Page 23

ROSARIA

T he evening air bites at my skin as I push through the estate's iron gates.

My argument with my uncle Emilio still echoes in my ears, his voice sharp with disappointment and barely contained rage.

Yet another "reminder" that my association with Salvatore DeSantis is hurting his bottom dollar and how the opera house demands more from me.

I need distance. I need to breathe without his eyes tracking my every movement.

"Rosaria, slow down." Rocco's footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

"I'm not alone. You're here."

"That's not what I mean."

I turn on him, my temper flaring. "Then what do you mean, Rocco? Because I'm tired of everyone speaking in riddles around me."

He stops a few paces away, his hand resting on his jacket where I know he keeps his gun. "The streets aren't safe for you right now."

"The streets aren't safe, or Emilio doesn't trust me not to run?

" I'm furious that I can't even have a walk to cool my head without my uncle's hired hands chasing me down. I want my life back. I want privacy to dissect the things I’m thinking and find my way through the maze of worry and fear I'm feeling.

"Both."

At least he's honest. I wrap my arms around myself and continue walking along the perimeter of the estate. The stone walls rise on my left, casting long shadows across the narrow street. Streetlights flicker on as dusk settles over Rome.

"We should go back," Rocco says, matching my pace but keeping distance between us.

"We should mind our own business."

"Your safety is my business." The tool is relentless, and even when I pick up my pace I can't shake him.

"My safety or my obedience?"

Before he can answer, the screech of tires cuts through the evening quiet. A black sedan tears around the corner, headlights blazing, and slides to a stop directly in front of us. The engine idles, exhaust clouding in the cool air.

I recognize the car before the driver's door opens and my stomach drops. I did not plan to come out and meet him, but here he is, in the flesh, and I already sense Rocco tensing behind me.

Salvatore steps out, his movements controlled and purposeful. He doesn't look at me immediately. His attention fixes on Rocco, who has already moved to position himself between us.

"Step away from her," Salvatore says, his voice carrying across the narrow space.

"Not happening." Rocco's hand moves inside his jacket where I know the gun is, and for a moment I fear he will shoot Salvatore. I tense, body going rigid as I wait for the click of metal as he chambers a round in his weapon.

"I'm not asking." Salvatore steps closer, and I wince, almost closing my eyes.

"Neither am I."

The tension crackles between them. I take a step back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Salvatore, don't?—"

"Get in the car, Rosaria."

"No."

He finally looks at me, his green eyes dark in the streetlight. "This isn't a request."

Rocco draws his weapon, keeping it low but visible. "Walk away, DeSantis. Now, or I will end you."

Salvatore laughs, a sound devoid of humor. "With what? A gun? You think I'm afraid of your little pistol?"

"I think you should be smart enough to leave."

"Smart would have been keeping her safe. But you let her walk the streets while men hunt her."

"What men?" I demand, but neither of them acknowledges me. I'm frantic now, desperate to ensure the man whose child I'm carrying doesn't die. At least not before he knows he has a child.

Rocco's finger moves to the trigger. "Last warning."

Salvatore moves faster than I expect. He lunges forward, batting Rocco's gun hand aside before my bodyguard can fire. The weapon discharges into the air, the crack echoing off the stone walls.

They collide in a tangle of limbs and violence. Rocco is trained, but Salvatore fights without rules. He drives his elbow into Rocco's ribs, doubling him over, then brings his knee up into his face.

"Stop!" I scream, but they don't hear me over the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Rocco recovers enough to throw a punch that connects with Salvatore's jaw. Blood appears on his lip, but he doesn't slow down. He grabs Rocco by the shirt and drives him backward into the stone wall.

The impact drives the air from Rocco's lungs. Salvatore doesn't give him time to recover. He hammers his fist into Rocco's solar plexus, then his ribs, systematically brutal.

"Stop it! Both of you, stop!"

Rocco tries to fight back, but Salvatore is relentless. He drives his fist into Rocco's face, snapping his head back against the stone. Blood streams from his nose, dark in the streetlight.

Finally, Rocco's knees buckle. He slides down the wall, leaving a red smear on the stone.

Salvatore steps back, breathing hard. His knuckles are bloody, his shirt torn at the shoulder. He looks down at Rocco with cold satisfaction.

"You didn't have to do that," I whisper.

"Yes, I did." He turns to me, and I see the predator beneath his controlled exterior. This is what he hides from the world. This is what he truly is. "Get in the car."

"No," I whimper, not sure if I even want to go with him now. My mind is racing, terrified of what I just witnessed and why he so violently attacked when he could've walked away.

He moves toward me, and I back away instinctively. "Rosaria."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I'm shaking my head, hands raised in a defensive posture.

"You are."

His hand closes around my wrist, fingers digging into my skin. I try to pull away, but his grip is iron.

"Let go of me, Salvatore. Please..."

"Not a chance." He drags me toward the car, and I dig my heels into the gravel, fighting every step.

"Salvatore, let go!"

"Stop fighting me, Rosaria." He stops and stares at me, and I see something fluttering beneath the surface that hasn’t registered until now. He's angry with me for some reason, and I don't know why. It makes me pause.

"What's going on?" I ask him as worry starts to needle at my conscience. I don't know what we are or what we have. I only know in this very second, for some unnamed reason, I'm afraid of losing it.

He opens the passenger door with his free hand, then steps aside and nods at it.

"Please just get in..." His eyes narrow on me as I glance back at the place where Rocco lies out cold, blood draining from his nose. Salvatore didn’t come here to hurt him, but he never sent me a message saying he wanted me to come meet him, either.

I'm confused, but I climb into the car and he follows me.

Salvatore's driver starts the engine, and we pull away from the curb. In the side mirror, I see Rocco struggling to his feet, blood covering half his face.

"He could be seriously hurt."

"He'll live." When I turn to look at him, he has a rag he's produced from somewhere and he's wiping Rocco's blood from his knuckles.

"You don't know that." I swallow the fear still creeping up my throat and shrink back. I don't know why he demanded that I get in this car with him but he's not making me comfortable.

"I do. I know exactly how much damage I did."

The casual way he says it chills me. I press myself against the passenger door, as far from him as the small space allows.

My hands shake as the adrenaline starts to fade.

The reality of what just happened settles over me.

He came for me. He hurt Rocco and he took me, and now my romanticized idea of Salvatore DeSantis is fading.

My uncle will light the entire world on fire to find me and when he does, he won't be kind to me in bringing me home.

He will devour anyone who takes what is his, but not because he cares.

Simply because they've crossed the line.

"You just kidnapped me."

"I extracted you." His voice is cold and calculating and it makes me shiver in fear.

"Then take me home..." My pulse thuds weakly in my throat and he turns to scowl at me.

"You prefer prison over my bed?"

For a split second I think of his arms, the moments we've shared, the tender, light kisses he offers when I let him feel vulnerable in my presence.

And then I think of Emilio, how angry and red his face was when he learned that Alba had been fired, that he had no choice but to allow me to sing the lead roles.

How he can't control me because someone else—probably Salvatore—is playing politics with my career now too.

"No," I confess softly, still pressed against the door, still wondering why Salvatore is so angry with me. Why he felt the need to lie in wait and steal me off the street like a common thief.

He says nothing, and I can only stare at him in shock, wondering just how far he'd have taken things with Rocco if he hadn't knocked the man out. Wondering what he'd have done to me if I hadn't just climbed into his car.