Page 349 of Rosetti Family New York

We stay like that, wrapped in each other, the cold glow of the room making his skin look almost luminous. I let myself feel every second of it, the weight of his body, the throb where his fingers had just been, the way his breath stirs the hair at the nape of my neck.

For once, I don't try to analyze what any of it means. I just exist, perfectly and violently and entirely in the present.

31

Mara

The Rosetti dining room has transformed from a formal showcase into a welcoming retreat. It’s not the large table near the kitchen where they usually dine, but the separate, formal dining area. The room's harsh lines are softened by warm lighting, and the aroma of Nonna Toni's lasagna replaces the clinical smell lingering in my hair. I sit next to Emilio at a table where numerous family decisions have been made, wearing his cashmere sweater to conceal the bandages on my shoulder. The sweater carries his scent, making me feel embraced even among those whose approval I've been seeking for weeks.

For the first time since returning to New York, I'm not thinking about escape routes. I'm just here, stitched up, tired, and somehow finally home.

"You look better, hon," Carmela says from across the table. Her earlier fear has turned into real warmth. Her green eyes, once suspicious, now show gratitude and what might be actual affection. "The color's back in your cheeks."

"Good food will do that," Nonna Toni says from the head of the table, serving me more food despite my protests. At eighty-seven, she leads the family with a gentle authority that makes grown men confess over homemade bread sticks. "Eat, bambina. You're too skinny for fighting assassins."

Matteo laughs at the casual mention of violence, his silver coin flipping easily in his fingers, showing he's relaxed. "Leave it to Nonna to turn an attempted murder into diet advice."

"The girl saved our Carmela's life," Nonna Toni replies with certainty. "She's family now. Family eats."

This simple statement means more than any formal ceremony. It's not about tactics or alliances, it's about belonging, about being seen as worth protecting, feeding, and loving despite every reason to stay suspicious.

Domenico lifts his wine glass, the gesture feeling important. "To courage under fire," he says, his voice strong and commanding, making everyone listen. "And to family bonds proven by actions, not just words."

"To protective instincts," Salvatore adds, his voice filled with patriarchal approval, shaping reality through sheer determination. "And to the woman who stepped between death and my daughter without thinking twice."

"To courage that can't be taught," Gianna Rosetti adds, standing next to Salvatore, her auburn hair streaked with silver shining in the chandelier's light as she reaches over to squeeze my hand warmly. "Welcome to the family, truly this time."

The wine tastes like heaven, rich and complex, as I take in the importance of what's happening. It's not just tolerance or conditional approval, but a real welcome from people who once saw me as a threat.

"Tell me about that moment," Matteo says, leaning forward with keen interest. "When you decided to act. What went through your mind?"

I put down my glass, thinking about how to explain a choice that felt more like gravity, inevitable and unstoppable, the only possible response to seeing Carmela in danger.

"Nothing went through my mind," I admit. "I saw the blade aimed at her throat, and my body moved before I could think about consequences or training or what it might cost me. There was no choice, just a sure feeling that she couldn't be allowed to die."

"Instinct," Emilio murmurs beside me, his hand finding mine on the mahogany table with gentle care. "The kind that can't be taught or faked."

"The kind that defines family," Salvatore corrects, watching my face with the sharp focus that made him famous in talks where misreading someone could be fatal. "Blood relatives share DNA. But chosen family? That's shown through actions when everything else falls apart."

This is what I've been striving for, to be recognized as someone worthy of protection because I've shown I'm ready to protect others too.

"I hated you," Carmela suddenly says, her voice brutally honest, making everyone stop. "I thought you were selfish," she goes on, tears close despite her steady tone. "Cruel. Someone who took everything good about my brother and twisted it into something harmful. I wanted to hate you forever."

"But?" I ask softly, though I already sense what's coming.

"But tonight you stepped between a killer and me without hesitation. Not because you had to. Not because it helped you. But because you see me as family." Her voice trembles slightly. "You bled for me. You killed for me. And you'd do it again without a second thought."

The raw feeling in her words makes my throat tighten. "Yes," I murmur. "I would."

"That's when I realized I was wrong about everything," she says, wiping her eyes, her makeup smudging a bit. "You didn't break him, you gave him something worth that kind of devotion. Something worth building an empire to protect."

"Some people," Emilio gently corrects, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm that make it hard to focus. "Some people deserve empires to keep them safe."

"Family protects family," Nonna Toni remarks with a satisfied tone, making her accent thicker and more musical. "That's how it's always been. That's how it will always be."

"Which brings us to practical matters," Domenico says, smoothly shifting from emotional talk to planning. "Chase Callahan is still out there. Still planning. Still going after what we care about most."

The reminder of threats sends a chill down my spine, but I lean in instead of pulling back. Not thinking of escape, but how to fight back. Not avoiding the violence, but getting ready to face it.