Chapter 16 Besiana
Besiana
Everything in the office tower speaks of steel and power, but there’s still no security in Dom's eyes.
I see it every time they catch mine, the determination that nothing else will slip through his fingers.
Not the way the Iride warehouse did. The cold elevator carries us to the Rosetti suite, and Dom has me at his side, hand resting at the small of my back, an unspoken order to stay close.
He keeps me with him for everything now, a way to keep me safe since the attack on the warehouse.
When the elevator opens, Salvatore and Rafe are already waiting, the father and son.
Rafe's stance is rigid, his father's the opposite. He has that look on his face, the same one I’ve seen many times on my father’s, and I know he's about to tighten the screws on someone.
My heels echo on the marble, and I think of what my father always says about broken bones and broken loyalty.
"Looks like a goddamn ghost town in here." Rafe gestures at the cavernous space, the empty rooms beyond the conference table. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, looking straight at Sal.
His father smiles. A quick flicker of teeth. "Fewer people means fewer mistakes."
Dom takes a seat and pulls me into the chair next to him. He said he doesn't want me alone after the attack.
It works out perfectly for me, having unfettered access to all my husband’s business meetings. Every closed-door meeting gives me access like I've never had before, a chance to pass along information my father won't get anywhere else.
But the closer I get to Dom, the less I want to betray him. Every day makes it harder, but I've done it anyway. I can hardly look at him.
"We need to discuss the situation with the Iride project," Dom says, and the way he looks at Rafe makes it clear that Rafe is the one in trouble here.
"You mean how it went to hell? We lost most of our fucking ixaphorine." Rafe’s voice is sharp, impatient.
Sal looks from one face to the next, and the room hums with the mounting tension. “We know who launched the attack,” he says, and two sets of Rosetti eyes go hard with interest.
My own pulse skyrockets. I have to stifle my instinct to run, to make a quick excuse before they say a name that points right to me. If they know it was my father, if they even suspect the Albanians, then I’ll be implicated. I’ll be exposed.
My knuckles go white as I knot my hands in my lap.
The two brothers lean forward in their seats, a shared focus sharpening the air.
Even Rafe’s impatient movements still as Sal toys with the next words he’s about to say.
There's a flicker of excitement between them, the promise of violence. I feel like the noose has already tightened around my neck, like in seconds they’ll turn to me with damning certainty.
I’m twisting under their gaze, waiting for the hammer to fall.
Sal's eyes glint with satisfaction, and my breath hitches as he pauses. My mind races over a thousand possibilities. How much do they know? How long before they turn those looks of accusation and suspicion on me?
"They left us a little gift," Sal says.
He opens a drawer and drops a bag on the table. Rafe's black-gloved hand snatches it up.
"Son of a bitch," Rafe growls, raking his thumb over the object: a gold chain with an Orthodox cross. The glint of metal might as well be a flare in the night, a beacon announcing enemies everywhere. "It's Russian."
"It was left behind during the raid," Sal confirms.
“So it was the Russians,” Dom concludes.
His voice is firm, but I catch a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, a shadow of blame that could still shift its aim.
Relief washes over me. My father laid the red herring well, the way he always did. Was it to protect me, his daughter? Or just to protect me, his informant? My breath shudders out, and I force it back again, trying to hold everything in place, the secrets I’ve buried, the lies I’ve told.
I look at Dom beside me, and guilt gnaws at my insides. He’s so convinced of my loyalty. That I would never deceive him. That I wouldn’t shred him from the inside out with the truth. The irony of it cuts deeper every day.
Sal and his sons lean back in their chairs, satisfied predators, but I know the momentary calm will storm back around. One slip, one wrong detail, and suspicion could land on me again. I’ve done this long enough to know how quickly things change.
I’ve also done it long enough to wonder why I’m still doing it. A week ago, I would have killed for this kind of information, a prize to bring to my father. Now, I’m paralyzed instead of giddy, barely hanging on with my knuckles white.
"That location was supposed to be secure." Sal leans forward, eyes on Dom. Not accusing but not letting him off the hook, either. "We agreed only the family would know."
Dom meets his father’s gaze. Calm. Unyielding. "Then one of us made a mistake."
My skin feels like ice.
"It wasn't me," Rafe snaps.
Salvatore turns to Rafe, eyes narrowing. "Then who was it? Matteo? Emilio? Carmela? Or Leonardo?" He leans back, stretching out like a cat. "None of them knew the address, Rafe, I'm betting it was you. A slip of the tongue, maybe. A little too much trust in the wrong person."
"That's bullshit, and you know it!" Rafe shoves back from the table, his chair scraping loudly on the floor.
He's standing now, fists clenched with rage, but there's more than anger in his eyes.
There's a flash of disbelief, a wounded look that makes the breath catch in my throat. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him, for the way his father and brother can so easily cast him aside. But only for a moment. It’s not feelings that are going to get me out of this alive.
"Your brother is right, Dom," Sal agrees, and his voice is as smooth as cream, as calm as Rafe is furious. He looks to his heir with a slow nod. "Rafe needs to control his emotions."
Rafe's mouth twists in a half-smile, half-sneer, his frustration barely contained. The cross necklace hits the table with a clink as he flips it off like an insult, his eyes boring into his father. "What's next, huh? Gonna send me to bed without dinner?"
"We'll get to the bottom of this," Dom says.
The finality in his voice cuts through the room. It's a tone that demands obedience, and I can see it’s worked on Rafe before. He looks at Rafe with an authority that leaves little room for question. "Until we do, you're off the Iride project."
"You can't be serious," Rafe says, but the way he looks at Dom tells me he knows just how serious his brother can be. My father once called Dom the coldest of the Rosettis, and I can see why. There is no softness in him, no room for error.
