Chapter 16
Sloane
Rafe rides like the world is chasing him, never dropping below fifty and not bothering to weave.
I hang onto his waist for dear life, leaning against his solid, firm back.
It should feel reckless. It feels safe. The Queensboro Bridge arches above, iron and endless, and I squeeze him tight as the lights blur past. My wrists are aching from Ethan's knots, but it's nothing compared to my pride.
Rafe must think I'm a complete idiot. And he'd be right.
The Rosetti mansion rises like an ice giant on the Upper East Side. Tall fences wrap around it like chains. Security cameras glint in the gray light. Jesus. And I thought I was in over my head before.
Rafe pulls up to a gatehouse where men in black lurk. He doesn't even speak, just nods, and they let us through. The gravel drive crunches under the tires, and I press into his back again. This isn't just some mafia thug's house. It's a full-blown fortress.
He comes to a stop and cuts the engine.
"Is this where you live?" I ask.
"Problem?" He waits for me to hop off the bike, then swings his leg over too.
"I thought you were just really good at your job. Now I find out you're Tony Stark?"
Rafe raises one dark eyebrow, but a smile pulls at his mouth. "I don't build the weapons," he says.
My hands tremble as I look up. The house looms, cold and majestic. Marble steps lead up to double doors large enough to fit a parade float through.
Before we can reach them, the doors swing open. A man stands there, taller than Rafe, with the same dark hair but colder eyes. His suit is impeccable, his posture rigid.
"Domenico," Rafe says with a slight nod.
Domenico's gaze slides over me, assessing, calculating. "What the hell is this?" he asks, his voice like steel. "You brought a civilian to our home? With the Callahans breathing down our necks about the fighting ring?"
Rafe steps forward, half-shielding me with his body. "She needed somewhere safe."
"And what about our safety?" Domenico counters, not budging from the doorway. His eyes narrow as he looks at me again. "Do you even know who she is? Who she might know? Who she might talk to?"
"She's Sloane Carter," Rafe says. "And she's not a threat."
"Carter?" A shadow passes over Domenico's face. "Any relation to Jack Carter? The ex-cop?"
My stomach drops. I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. "He's my father."
Domenico's laugh is short and bitter. "Perfect. You've brought a cop's daughter into our home." He turns back to Rafe. "Have you lost your mind?"
"He's retired," I interject. "And he doesn't know I'm here."
"Like that matters," Domenico says. He turns to Rafe. "This isn't a halfway house for strays. Get her out."
Rafe steps forward, his voice dropping low. "The Callahans are after her. She's connected to that girl they killed a few weeks ago."
That catches Domenico's attention. His eyes flick back to me, reassessing.
"Is that true?" he asks me directly.
I nod. "Maddy Torres was my best friend. The girl they killed. I've been looking into it."
"And now you know too much," Domenico finishes. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fantastic."
Another figure appears behind Domenico. A woman with elegant features and sharp eyes that miss nothing. "What's going on?" she asks, her accent lilting.
"Rafe brought home a stray," Domenico tells her. "With a cop for a father."
The woman studies me with the cool detachment of a scientist examining a specimen. "Hand over your phone," she says, extending her palm. "Now."
I hesitate, clutching my phone tighter. "What? Why?"
"Because you're not stepping foot in this house until we know you haven't been tracking your location or recording anything," she explains, her tone making it clear this isn't negotiable.
Rafe looks at me. "It's temporary," he says quietly.
I swallow hard and place my phone in the woman's outstretched hand. She passes it to Domenico, who pockets it without a word.
"And your watch," she adds, eyeing my wrist. "Anything else smart or connected?"
I remove my watch, feeling increasingly vulnerable. "That's it."
The woman nods, seemingly satisfied. "She stays in the east wing. Restricted access. No wandering."
Domenico doesn't look happy about it, but he steps aside. "One night," he says to Rafe. "Then we discuss this as a family."
Rafe doesn't argue. He places his hand at the small of my back and guides me into the house. As we pass Domenico, I feel his gaze burning into me like a physical touch.
The front hall is cavernous, with high ceilings and marble floors that echo with our footsteps. Everything glistens, steel, glass, stone. Even the art is the kind you only find in fancy museums, all abstract and incomprehensible.
"Your brother seems nice," I mutter under my breath.
Rafe almost smiles. "He's cautious. For good reason."
"And the woman?"
"Besiana. Dom's wife." He glances at me. "Don't let her catch you calling her that."
We move through the house quickly, passing closed doors and hushed voices. I feel eyes on me from every shadow, every corner. This isn't the welcome I expected, but then, what did I expect? To be embraced with open arms by a crime family?
Rafe stops in a long hallway. I count more doors than I can believe.
"You'll be safe here," he says, tugging off his gloves and jamming them in his coat pocket. "Cameras, guards. No one's getting past."
I rub my wrist, where the rope burns are still raw. "Is this a bad time to ask if I'm a prisoner?"
He frowns, then leans in, and I get a whiff of his cologne, sharp and clean. "You think I went through all that trouble just to keep you locked up?" he asks. "If I was gonna do that, I'd at least put you in gold chains."
"Well," I say, trying not to melt into a puddle. "At least they'd match the décor."
