Chapter 15
Eleanor
“Why do you siblings all live together? Why don’t your parents live at the mansion too?”
Leonardo stares straight ahead, both hands tight on the wheel.
He acts like he didn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t.
I barely heard myself. But the house looms in front of us.
Smaller than the mansion. More brick and wood, less glass and steel.
I still count the guards. But this place is a lot more inviting.
More alive. It feels like a home. The kind of place a woman could breathe.
The kind of place you might want to live.
I wonder if he’ll ever take me anywhere that doesn’t require armed security.
“Is this our house?” I ask. The words sound stupid once I say them, but I can’t take them back. Leonardo looks at me, confused.
“It’s my parents’ place,” he says. “You think it’s ours?”
The mansion is too big for the two of us.
Too big for any sane person, but too small for all the Rosetti siblings.
“Why not?” I shrug. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to live somewhere like this?
Somewhere a bit smaller. Just the two of us.
” I let the rest of the question dangle between us, but he grabs it like he grabs everything.
“What? You don’t like all the glass and steel?” He sounds amused. “No, wait, you don’t like all my brothers.” He cracks his knuckles.
I shiver. “I’m just not used to so much... chaos.”
“You should’ve told me. We’ll move out tonight.” He seems like he means it, like it would be nothing to load me into the car and drive away, buy a new house in the city, just for us.
"I don’t know," I say, more to myself than to him. My father’s house was quiet.
You could hear your own breath in the halls.
The Rosetti mansion? It's chaos. It's Carmela pulling me into the kitchen to show me how to make eggplant parmesan, which ends up more like eggplant charcoal. It’s Matteo dragging me to the smallest living room to watch reality TV.
It's Leonardo sneaking into bed beside me every evening, then sneaking right back out before morning.
"It's so different, living with so many people," I say. "No secrets."
"Nothing but secrets," Leonardo says. "Say the word, and we’ll move out."
I pause. I think of the warmth and life in the mansion. “Let’s not rush.”
Inside Salvatore and Gianna's house, the smell of garlic and red sauce swarms my nose, a full-on assault. We turn the corner, and everyone is gathered in the living room, sitting on couches, talking loudly, filling the space like only Rosettis can. There’s Dom, serious as ever, his back perfectly straight, never wasting a second, never slouching.
Rafe, his face shadowed under his close-cropped hair, looks like he’s watching all the exits at once.
Matteo, too comfortable for my taste, flips a silver coin between his fingers.
No sign of the other siblings, but Leonardo’s parents, Sal and Gianna, are seated in armchairs like the king and queen they are.
Gianna Rosetti is impeccably dressed, even at home.
Her auburn hair, streaked with silver, is twisted elegantly at her neck.
She meets my eyes with a warm but assessing look.
The only woman who’s ever scared me more than her is my own grandmother.
Salvatore Rosetti, the kingpin, wears a neat wool sweater.
While his body sits in a plush chair, his presence looms larger than any figure in the room.
I heard legends about him long before I met him.
Ruthless but charismatic, his word is law, his judgments swift and final.
Around here, some people say he runs Brooklyn from that single armchair, his orders shaping the city like hands shaping clay.
Even his own children don’t cross him. He commands respect just by breathing, earning it with every scar and story from decades at the top.
He acts like he’s got the right to sit anywhere like that, and maybe he does.
He nods at me with a knowing glint in his dark eyes.
He has a sneaky kind of charm to him, like he already knows what you want and is thinking about whether you can have it.
Loyalty is his biggest currency. Family his one true alliance.
But right now, he looks more like a grandpa babysitting his grown-up kids.
A rosary hangs from his pocket, swinging slightly as he lifts his arms to wave Leonardo and me closer, kissing us both on the cheeks.
I remember what they say. The more he smiles, the more you should worry.
My nerves are alive, thrumming. Two strangers are in the room. They are introduced to me as Chase Callahan and his son, Dale.
“The Irish family,” Leonardo murmurs in my ear.
Dinner is as tense as I expect. The air sharp with power.
I sit next to Leonardo, who smells of whiskey.
Chase Callahan sits across, a hawk's gaze from under salt-and-pepper brows, and Leonardo bristles every time the man glances at me.
This is Rosetti territory, but with two families at the table, you can never be sure who holds the power.
"Christ," Leonardo mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear. "Does he ever take his eyes off you?"
I smile tightly, ignoring the unease prickling at the back of my neck.
I could ask the same about you, I think.
The room is warm with low lighting, glass chandeliers dripping from the ceiling.
This house is smaller, more intimate than the Rosetti mansion, but still heavy with money.
Two men flank the front door. Even when they're eating pasta and cannoli, the Rosettis never let down their guard.
A maid sweeps in from the kitchen, setting a tray in the middle of the table.
"Dig in, everybody!" Gianna calls, her lilting Italian accent filling the room. "I don't want to see any leftovers, or there will be trouble."
"I'll help with that," says Matteo, flashing a grin as he reaches for the food. He's quick to wink at me as he tucks his silver coin into a pocket. "Great spread, Mama."
Conversation talks to business, but it isn’t about gems so I tune out. The table is packed with people. Across from me, the older Callahan—the one who keeps watching me like a hawk watches a mouse—stares again. Leonardo wasn't joking; the man hasn't taken his eyes off me all night.
"So," Chase says, not bothering to lower his voice. "We turning this trial into a full-time venture, or what?"
Salvatore leans back, a king in his court. "We split the profits evenly, Callahan. We run the fights, you take care of the bets."
