Page 40 of Rosetti Family New York

He hits the pavement, hard. Blood drips from his nose, a slow red trickle, but he doesn't even blink. Just lies there on the concrete. I hover there above him, chest heaving, trying to reel it in, but all I see is Eleanor. All I see is how fucking reckless this is. I can’t keep her safe if I don’t know where she is. I see her taken from me in a dozen violent ways, and I can’t let it happen.

"That's for putting my wife's safety on the line," I say. He looks up at me, and I wait for his inevitable smart-ass comment.

Emilio wipes his nose with his sleeve and shrugs, like getting decked was part of his plan all along. "Jeez, I think you tore my good hoodie," he says, pushing himself up on one elbow.

I reach into my pocket and chuck him a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic. "That's because you're family."

I turn before he can say another word, before the anger crushes me.

Through the bistro window, I see her. Eleanor. She looks... happy. Like she's having a normal day, a normal lunch, with her sister. Even behind the glass, even with the hands reached across the table and the smile, I see it. But she's not where she belongs. Not where I can protect her.

I stare, and it's all that keeps me together. Watching her. Watching the light hit her hair and the way her fingers twist that ring she always wears. Every second feels like a lifetime, until finally, she stands up.

I know the moment she sees me. The surprise. The sudden shift in her face. It goes from soft to hard in an instant. Like iceforming. I hold the gaze. I don’t blink. She says something to her sister and moves towards the door. I don’t take my eyes off her.

Then she’s on the sidewalk, and the distance closes. Eleanor stops, tilts her head like she can’t quite believe I’m really there. Her arms fold, clutching a white sweater against her chest. The stance is all defiance, but her eyes betray the rest. They meet mine, ice-blue and fiery, and I'm close enough to see the challenge in them. She isn't running. But she isn't exactly rushing over, either.

I nod towards the car, the invitation and the command in the same jerk of my chin. The Cadillac's parked right in front, hazard lights blinking. She raises her eyebrows at it, at me, at the illegality of it all, then crosses her arms tighter.

“Where’s Emilio?” Her voice is the sharpest thing on this street. Precise. No wasted words.

“Fixing his nose,” I say. She doesn’t even flinch.

I yank the passenger door open. “Get in,” I tell her.

But Eleanor is Eleanor, and of course she doesn't. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, stops short of the car, and lets the pause linger. Her breath clouds the air, just for a second. I watch it disappear before she finally gets in. The slam of the door ricochets through me.

I slide into the driver’s seat. The air is electric, charged with silence. I pull into traffic, and it’s Eleanor who speaks first.

“What was that, exactly?” she asks. Her tone is more ice than fire. “Another demonstration of my husband's lack of self-control?”

I grip the wheel like it's the only thing keeping me from exploding. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

“Having coffee? The horror.” She shakes her head. Her hair falls loose, and for a second, I lose my focus.

“You know what I mean,” I say. “It’s not safe. Not with the Albanians sniffing around.”

Eleanor’s laugh is dry. “You must be so relieved I’m not running.” She flicks her wrist, and I see the ring again, twisting, twisting. “I didn’t break any of your precious rules, Leonardo. I went out for an hour. With my sister.”

It’s my turn to laugh, though it comes out harsh, bitter. “Lying by omission still counts as lying. Running to your sister still counts as running.”

Her mouth sets in a line, and I almost regret the words. Almost. But not enough to take them back.

“Stop treating me like an idiot,” she says, and I can hear the anger breaking through the ice in her voice. “Stop acting like you own me.”

I take a breath, feel it burn in my chest. “I’m keeping you alive, Eleanor.”

“I’m still breathing, last time I checked.”

“That can change,” I say, “in a second. If you’re not careful.”

Her eyes narrow, and I feel her reading me like one of her diamonds. Every flaw, every weakness, on display. “It can change even if you are,” she says, soft but sure.

“You think this is a joke?” I finally ask. “They’re not amateurs, Eleanor. You think they won’t come for you?”

I can hear her breathing, calm and steady. “Then I guess you should’ve put a tracking device on me.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”