Chapter 2
Domenico
Friday night and Il Lusso simmers like it’s alive.
Crowds push through the doors, lean against the dark marble bars, and turn the club into a seething pulse of New York’s elite.
I move through them like a shadow, even in a room full of suits.
When I reach Rafe, he’s drinking already.
His jaw is set, ready for a fight. So am I.
With him, it’s hard to tell where the drinking ends and the fighting begins.
Rafe wears both like a second skin. Like those black leather gloves he never takes off.
My brother. The loyal soldier. The one who never cared for suits and ties, just wanted to throw his muscle around.
These days he stays in line, but it wasn’t always like that.
He used to run wild, drunken and dangerous and half feral.
I'm the one who kept him in the stable and put his muscle to good use for the family. And he can’t forget it.
“The chemist better have this formula ready,” he says, voice low. “Before someone takes her out.”
The threat hovers between us, unspoken but solid as the dark walls. I nod, more to myself than to him. I’ve thought it a thousand times. Clara Voss is the lifeline of this launch, and if she’s exposed, it all collapses.
“We double security,” I say, my voice cutting through the noise. “No one touches her.”
“Not enough, Dom.” Rafe drains his glass and signals for another. “You need to launch, fast.”
Typical. Rafe would flood the streets tomorrow if he could. The broader the release, the messier. I’ve seen chaos and what it does to a man. Dad’s demands are loud in my head: lead with strength.
I’ll lead with precision.
I'm next in line, expected to take over the family business, and I know what that means.
Dad's got his expectations. He's king of the Rosetti empire, but I’m the heir. Soon enough, this whole damn thing will fall on me, and everyone's watching to see if I step up or fall down. I can’t afford one mistake on this. I can’t let Sal even have a whisper of doubt about my ability to run things.
Rafe thinks I’m playing it safe, but he's never had to steer a ship this big. He’s all about muscle, storming in, sweeping the streets.
Leaving a trail of blood and chaos, and watching it all burn from the sidelines.
That’s not what we need right now. Not with something this massive.
We have something bigger planned, bigger than anything this family has done before, and I have to launch it right.
I’m not about to let it blow up in our faces because Rafe wants to play cowboy.
I’m not going to let the old man say I can’t handle the pressure.
Rafe’s got no patience. He never did. He never looks past the fight that’s right in front of him.
But me, I see every angle, every threat.
I know when to strike. And when to wait to make the impact last, to make it stick.
You need more than force to run this family.
You need to be surgical. This isn’t a matter of brute strength. It’s a matter of control.
“We do this right,” I say. “Exclusive markets. Controlled.”
He leans back, studying me, deciding how far to push. “Dad’s not going to wait forever.”
“Neither am I.”
His smirk is sharp, more resigned than amused.
He thinks I’m stubborn, and he’s not wrong.
The pulse of the club beats on around us, muffling our words from curious ears.
Glasses clink, voices rise and fall, and none of it touches me.
I’m two steps ahead, planning the next move. Dr. Voss better be too.
The elevator dings, and I spot her—a blur of wild hair and nerves, shoulders hunched against the throng. Clara Voss looks like she’s been dragged here by a hurricane. Her eyes find mine, wide and frantic. She’s late. She’s flustered. Not a good sign.
“What’s going on?” I ask as soon as she reaches us.
“Oh, I…” she points vaguely toward the door as though that explains anything.
“Is something wrong with the formula? You said it was ready.”
“I said almost.” She catches her breath, and the words tumble out. “There’s a purity issue. A breakthrough. I mean, it could be a breakthrough.”
Rafe mutters something I don’t bother to catch. I’m focused on the chemist, who looks like she might bolt any second.
“Why do you look so spooked?” I ask.
Clara takes another breath, her voice still shaky. “I thought someone was following me.”
She hesitates, darting a glance at Rafe before her gaze locks back on mine.
“Outside,” she continues, eyes wide as if reliving those frantic moments in the street.
The panic in them says she’s sure of it, but she shrugs like she’s trying to convince herself it’s nothing.
“I don’t know. I got scared,” she admits, hands twisting together like they can’t find a place to settle. Her words spill out as if she can’t get them out fast enough. “It was probably nothing.”
Maybe she believes that, but I don’t. Not with a deal this big. Not with a drug this clean.
“We need to move you,” I tell her. “Somewhere secure.”
Her eyes widen, incredulous. “I can’t leave the lab!”
“I can’t risk you staying in the city,” I say. “You’ll work at the Rosetti estate. I’ll arrange everything.”
She shakes her head, a stubborn set to her jaw. “I can’t just relocate. Not like this. The equipment—”
“You can’t finish it if you’re dead.” My voice is steady, but my pulse kicks up. I can’t lose this advantage. Not now.
Clara crosses her arms, determination setting her features.
"I can’t leave," she argues, the words firm despite the panic she showed moments ago. “I can’t work without the entire lab. We’re talking millions of dollars of equipment.
Everything is bolted down, calibrated precisely.
” Her eyes are fierce, daring me to challenge her.
“You can’t just load it all on the back of a truck and expect—”
“You can’t finish if you’re a corpse,” I cut in, but she’s not listening.
She’s on a tirade, desperate to make me understand what seems so obvious to her.
“It will take months to recalibrate! It’ll set us back.”
Months—the word is a jab. Months would kill the launch.
“If you’re hit, we lose it all,” I tell her.
“Dom, we’re so close!” She’s pleading now, hair tousling as she gestures in frustration. “I have to stay where I am. Please”
She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I want to lock this down tight.
But if Clara’s right, if moving slows us down this much, then no one will waste time taking her out.
They’ll just bypass us, beat us to the market, and we lose everything anyway.
This breakthrough, this entire project, turns worthless.
It’s a risk either way. I weigh it, fast and precise, and her eyes follow mine, her life’s work weighing on my answer.
I nod, brief and decisive. “Fine, you stay at the lab. Rafe will double your security.”
Rafe nods, more of a shrug, and I know what he’s thinking: she’s a liability. If we lose the chemist, we lose the business.
Clara looks between us. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Good. Thank you,” she says.
“What was that about a purity issue? I need pure product, blissful high, minimal aftereffects. Is that going to be a problem?”
She shakes her head. “No, no, nothing to worry about. Just a technical issue we’re sorting through.”
“Tell me as soon as that changes. Anything else to report?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. So, same time next week? Can’t we do these updates over the phone?”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re smarter than that.”
Clara shrugs, then disappears into the crowd, lost again in the sea of people and music. I keep my eyes on her until she’s out of sight, then nod at two of my men to follow her out. They’ll watch her home safely and stick outside her house until I tell them otherwise.
Rafe throws back another drink, swallows it down like it’s water. He’s watching me with those cold eyes again like he’s amused by the whole damn situation.
“You should take bets, see which gets you killed first. The chemist or your blushing new bride,” he says.
The jab hits home, and he knows it.
Rafe leans back, waiting to see how I’ll react. He loves it when things get messy, when the pressure builds and he’s got a front-row seat. This is no different.
“We’re not married yet,” I grind out.
Rafe barks out a laugh. “Tomorrow isn’t far away, buddy.”
The old man’s plans are a weight around my neck, dragging me down at the worst time.
Sal’s decided to strengthen our alliances with the Albanians of all people, the fucking Albanians, and my head’s the one on the line.
A wife as leverage. A bride as payment. It’s a move so damn reckless it could blow up the second the vows are spoken.
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, and tomorrow she’ll have my name. But tonight, she’s just another problem.