Chapter 12 Leonardo
Leonardo
This close, the stink is unreal. Cigarettes, sweat, fear.
I breathe it in while the guy wheezes, bleeding and half-conscious.
Rafe shakes another smoke from the pack, leans against the wall like he’s got all night.
I don’t. I kick the chair. “When does it get here?” The guy flinches like I’ve shot him.
“Please,” he babbles. “Please.”
Not the answer I want. The next kick is harder. The chair skids, tipping backward until he’s staring at the ceiling, then it slams to the floor with a crash that makes the walls shake. He yells something in Albanian.
“Fucking useless,” I say, cutting him off. “Either start talking, or—”
“I talk!” He struggles for breath, eyes rolling in his head. “You get everything. Just don’t—”
I’m getting bored already. I look over at Rafe.
He shrugs like it’s my show, do what you want.
His leather gloves flash in the dim light as he pulls out his lighter.
Calm and patient. Never has to rush a thing.
Me, I’m not waiting. I grab the front of the guy’s shirt and haul him back up.
I’m losing my temper, and he knows it. This guy is an informant for the Albanians, not in their crew, but adjacent to it.
He is low enough that they won't miss him, won't track him back to us.
But he knows when their shipment is arriving, and if the Albanians beat us to the punch, we might miss our chance at getting into the rocks business completely.
The place is a dump. Greasy wallpaper, a bare mattress on the floor, no furniture except for the chair I’m kicking the shit out of.
Smells of sweat and mold, something rotting underneath.
I can feel the filth creeping in around me, but I don’t care.
All I want is the one thing he hasn’t said yet, and it’s only a matter of time before he gives it up.
The guy knows what’s coming. He should be smarter.
But he just stares at me with this terrified look, blood streaming from his nose.
I let go of him. He slumps forward, gasping, spitting red on the floor. I hate this place. I hate this whole building. Hell, I hate this whole street, and I’ll tear it apart if that’s what it takes. “The rubies,” I say, leaning in close. I smell his fear and it only makes me angrier. “When?”
“I don’t—” he starts, but I backhand him. His head snaps to the side. A line of spit and blood hangs from his lip. He looks like he’s about to cry, and it’s pathetic.
I take a step back. Cracking my knuckles, loud as gunfire in the little room. Rafe watches, doesn’t say a thing. If it were him, he’d wait the guy out. Give it another hour. Give it all night, if he had to. Not me. My fists are itching. The guy’s useless, but I’m getting something out of it.
He’s my older brother. They all are. Rafe is the second oldest, thirty-one and already as solid as a rock. There’s a way of doing things, he told me once, that doesn’t always involve breaking them first. I never got the hang of it.
“We can go round and round,” I tell the guy in the chair. “I’ll still win.”
“No more,” he begs, shaking so hard his voice wobbles. “Please, no more!”
“Just say it,” I hiss. He opens his mouth.
I see my chance, and I take it. My fist in his gut.
He’s wheezing, crying, spitting up everything but what I want.
The blood, the snot, it’s all over him now.
Soaked through his clothes. He looks at me like he thinks he has a prayer, but he’s wrong. He never did.
I smash his nose this time. I feel the cartilage crunch under my knuckles, and it’s so satisfying I almost laugh.
Rafe flicks his lighter, calm as ever. He doesn’t even blink.
But the guy in front of me is going out of his mind, and that’s exactly what I want.
I grab him again, twisting the front of his shirt until he gags.
“The shipment. The rubies. When does it get here?”
I get louder with every word. I’m sure everyone in the building can hear me. The entire block, maybe. And that’s fine. Let them. I’ll make it real clear that the Rosettis run this place, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.
Rafe takes his time lighting his cigarette. Checks his watch. Leans back against the wall, like he knows the guy’s about to break. And he is. I can see it in his eyes, the way the terror finally takes over.
“May sixth!” he chokes out, tears running through the mess on his face. “May sixth, at Cape May! That's all I know. Please!”
And just like that, it’s over.
The little room goes so quiet it’s like someone cut the sound. Rafe exhales a long trail of smoke, and I almost hear that, too. The guy realizes what he’s done, and he panics. He’s going to beg.
“Waste of time,” I say. The guy is breathing fast and shallow, already hyperventilating.
“I told you.” He gasps. “I told you!”
“Yeah,” I agree. I smile. “You did.”
I let him see it coming. His eyes get wide, desperate.
He’s not saying anything now. My hand’s on his shoulder and he jerks like he can break free, but it’s no use.
The knife is out of my jacket and into his chest before he takes another breath.
He’s got just enough life left to stare at the blood, confused, and then he slumps forward.
Rafe finishes his cigarette, flicks the butt into the corner. Looks at me with those cold blue eyes. They make most people nervous. Not me. “Good,” he says.
I yank the knife out, wipe it on the dead man’s shirt. The handle’s warm from the kill. Feels good. The rush is already building in my chest. “Yeah,” I say, turning to leave. I look back at my brother. “You coming?” I grin, and I don’t care if he sees how wild it is.
The Rosetti mansion is a fucking fortress, but that doesn't stop my pulse from pounding as I walk through the door.
