, gives me a nod, and walks over to greet us. “Your timing is perfect, little brother. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“And your timing’s shit.” I yank a chair out for Eleanor, scrape it against the floor so she can’t pretend not to notice.

Eleanor sits. She’s flawless, even as she’s surrounded. She answers everyone’s questions, keeps her chin held high, and pretends not to care that I’m sitting next to her.

My sister pours her a cup of coffee and leans in close. “You must be exhausted, hon. Leonardo can be so... demanding.”

Eleanor catches me staring, but she doesn’t flinch. “I’m doing my best to keep up.”

My brothers won’t let up. “I give him a month,” Matteo says, coin flashing through his fingers. “She’ll have him in the palm of her hand.”

“A week,” Raffaele says, dry as the Sahara.

It gets under my skin, the way they act like Eleanor’s the one I should be afraid of. Like I can’t handle one woman. I crack my knuckles. Their voices are loud, but I see Eleanor pull away. She’s too perfect, too poised. Suddenly, I realize she needs rescuing from all the noise, all the mayhem of my family.

I stand up, leaving my food untouched, and pull out Eleanor’s chair.

Mama’s voice cuts above the rest, sweet and serious. “Where are you taking her?”

I take Eleanor’s hand, pull her up. “Out.”

“Not afraid we’ll talk her into leaving you?” Carmela chimes in.

“I’m doing you a favor, taking her out of here,” I say, eyeing my sister. “I wouldn’t want her to find out you’re all full of bullshit.” Carmela snorts a laugh.

Eleanor is a statue of grace, but there’s a gleam in her eye. She thinks I'm exerting control, doesn’t realize I’m saving her.

I nudge her toward the door. “Come on, wife.”

In the car, she doesn’t talk. It’s a game to see who’ll break the silence first. Her eyes are on me. I pretend I don’t notice. “Where are you taking me?”

The bridge looms overhead, cables laced against the sky. “Thought you’d want some decent food. Place like this,” I say, pulling up. “Your father could only dream about getting a reservation. He has all the money in the world, but none of the connections.”

She glances at the sign. There’s the smallest catch in her voice. “Il Paradiso?”

My grin is full of teeth.