Page 77 of Rosetti Family New York

The Dushkus don’t want a merger, they want blood. But Sal’s pulling the strings, and I’m the one dancing, trying to keep it all from crashing down. The chemist, the bride—my head’s already hovering over the chopping block. If I let any of it slip, I’ll have the old man's boot up my ass and a bullet with my name on it. Not to mention a dead chemist, a laughable reputation, and a lost empire.

Rafe pushes off the bar and claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Try not to get yourself shot before the honeymoon,” he says.

“Don’t worry about me.” I shake him off. “I’ve got a business to run.”

He walks away, disappearing into the throng, a leather-clad shadow. He knows I’m in a bind and enjoys it too much. His warning plays over in my mind, and I wish I could shrug it off as easily as he does. But I’m not wired like Rafe. Or my father. Salvatore Rosetti sees everything in terms of power, not precision. One family, one empire. This marriage is just a part of the strategy, but not my strategy. I have enough chaos on my hands with Iride.

A woman in my house is one more variable. One more risk. One more piece of chaos I don’t need.

The bass from the speakers rattles my chest, and the lights dip low. A flash of long, sleek, dark hair and pale-green eyes. I haven’t even met the woman, just seen a couple of pics, andtomorrow she’ll have my name. But tonight, she’s just another problem.

3

Besiana

It comes out of the box blindingly white, layers of satin and lace that spill across the carpet. It’s heavy and awkward to step into.

My breath comes short as one stranger pulls the corset tight around my waist, and another zips the back. The mirrors show an expensive mistake. A wedding gown I didn’t choose.

Three women orbit around me. One with dark-brown curls, one sleek and elegant, and one with wide hazel eyes and a curly blond mane. I recognize them from the photos in Domenico’s file, the one Baba gave me as an engagement present. Domenico’s sister, his sister-in-law, and somebody named Juliet Price whose relationship to the family I don’t recall.

Their light touches make me flinch. The last time I had family in the room for a dress fitting, I was nine years old.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Juliet says. A sweet voice, but it cuts like glass. I can’t even look at her.

“It should be,” I answer. “It cost enough.”

“The wedding will be at a cathedral,” Juliet says like that is supposed to excite me. As if that’s not where you go to bury people. I close my eyes. I have to be strong.

The room is an explosion of fabrics and lace. The three women talk over each other, filling the air with congratulations, but all I hear is the Rosetti in their voices. Their words fall like stones in my lap.

“The rush is worth it—wait till you see the look on Dom’s face!”

“Oh my God, this is the best wedding ever!”

“The best bride ever!”

I count their touches, each pin that bites through the dress. Five. Six. More. I lose track. I have months’ worth of fittings in half an hour. This family does nothing gently.

They swarm around me, pulling, adjusting.

“Wow, you’re shaking! Are you nervous?”

“Bet she’s scared Dom won’t be able to keep his hands off her!”

They giggle and trade glances, oblivious. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning them out. What I am is a Dushku. They think they’re being cute, clever. But to me, they’re guns with silencers, explosions with the volume turned down. I brace myself for what I know comes next. I’ve been sold to a mafia family, after all. They’re pretending now, but they’ll show their true faces soon enough. Their warmth will be temporary.

I don’t even know who they are, not really. It doesn’t matter. They’re Rosettis. Every cell in my body tells me not to trust them, but my family has an agreement to uphold. My father’s orders. They think they have something to celebrate, but they’re not the ones being traded for information. I bite down on my lip and hold back tears. I’ve been trained for this. I must not cry.

“Hey,” the one with brown curls says. She’s the sister. Carmela, that’s her name. Her voice is softer, closer. She’s standing right in front of me. “I know this must all be a bit much. But we’re family now. That’s what matters.”

Her touch is gentle as she tucks a stray strand of hair back into place. I don’t flinch this time, but only because I see it coming.

The youngest one, Juliet, looks like she might cry herself. She clasps her hands together and beams at me, nervously.

“Are you so excited? You look, like, a million dollars!”