Chapter 11
Rafaele
Ican still hear the crunch of cartilage under my fist when we step into Sloane's apartment. The keys rattle like bones in her hand. New York wind follows us in, chasing February’s cold through the door. She shoves it shut, shuts me out too, trying too hard to act fine. She's not fooling anyone.
The place is like her, neat, small, badly secured. I start doing what I always do, circling, checking window locks. She eyes me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You gonna check under the bed next?”
Her voice is all irritation with a dash of leftover fear. She’s baiting me.
“If I think someone might be under there, yes.”
She sighs and flops onto a faded red couch. It sags in the middle like she’s had it too long and never bothered to fix it. A throw blanket is folded neatly on one end. She pulls it into her lap, tracing the edges with her fingers, and I can see she’s trying to hold herself together.
“It’s not a Rosetti fortress, but it’s fine, okay?”
It’s not. Not even close. I stop by the window, the one facing the fire escape, and turn the lock back and forth to test it. She groans like I’m torturing her.
“You were right about Callahan,” she says as I continue my perimeter check. “Maddy really was involved with him somehow.”
I stop moving, watching her.
“Yeah. I was right.”
There’s a flash of something in her eyes, gratitude maybe, but it’s gone in a blink.
“I can handle this, Rafe. I’m not a damsel in distress.”
I grunt, shrug. We both know it’s a lie.
“Good, because I’m not a goddamn knight.”
The heater kicks in, rattling like the whole place is going to fall apart.
It smells like dust and burnt toast. I finally sit next to her, leaving a space of red fabric between us like I’m trying not to catch something.
Her face is flushed from the cold and from the chaos of the night, and I notice she’s cradling her wrist.
The sleeve of her jacket is bloodstained. Mottled, angry skin blooms beneath, all black and purple, spreading like oil on water. I stand again, because it’s the only thing I know how to do, and move to the kitchen.
“I’m fine, Rafe. Seriously.”
I open the freezer, ignoring her, and toss a bag of peas in her lap. She stares at it, surprised, then shoots me a lopsided grin.
“For someone who claims not to care, you’re pretty good at this.”
“Shut up and ice it.”
I stare at her, the silence pressing, the words trapped in my mouth. I don’t like the way they feel, so I just spit them out:
“I’ve been digging around on Maddy.”
Sloane’s eyes go wide. She straightens, almost too quick, and the peas slip from her lap, narrowly missing the floor. A part of me wants to laugh, but there’s nothing funny about this.
“I thought you were out of this whole thing until, like, thirty minutes ago,” she blurts as she reaches down to retrieve the frozen bag.
“Do you want the info or not, Sloane?”
I push off the wall and cross my arms.
“Tell me.”
Her voice is sharp, urgent, like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
I give her what she's asking for.
“I found out who Maddy was dating.”
She freezes, breath caught in her throat. I don’t think she’s even blinking.
“Don’t you dare stop talking now, Rosetti.”
“Ethan Reyes,” I say, letting his name hang heavy in the air.
Her breath rushes out in a loud, uneven gasp. The apartment feels even smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of what she’s just heard.
“Maddy never told me she was seeing anyone. Let alone a... a...”
She struggles for the word, like she can’t bring herself to say it.
“She might not have known much,” I tell her. “Reyes was keeping secrets.”
“How do you know?”
There’s a wild, desperate edge to her eyes. She’s teetering on some jagged hope, clinging to it like a lifeline.
“Because it’s my fucking job to know.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the heater knocking, the wind howling at the windows. Sloane looks at me, her mouth open like she’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. I can see the gears turning in her head.
“Ethan...” She says the name like it’s a foreign word she’s not sure she wants to learn. “He was with Callahan?”
“He’s in with the Red Hooks,” I say. “Does low-level shit for Callahan. Enough to make him dangerous.”
Sloane’s eyes grow wide, and the shock in them makes her look younger. She breathes out sudden and loud, staring at me like I’ve just thrown cold water on her.
“She was dating a gang member? An actual criminal?”
Her voice trembles. I can tell she’s not asking a question so much as trying to make sense of it. It’s the worst possible combination in her mind: Maddy and a criminal.
The words hit me like a punch, sharper than they should be.
I’m a fucking criminal, nothing wrong with that. Best job in the world.
But not one that belongs anywhere near Sloane, or near the life she thinks she wants.
“Yeah,” I manage to spit out, shifting my weight, uncrossing my arms.
She shakes her head slowly, like she can’t quite get it to sink in. Like repeating it a few times might make it make sense.
Her mouth works, no sound coming out.
“Ethan,” she finally says. “Ethan was the one who… who killed her?”
I push off the wall and cross to the sofa, sitting down beside her, but not touching.
“Don’t know,” I say. “But Reyes is the only link we’ve got between Maddy and the Callahans, so I’d say he’s a damn good place to start.”
She looks at me, a spark of determination on her face.
“Do you know where to find him?”
She’s on the edge of springing into action, damn the consequences. I almost want to tell her to slow down, but that’s not something I can do without tying my own hands.
“I had him tailed,” I say instead. “He spends a lot of time in Queens, shitty building that looks like God took a crap on it. Bloom Street.”
“I can’t believe Maddy kept this from me,” Sloane finally whispers, her voice cracking.
It’s like she only believes in what she can solve—a problem or a puzzle, and this one has her stumped. She shakes her head. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Probably thought she was protecting you.”
She squeezes the bag tighter, and I’m surprised the thing doesn’t explode.
I look away, trying to give her some privacy in a place that’s too cramped to hold it.
I focus on the details instead—the stack of textbooks on the coffee table, the bright yellow mug left out on the counter, the picture frames crammed with faces I don’t recognize. Shit ton of half-dead potted plants.
She runs a hand through her hair, leaving it wild.