“That’s a fucking mistake,” Rafe hisses.
"Letting you stay would be the mistake," Dom says.
Rafe’s voice drops low, and his accusation feels like a slap, even if I deserve it. "You think it's a mistake to trust me? That's rich, considering who you're fucking married to."
Seconds crawl by like hours. No one breathes. Sal's eyes flick to me and back to Dom, and I wait for my husband to explode, to defend my honor and innocence and all the other things he thinks are true about me. I watch him, waiting for his temper to wake, but he only shakes his head.
"This isn’t up for discussion."
Rafe glares at his father, then at Dom, and last at me. "You'll regret this, Dom."
He storms out, his steps like thunder on the floorboards. My fault. All of it. I caused the leak, the argument, the rift. And I can't fix any of it.
Sal lets out a slow breath and looks at me, an amused glint in his eyes. "I hope you don't mind this kind of family meeting, Besiana."
"I don't," I say, and my voice sounds like someone else's. Dom has no idea what a traitor he’s married to. "Thank you for including me."
“If it had been the Albanians who attacked, this would have gone very differently,” Sal says.
His voice is even enough, but I know a threat when I hear one.
“Don’t threaten my wife,” Dom says, and there’s a quiet steel in his voice that cuts through me.
The room goes dead still. It’s a tone I’ve heard him use when he’s promising retribution, when he’s inches away from snapping and bloodshed. His eyes are fixed on Sal.
Sal smiles, and the tension is gone. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Salvatore stands, straightening his jacket.
“I’ll leave you two to talk about Rafe’s bratty behavior,” he says, dismissing the entire situation with a wave of his hand.
My husband doesn't answer, and when Sal finally leaves, the silence is an open wound.
I turn to Dom, searching for a way to make this better. “I’m sure Rafe didn’t mean to betray the family.”
Dom snorts. “Of course he didn’t. He’s just being a hothead again, running his mouth off like he always does.”
He shakes his head, frustrated but confident, so sure of everything. I don’t want to be the one to shatter that.
I try one last time. "Maybe you should let him stay on the project, Dom. You know how he is. He needs to feel useful, part of things."
"No," Dom says, head shaking again. "Not until we get to the bottom of this leak."
He looks at me, and I see his suspicion of Rafe is complete. I did this. I watch him, my husband, the man I swore myself to in a deal my father made. I’m a traitor to him in every way. I wonder how he’s kept his faith in me so long.
I glance away in case he can see the guilt carved on my face. He moves closer and tugs my chair until our knees touch. "Hey. Are you all right?"
I nod. But I'm not. I don't know how to be his wife and a spy.
It's dark outside and even darker in here, our bedroom feeling more like a tomb than a home. The stars above New York glitter outside our window, but all I can see is the look on Rafe’s face when Sal accused him of betrayal. When Dom told him he was off the project.
The room is silent until the door clicks open and then closed. I hear the slide of Dom’s tie, a small sound but somehow more than I can stand. The lights are low, and so is the sick feeling in my stomach. My betrayal fills the room. The thought of it fills me, too, until it spills over as tears.
Dom finds me like that. Curled on the couch in our bedroom, a mess of tears. He crosses the room, so quiet, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter. When he kneels in front of me, his hand brushes my hair back, fingers gentle and slow, and I want to die with how kind he is.
"Besiana. What is it?"
I want to tell him everything. The words ache to come out, but the fear of losing him clamps them down again.
"Please." He pulls me into his arms and rocks me back and forth until my sobs turn to shivers. "Tell me."
His warmth is too much. I can’t stop the trembling.
"It’s—" I choke on the word, bury it in his shoulder.
"It's what, huh? Tell me."
When I don't answer, he just holds me tighter, resting his chin on my head, wrapping me in the kind of comfort that makes me feel like the worst person alive. I don’t deserve any of this. "I should never have taken you to the meeting."
"No." I finally find my voice. A little shard of it, anyway. "It’s not that."
"You've been through enough already. Your father—" He doesn’t finish the sentence, just tugs me even closer. "God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think."
I go still against him. Does he know? The blood roars in my ears, drowning out every thought except one: he knows. But when I look up, his expression is all concern, none of the betrayal I expect to see.
He wipes a tear from my cheek. "You don’t ever have to go through that again. Carmela told me how you never celebrated birthdays. How you flinch at loud sounds. Never again, Besa. Never."
The rush of relief hits me so hard I almost start crying all over. "Dom—"
"I mean it, Besiana." His hands cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You’re not alone. You have me. You have all of us."
I don’t know what hurts worse. That he thinks I’m this upset about my father, or that I’m letting him think that. My head drops against his chest, and it feels like drowning. Like falling.
His voice is so quiet I barely hear it. "I’ll protect you."
"Promise?"
My whisper comes out raw, torn. He doesn’t know that I’m really asking him to protect me from his own family when they discover what I’ve done, but he doesn’t hesitate to agree.
"Of course I do."
His breath stirs my hair, and he sounds so sure, so steady, so damn loving that it breaks something deep inside me.
I press my mouth to his shirt and nod, and the motion shatters me all over again.
I can’t do this to him, can’t stand the weight of what I’m doing, but I can't stop either.
My own selfish need for him won't let me.
He shifts me so I’m lying on the couch, my head on his lap. Stroking my hair in long, soothing lines.
"You have a new family now," he says.
I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop. It’s a long time before they do.
His touch is still gentle. His voice a whisper in the darkness. "We’re your family."
I fall asleep like that, wrapped in him and his promises. Telling myself the biggest lie of all: that he’ll never find out.