Page 70 of Rosetti Family New York

“If you don’t take me,” she says, her tone sweet but sharp, “I’ll be sure to let the Albanians know you have trouble with negotiation.”

I try to hold my ground, just for the show of it. “And here I thought you’d appreciate a morning off.”

“From you? Never,” she says, and this time her smile is full, bright. It’s a victory, and she knows it.

“All right,” I say, holding up my hands like I’m surrendering. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. “Finally,” she says, striding past me and into the garage. “We’re partners, Leonardo. Stop forgetting that.”

I watch her move ahead of me, graceful, unhurried, already certain that I’ll follow. I can never say no to my wife. The rest of the world can wait.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. Eleanor’s never been a part of my plan. She’s too wild for that, too unpredictable. But now she’s the best thing about it. I reach for her hand, pull her closer. “Come on, you’re going to make me late.”

Eleanor and I sit across from Larry Johnson, the new CEO of Price Enterprises. The conference room is a study in glass and steel, a sleek perch above the city where the sounds of traffic are too far away to matter.

Eleanor leans back in her chair, calm and collected, but I see the way she watches me, curious and almost amused. She’ll wantto know how I got her father out of the picture, and I’ll have to tell her. But not yet.

Larry sits across from us, smiling that smooth smile that feels more like a sales pitch than sincerity. “We’re thrilled to have you both on board as valued distribution partners,” he says, his gaze flicking between us. He thinks he’s charming. He thinks he’s going to win us over with empty promises and thin charm.

He knows he’s working on the edges of the law, but he doesn’t know just how far past it the Rosettis operate. Way past the realm of empty promises.

Larry leans forward, hands clasped like he’s on the brink of a great revelation. “We’re moving away from the old model,” he says, voice full of forced excitement. “More focus on emerging markets, new territories. This is a new era for Price Enterprises.”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Bold,” she says with a sharpness that cuts through the room. “What about existing markets?” Her voice is smooth and lethal. “They don’t matter anymore?”

The lights above cast a cold glow, reflecting off the polished table, but Eleanor is the brightest thing in the room. Her attention is fixed on Larry, and I’m jealous for a moment that it’s not on me. She’s got a way of pinning a man to the wall with just a glance, and I want to be the one squirming.

Larry stumbles, caught off guard by the question. “We’re not abandoning them,” he says, a little too quick. “Just... diversifying.”

Eleanor nods slowly, like she’s considering his answer. But I know her too well. She’s already three steps ahead, already decided exactly how she’s going to play this. The room is silent, the muffled hum of the city beneath us, but Eleanor doesn’t rush. She waits, letting Larry feel the weight of her silence.

I watch Larry flounder. Eleanor was made for this. Groomed to be the perfect gem dealer, and I’m lucky as hell to have herby my side. The last few months flash through my mind—the way we’ve pulled this off, the way she’s outmaneuvered everyone who’s tried to put her in a corner. Including me.

Larry shifts, trying to regain his footing. “We’ve also got some exciting developments in our quality division,” he says, like it’s the ace up his sleeve. “Cutting-edge assessment techniques, quality evaluation, brand-new relationships with overseas experts.”

He thinks he’s regained control of the conversation, but Eleanor isn’t done with him yet. “Quality evaluation,” she repeats, her voice lilting. “Do tell.”

Larry fumbles for an answer, his confidence slipping. “We’re, uh, negotiating with new quality assessment partners,” he says, less sure of himself. “Finding efficiencies wherever we can.”

Eleanor nods, the picture of patience. She knows she has him on the ropes, and she’s taking her time, savoring it. “So, no one in-house?”

I sit back, watching him crumble under Eleanor’s gaze. She’s in total control, and she didn’t even have to raise her voice. Her power isn’t loud—it’s quiet, cutting. I think about Richard, about how I got him out, and I know Eleanor will demand to hear everything.

But not now. Not yet. She’s enjoying this too much.

I watch, caught between awe and anticipation, as she lays out a strategy that makes Larry’s sound like the ramblings of an amateur. She knows every term, every nuance, and she twists them until Larry’s gasping for air. It’s a work of art, the way she dismantles him piece by piece. She asks about the four Cs—cut, color, clarity, carat—and throws in questions about fluorescence, sourcing, emerging trends. Larry can’t keep up, but he tries. God, how he tries.

Eleanor listens, then makes him start over when he trips on his own words. “Let’s backtrack,” she says at one point, her tone almost generous. She knows she’s got him, and so do I.

This is the woman I can’t say no to, the one who keeps me on my toes and makes every second of uncertainty worth it. Larry’s not even on the same planet. She keeps at him, digging deeper, going over details that make my head spin. But Eleanor’s right in her element.

By the time she’s through with him, Larry’s looking at me like he’s hoping for an ally. I just sit there, let him squirm. He brought this on himself. He’s the one who thought he could go toe-to-toe with her. Now he knows better.

“Maybe you’d like to look at our numbers?” he says, almost pleading.

Eleanor nods, gracious in victory. “Yes,” she says. “I’d like that.”

I watch Larry flail a little longer before I step in, throwing him a lifeline he doesn’t deserve. “Why don’t you send them over?” I say, standing up, taking Eleanor’s hand. She rises next to me, and I feel her warmth, the confidence that’s mine by extension.