“So you're really helping me now?“ she says.
It’s a simple question, but I feel the weight of it pressing in. What I did tonight, taking her side, pissing off the Callahans, broke the rules I’d set to keep us both whole. I cut myself out of her mess for a reason, and now I’m right back in.
She looks at me, waiting, and there’s more in her eyes than I can handle. More than expectation. Something like trust that hasn’t been crushed yet. I don’t want to be the one to do it. Not this time.
I turn to face her, watching the way the skin between her eyebrows tightens, and when I answer, the words scrape on the way out, the honesty foreign on my tongue.
"I should’ve helped you the second you walked into my world.”
She draws in a sharp breath. Her eyes go brighter, wider.
“You…” she says, stopping herself as she looks at me like I’m a different person.
Her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. I can see the hope rising in her, filling her up. It’s intense, almost overwhelming, and I can’t tell if she’s happy or scared or both.
“Everyone thought I was just making noise,” she says. “Grieving wrong. They didn’t believe me. But you… You actually looked into it.”
She’s different now, like someone’s flipped a switch and lit her up.
I reach out, take her good wrist gently. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
Her mouth quirks up. “No one ever had you pegged for the caring type, Rosetti.” She tilts her head and looks at me with those sharp, green eyes. “What changed?”
“You’re a pain in the ass,” I say. “But I guess I’m starting to like having you around.”
She laughs, short and real. The kind of sound I haven’t heard in years.
“Maddy’s brother, Lucas,” she says, like she’s opening a new page in a story. “I spoke to him about all this. He wants to help. He thinks—”
“Do you trust him?” I cut in, the words coming out sharp, because trust in this business is a loaded thing.
She nods, and the motion is firm, confident, not a hint of hesitation.
“I’ve known him forever,” she says. “He’s probably the only person who loves Maddy as much as me. Loved.”
The word hangs heavy, and her voice dips as she tries to rearrange the past into something that makes sense.
Too many people, too many variables. All it takes is one wrong move for shit to hit the fan, and the more people there are, the riskier it gets, especially if they’re a loose canon with zero experience.
I shake my head.
“I don’t like it,” I say. “Tell him he’s out. I don’t need some useless brother fucking this up for us.”
She stiffens, and the change is instant, like flipping a switch.
“This is my investigation, Rafe. I appreciate you helping me out and, honestly, I probably couldn’t do it without you, but that doesn’t mean you can storm in and take over,” she says, her words fast and fierce. “Lucas is on the team, and that’s final. No discussion.”
She looks at me for a long time, her stare never wavering, daring me to fight her on this.
The fact is I’ve already taken over. But she doesn’t need another fight right now, not when she’s barely come up for air from that asshole at the bar.
I’ve pushed too hard, and I can already see her digging in.
I’ve been living by my rules for so long, I almost forgot what it’s like to let someone else have a say.
“Fine,” I say, the word ripping out. “But don’t go off half-cocked without me.”
She grins, triumphant, and I know I’ve just lost this round. She shifts on the sofa, closing the red space between us.
“So,” she says, and her knee bumps into mine. “What’s the plan?”
“We get Ethan. But not until I say it’s safe.” I hold her gaze, make sure she’s hearing me. “You need to promise you won’t go after him on your own.”
Her eyes flash up to mine, a little pissed, a little teasing. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Sloane.”
“Okay, okay, I promise. But you can’t follow me everywhere.”
“Try me.”
She rolls her eyes but looks pleased. I want to lean forward and kiss the smile off her face. I want to pin her down and see what other promises I can make her keep. Instead, I stay where I am, working at the leather gloves on my hands.
“As long as you promise I can be there when you do,” she says.
She smiles, and it’s the kind that could make a man crazy.
I shake my head, trying to look annoyed.
“I’ll think about it.”
We fall into a silence that isn’t awkward or heavy, and I don’t know how that’s even possible with everything we’re up against. Her hand brushes mine, casual like it’s not doing a number on me. But it is. More than she knows.
She moves back a bit, suddenly looking unsure of herself. “I guess you should probably go.” She hesitates, a nervous laugh in her voice. “Unless you want to stay the night.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “On the couch, I mean.”
I watch her, taking in every single detail.
The bruise on her wrist. The blood on her cheek.
The goddamn everything about her, setting off fireworks in my brain.
I’m tempted. I’m really fucking tempted.
I should leave, get out of here before I do something we’ll both regret, but I can’t stop staring.
She looks sexy splashed in someone else’s blood.
Sitting in her apartment, tough as nails and soft as a fucking feather.
I drag my gaze away and let it fall on the things in the room instead. The scuffed floors, the stack of mismatched textbooks, and the potted plants. The place is more lived in than I am. I know I should leave, get myself out of this before I do something we’ll both regret, but I can’t.
I watch her again, burning the sight of her into my head.
A lot of guys would see a girl in bloody clothes and think she’s in over her head. To me, it’s a different story. The bruise, the blood, the peas clutched in her hand, it’s like she’s asking for more trouble than she already has. Like she’s made of fucking steel, and I’m the one who’s going weak.
She tilts her head, waiting, and I swear she knows what’s going through my mind. I should leave, but maybe this time I'm not strong enough.
“Rafe?” she asks, the sound of my name snapping me back.
But I know better. “I should go,” I tell her.
“Goodnight, Rafe,” she says softly.
Her voice follows me out the door, and I’m almost stupid enough to go back.
Instead, I sit in my car and settle down, watching her window. Even a force of nature like Sloane needs protection.
The snow starts to fall again. Tiny flecks against the windshield. I watch her light go off through the window. I should be planning my next move, but all I can think about is the way she looked when I walked out. Like I’m the answer to every question she’s ever asked.
This thing between us? It’s gonna be trouble. And that’s the one thing I know I’m good at handling.