"Fifty-fifty," Dale Callahan says. He looks a lot less polished than his father, with scruffy blond hair and leather jacket, but his green eyes are just as sharp. He's shifty, and I know the type. He reminds me of a man father dealt with once, whom I never trusted.
"Not much business if we don't trust each other," Matteo says, grinning like he doesn't mean it.
"We're partners now," Leonardo cuts in. "Only two months into the trial, and the fighting ring is already the biggest in Brooklyn. We’ve greased the cops’ palms, they love it almost as much as we do." His arm brushes mine under the table, and it's more like a claim than a comfort.
"The fighting ring is just a trial? Where we met? But you looked so at home there," I say. This time, I'm the one raising an eyebrow.
Gianna laughs, a soft sound that could draw blood. "You know how the boys are, Eleanor. If they can't solve things with words, they solve them with fists."
Leonardo puts down his fork. “It’s business.” He shrugs. “Just a bonus that it’s also fun.”
The plates get cleared, and Salvatore pours wine into crystal glasses, some ruby red, some sparkling white. "To peace," he says, raising his glass.
Chase smirks. "And to profits."
"Salute!" shouts Leonardo.
I take a sip, pretending I'm not choking on their testosterone.
When dessert comes out, it’s worse. There’s espresso, cannoli, and fresh fruit, but I don’t have much of an appetite anymore. Chase raises his glass to me, an unsettling look in his eyes. "To the prettiest Rosetti at the table," he says.
I freeze. For a moment, I can't even breathe. The room spins and shrinks, the voices a thousand miles away. It’s happening again.
It’s a nightmare. I am fifteen years old, and it is a dinner with one of father’s “business partners,” who never looks him in the eye because he is too busy looking at me.
I stand abruptly. Everyone stares.
"Eleanor?" Leonardo growls. "You alright?"
I don't answer. I can't. The air is too thin and too hot and too tight around me. I'm barely out of the dining room when Leonardo catches up to me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me outside. The air is cold. I gulp it in, trembling.
"Are you out of your mind?" he says. He's dragging me toward the garden, toward darkness. "What the hell is wrong?"
"Let me go!" I wrench my hand free, and the rage is gone from his face, replaced by something I don't recognize. Concern.
"What happened?" he asks, softer now.
"He—" I can't finish. I'm shaking. He's holding my arms, pulling me against him, and the heat from his body is too hot. "Chase. He—"
"Looked at you?" He tries to make it a joke, but his eyes are sharp. "He's an asshole. We all know it. But I promised Dad I wouldn’t punch him tonight."
"You don’t understand," I say. "I thought you—" He waits, his fingers curling around mine. "I thought you'd give me to him."
He stiffens, his whole body going rigid. I almost expect him to laugh, to shatter the intensity with that wild bark of his, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets go of my hand, slowly, deliberately, as though loosening his grip on a fragile thing.
“What do you mean?”
I hesitate, not sure how to say it, not sure if I even should. "He complimented me in front of you. He’s a business partner. I thought..."
"You thought what?" His voice is flat, cold like steel in winter, and something frozen slips down my spine.
"You act like I’m a thing to be owned," I say, the words tumbling out. "Why should I think different?"
He doesn’t flinch or move. "You think I'd hand you over," he says, his tone cutting through the night air, "like some kind of—"
"It’s what I know," I whisper.
"Then you don’t know shit about me, Eleanor." His words are harsh but his touch isn’t, his hand at my neck, in my hair, pulling me close, like he’s trying to anchor me to him.
"I am yours now?" I say. "Until you decide—"
"You’re mine, but not like that." The heat of his mouth is close, close enough to scorch. "Not like that. Never like that. I will kill your old man for doing that to you."
I suck in a breath, shaky and uneven. "Please. If you touch my father—I can’t—he's all we have. Me and Juliet."
The desperation in my voice is raw, more than I want him to hear.
My hands are splayed against his chest, and I can feel the rapid pounding of his heart under my palms. An ache wells up inside me, a pressure so intense I can't tell if it’s anger or longing or fear.
Leonardo’s face is inches from mine, his breath burning hot against my skin.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, blue locked on blue.
"I won’t let anyone have you. Not Chase, not anyone.
I told you before—you're mine in ways you can’t even imagine.
" There is nothing easy or indifferent in Leonardo's grip on me. He doesn’t let go.
His arms tighten around me, a vice, unyielding.
"You think I’d let anyone else have you?
You're not a deal. Not a fucking commodity.
You're Eleanor. My Eleanor. That's not going to change. Ever."
The certainty in his voice should scare me. Maybe it does. But it thrills me just as much. My heart trips over itself, stumbling in my chest, and I realize I am not, have never been, afraid of him. It’s what he makes me want that terrifies me.
“And father? You won’t kill him?”
His eyes flash with an intensity that shakes me to the core.
For a moment, he’s silent, and the world stops turning.
His arms hold me tight, fierce and protective.
Then he speaks, his voice hard and unyielding.
"Ok, baby, I won’t touch him. For now. But if he ever treats you like shit again, I’ll do whatever I fucking want to him. ”
I lean into my husband, feeling safe. Because I am here in the garden, and light is spilling from the windows, laughter is pouring from inside. And Leonardo's hands are on my skin, rough and warm and not father. Not like father at all.
"You don't know what it was like," I say, finally.
"Tell me."
And I will. But not tonight.
Tonight, I let him pull me close again, the dark wrapping around us, and it feels like the first breath after too long underwater.