“Eleanor,” I call, adrenaline still spiking through me from my meeting with the Albanian informant.
No answer. Where the hell is she? I shout her name and my voice crashes through the halls, hitting cold marble.
She doesn’t answer. I hit the stairs two at a time, yelling louder, harder.
My boots slam hard as I stalk room to room, starting with our bedroom and then the others she tried to sleep in.
My brothers stare as I start throwing shit, as I call her name again, demanding someone find her.
I gave that woman three rules. No lying, no running, no touching another man. She can't be gone. If she’s gone, she’s broken a rule, and there’s hell to pay.
She’s been trying this more and more. Pushing me. Testing how far I’ll let her run before I yank the chain. She’s playing a dangerous game. I can feel eyes on me. The family, waiting to see if I can keep her under control. My control. The sound of it all is like blood in my ears.
I shove open the library door, and the sight of Emilio sprawled on a chair, fingers flicking over his laptop, makes my vision go red.
He looks up, and those gray eyes cut right through me. "Problem?"
I nearly rip the door off its hinges. "Where is she, Emilio? If you're covering for her—"
"Relax," he says, soft and infuriating. "I’m not covering for anyone."
My fist lands on the wall next to his head, leaving a mark. "Get off your ass and help me find her."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t flinch. "Whatever you say, Leo."
I’m already moving. Dining room. Living room. The emptiness taunts me. She knows the rules. The deal. The punishment if she breaks them.
I crash into Matteo in the hallway. He's flipping a silver coin between his fingers, that lazy smirk on his face. "She leave you already, little brother?"
"Shut up," I snap. I want to smash that grin right off his face.
Matteo laughs, a sound that bites at me, and leans against the wall. "Maybe she decided redheads aren't her type."
"Where’s Dom?" I say, ignoring the jab. "Where’s Sal?"
His smirk widens. "Is it worth bothering the old man over? He isn’t here, anyway."
I’m not listening anymore. He could go fuck himself with that coin. She's testing my limits, and I don't know how long I can let her.
Domenico meets me in the entrance hall. Always neat. Always controlled. I want to break him in half when he stands in front of me, arms crossed. "Leo. Calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down!" I’m in his face, rage and panic twisting together. "Find. My. Wife."
"You’re making a scene," Dom says, his voice cutting through mine like a razor. "And I don’t appreciate scenes."
I don't care. I don't care about any of it. I shove past him and head for the front door, cursing under my breath. I can't think. Not with the blood boiling through my veins.
The glass doors slam behind me as I storm outside. If she’s gone, if she's run, if she thinks I'll let her—she’s got another thing coming.
And then I see her.
My legs go weak.
She's on the lawn, by the garden. She’s not running. Just standing there like nothing’s wrong. Like I'm not going out of my fucking mind.
"Cara," I breathe, and I’m already moving towards her. Her eyes widen when she sees me, but she doesn’t flinch when I grab her shoulders.
I’m rough, and I don’t care. I have to make sure.
I run my hands over her arms, her sides, down to her hips. Checking. Feeling. Nothing but the curve of her, the heat. Making sure she’s not hurt. Her breath hitches when I cup her face, and I want to kiss her so bad it aches. I don’t.
We stand there, her eyes locked on mine, until I finally let go. I spin away and leave her there, and I know she’ll follow.
She catches up inside. "Leonardo," she says, soft and unsure.
I keep walking. Through the hall, past the brothers, their eyes like daggers.
She’s behind me, quickening her steps to stay close.
She doesn’t say anything else until we reach our room.
I’m silent as I shut the door, as I turn to face her.
I see the curiosity burning in those eyes, but mostly I see the fear.
It fills me with something dark and hot.
"I didn’t know you were home," she finally says, the words quiet.
I laugh, short and harsh. "You should have been inside. You think any of this is a fucking joke?"
"I was just in the garden," she says. Her chin is up, defiant, and goddamn if it doesn’t make me want her more. “I’m allowed in the damn garden, Leonardo.”
"Of course," I say, although she wasn’t asking, she was telling. I sit on the bed and lean back, arms crossed. Waiting.
She stays by the door, watching me, like she’s waiting for something too. I don’t move. I don’t blink.
After a minute that stretches forever, her gaze softens, a sigh escaping her lips. “Was the big bad gangster worried about his little princess?” she teases.
I smirk, some of the tension leaking out of me. "I was worried you’d broken one of the rules."
She looks up, annoyed now. "Piss off, Leonardo." I take it as a win that I’ve annoyed her enough that a curse broke through her perfect, poised exterior.
“The family calls me Leo,” I remark.
She folds her arms across her chest. “We’re not family.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, and I’m not, but the words still sting. “What are we, then?”
She shifts her weight, purses her lips while she thinks for a word to describe our relationship. “Business associates,” she finally says.
I bark out a laugh and stand up, crossing to the bedroom doorway where she’s still standing. I pull out a long, narrow box from the back of my jeans and hand it to her. “Nice doing business with you, Price.”
The shock on her face is delicious as I hand her the gift, but I don’t stick around to see her open it. I walk out the door, my words hanging in the air.