Page 331 of Rosetti Family New York

23

Emilio

The aroma of espresso and fresh pastries wafts from the mansion's kitchen as I guide Mara down the marble hallway. Her bare feet make no sound on the polished stone, and the cold makes her draw closer to my warmth. She's wearing one of my black cashmere shirts that reaches mid-thigh, clinging to the curves I've just rediscovered. There's no underwear underneath, just smooth skin with faint bruises from where my fingers held her during our reunion. With each step, the fabric brushes her thighs, making my cock stir with fresh hunger.

Seeing her in my clothes, in my home, right where she belongs, fills me with a dark sense of victory. She looks claimed, owned, completely mine. Yet beneath my satisfaction simmers protective anger mixed with guilt. Last night, she found out Sarah had been dead for eight months. Eight months of serving Chase, thinking her sister needed protection when Sarah was already beyond help. The grief is raw in her eyes, shadows of tears I comforted her through.

She's finally here, not as a guest but as my prize. My captured prey who's stopped fleeing and embraced her place. Bringingher into the family's core feels like revealing my greatest vulnerability. The same family who've seen me lost in obsession, who've questioned my choices, who might see her as more trouble than she's worth.

Let them try to take her from me. I'll destroy this mansion before I let anyone come between us again. My hand rests on her back as we near the kitchen, fingers spread against the cashmere, thin enough to feel her warmth. She shivers, not from cold, but from awareness. Her body knows who it belongs to, responding to my touch. The scent of her skin blends with my soap, creating an irresistible mix.

Her exhaustion isn't just physical, it's emotional. Discovering the truth about Sarah has left her shaken, dealing with overdue grief and navigating family politics that could determine her fate. It should be overwhelming, yet she faces it with strong determination. Still, I notice the moments her composure slips, when the weight of loss nearly brings her to her knees.

"Ready to meet the jury?" I murmur against her ear, my breath stirring her dark silk hair.

Her pulse jumps when I press my lips below her ear. The memory of her surrender hours ago, tears over Sarah, confessions about Chase, the way she arched beneath me gasping my name through grief and need, makes my cock stir. Even facing family judgment while processing her sister's death, I want to drag her upstairs and remind her body who owns it.

"About proving I belong here?" Her voice is full of determination mixed with vulnerability, making my chest tighten. She needs me now. My protection, approval, and my family's acceptance. The independent woman from three years ago is gone, replaced by someone who understands how fragile her situation is. She’s processing her sister's death while fighting for her place: grief and determination intertwined.

The kitchen becomes quiet as we walk in, five pairs of Rosetti eyes watching us with looks that range from suspicious to openly hostile. The large marble island acts as a neutral zone, but I can sense the emotional tension all around. Sunlight pours in through the big windows, lighting up the area where my family will decide whether to accept my prize or get rid of her as a threat.

I position Mara just behind me. This is my territory, my rules, and she's my woman to defend or give up as I choose.

Carmela stands there with her arms crossed, looking every bit the furious, protective younger sister. Her curls bounce as she shifts her weight, green eyes blazing. She's the fiery heart of the family.

"Well," she says, each word dripping with venom. "Sleep well, brother?"

She pointedly ignores Mara, who I can feel tense up behind me.

"Carmela," Domenico cautions, but his voice isn't strong. He's curious too, wanting to see if the woman who hurt his brother will crack.

But Mara steps a little forward, not enough to leave my protective shadow but enough to show she won't back down. Her movement presses her back more firmly against my chest, and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around her, to show everyone in the room who she belongs to.

"I made choices that hurt people I cared about," she says quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor I feel in her body. "That's something I have to live with."

Her admission surprises everyone, not excuses or defenses, but an acknowledgment of the harm done. What they don't know, what they can't see, is the fresh grief in her words. She's not just apologizing for leaving me, she's dealing with the fact that everything she gave up was based on a lie. That Sarahdied while Mara was still serving her killer, thinking she was protecting a sister who was already beyond help. Carmela's eyes narrow, suspicious of how easily Mara seems to give in.

"You did more than break him," Carmela continues, her voice rising with real pain. "You turned him into an obsessed stranger. Three years of watching him disappear into those computers, building surveillance networks like a man possessed, choosing his hunt for you over his own family. Do you have any idea what that did to us? Watching him waste away for a woman who clearly didn't want to be found?"

Each word is meant to hurt, to make Mara understand the depth of resentment she's facing. She fights not to step back, not to seek more of my protection. The vulnerability coming from her makes every protective instinct in me come alive. Her breathing becomes shallow and quick, the sound barely audible but unmistakable to someone who knows her every reaction.

She needs me. Desperately. Completely.

"I know," Mara whispers, and I catch the slight tremor in her voice that shows how much Carmela's words affect her. It's not just guilt, it's the deep exhaustion of someone who just found out her sister has been dead for eight months while she was working for the man who killed her. "I know what I did to him. What I did to all of you. I thought I was protecting him, but I was just scared. Scared of trusting him with the truth, scared he'd get hurt because of me."

What she doesn't say, and what I won't let her say in front of these critical people, is that she was trying to protect Sarah. Every choice she made was driven by love for a sister, even after she was already gone, a manipulation so cruel it takes my breath away. The family doesn't need to know about Sarah yet. They don't need to see Mara at her weakest while she's still dealing with that grief.

"So you hurt him first," Matteo says, his words smooth and cutting, making him effective in negotiations. His coin flips between his fingers with rising agitation, the metallic sound sharp in the tense air. "How noble."

I see Mara flinch, and a protective heat spreads through my chest. They're breaking down her defenses, making her rely more on me with every harsh word.

"Yes," she admits, the word sounding like it was torn from her throat. "I hurt him first because I thought it would hurt less than watching him get destroyed because of me."

"And now?" Salvatore asks, his voice carrying the kind of authority that has defined the Rosetti family for three generations. Even though our father doesn't live in the mansion, his presence fills the kitchen. At sixty-two, he still exudes a controlled menace that makes grown men confess their sins without prompting. His words seem to weigh down the air, as if they have physical mass. "Now you want forgiveness? A place in the family you left behind?"

The question hangs in the air, sharp and cutting through any falsehoods. This isn't just about family, it’s about survival. Whether Mara lives or dies depends on her answer.

I shift slightly, positioning myself to protect her and make it clear that I am her defender. My territory, my choice, my duty to protect.