Before he can respond, footsteps approach from behind us. I turn to see a lean man in a hoodie, his dark eyes watching me with undisguised suspicion.
"This is Emilio," Rafe says. "My brother."
Emilio doesn't offer his hand. "We need to talk," he says to Rafe, ignoring me completely. "Now."
Rafe sighs. "Can it wait?"
"No," Emilio says flatly. His gaze flicks to me. "Family business."
The dismissal is clear. I'm not family.
"Go ahead," I say to Rafe. "I'll be fine."
Rafe hesitates, looking between us. "Emilio—"
"I already ran a background check," Emilio cuts in. "Stanford undergrad. Psychology PhD candidate. Father is Jack Carter, formerly of the NYPD, specialized in organized crime. Mother is Nigella Carter, a high school English teacher. Brother Frank, sister Lisa."
My mouth falls open. "How did you—"
"That's what he does," Rafe explains. He turns to Emilio. "And?"
"And she's clean," Emilio admits reluctantly. "No police contacts besides her father. No social media connections to anyone we should worry about. No suspicious financial transactions."
"See?" Rafe says. "I told you."
Emilio shrugs. "You've been wrong before."
The tension between them is palpable. I shift uncomfortably, painfully aware that I'm the cause of it.
"I'll show her to the east wing," Emilio says finally. "You deal with Dom."
Rafe looks at me. "You good with that?"
I nod, though my stomach churns with anxiety. "Sure."
Rafe gives Emilio a hard look. "Be nice."
Emilio's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Always am."
Rafe squeezes my arm briefly, then turns and walks back the way we came. I watch him go, fighting the urge to call him back.
"This way," Emilio says, already moving down the hall.
I follow, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. "So, are you the tech guy or something?" I ask, attempting to break the ice.
"Something like that." He doesn't slow down or look back.
We turn down another hallway, then another. The house is a maze, and I realize with growing unease that I have no idea how to find my way back.
"How many of you are there?" I ask. "Rosettis, I mean."
"Too many," Emilio replies. He stops suddenly at a door, producing a key from his pocket. "This is you. Bathroom through there. Don't leave without an escort."
The room he opens is like a hotel suite, only more impersonal. The bed could fit a family of five.
"There's a shower through there," he says, pointing to one of the doors. "And clothes in the closet."
I laugh nervously. "Please tell me the Rosettis have a grunge collection."
Emilio doesn't smile. "Why are you here?" he asks bluntly.
The question catches me off guard. "I—Rafe brought me. After what happened with Ethan."
"No," Emilio says, his voice soft but insistent. "Why are you involved in any of this? The Callahans, Dale, your friend's murder. What's your angle?"
"My angle?" I repeat, incredulous. "Maddy was my best friend. She was murdered. I want to know why."
Emilio studies me, his expression unreadable. "And that's it? No revenge fantasy? No secret agenda? No plan to run to Daddy with everything you find out?"
Anger flares in my chest. "My father has nothing to do with this."
"He's a cop."
"Ex-cop," I correct him. "And he doesn't know anything about what I'm doing. He thinks I'm focused on school, on my dissertation."
"And he has no idea his daughter is running around with the Rosetti family?" Emilio presses.
"No," I say firmly. "And I'd like to keep it that way."
Emilio watches me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to crack under his scrutiny. Finally, he nods. "Dinner's at seven. Someone will come get you." He steps back into the hallway. "The door locks from the outside."
Before I can protest, he closes the door. I hear the key turn in the lock, and then silence.
I'm alone in a strange room in a crime family's mansion, with no phone, no watch, and no way out. I sink onto the edge of the bed, overwhelmed. The comforter is soft under my fingers, but the enormity of the day's events weighs on me like a lead blanket.
I run my fingers over my arm, over a bruise I didn't know I had until now. Dried blood cakes my wrists. The room is beautiful, so wrong. And Rafe is gone, leaving me to the mercy of his suspicious family.
I didn't expect this. Didn't expect the coldness, the interrogation, the locked door. But what did I expect? That I'd waltz into the Rosetti mansion and be welcomed with open arms? That they'd trust me immediately, just because Rafe seemed to?
I am such an idiot.
I stand and move to the bathroom, wincing at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a tangled mess, my face pale and drawn. There's a smear of blood on my cheek that I didn't even know was there.
The shower is as luxurious as the rest of the room, with multiple jets and shining chrome fixtures. I turn it on, letting the water run hot, then strip off my dirty clothes and step under the spray.
The water stings my rope-burned wrists, but I welcome the pain. It grounds me, reminds me that I'm alive. That I survived.
As I stand under the pounding water, I try to process everything that's happened. Ethan. The Callahans. Rafe rescuing me. And now, being locked in a room in the Rosetti mansion, treated like a potential threat.
I need to be smart about this. Need to prove to them that I'm not a danger, that I can be trusted. That I'm on their side.
Because whether I like it or not, it seems like the Rosettis are my only option now. My only chance at finding out what really happened to Maddy. My only chance at justice.
And if that means enduring their suspicion, their interrogations, their locked doors, then that's what I'll do.
I'll prove myself to them. I'll earn their trust.
Whatever it takes.