Chapter 30
Rafaele
Isit in my car outside the warehouse, knuckles white against the steering wheel, replaying Lucas's confession on that rooftop over and over in my mind.
The rage I felt watching Sloane crumble, seeing her face when she realized her friend's own brother betrayed her, it's still burning through me, a slow, steady fire that won't die down.
I haven't told her where I'm going tonight. What I'm about to do.
It's better this way. She's still processing what Lucas did, still trying to make sense of a world where people she trusted could do the unthinkable.
I've seen that look before, the one she had when we left Lucas on that rooftop, the shattered trust, the desperate need to believe there was another explanation.
It's the same look Carmela had when she first understood what our family really does.
The same look that haunts me sometimes when I catch my own reflection.
Family dinner at Nanna's just hours ago seems like a different life now.
Sloane laughing with my brothers, fitting in like she'd always belonged there, her eyes bright and alive.
The way everyone accepted her, even Dom, who never accepts anyone.
For a few hours, I'd seen a different future, one where maybe I could be more than what I was made to be.
But reality has a way of bleeding through. Lucas's confession changed everything. Not just for Sloane, but for me too.
I check my gun, methodical, the familiar weight of it against my palm.
Dale Callahan has always been a friend, or as close to a friend as someone like me gets in this business.
We grew up together, ran the streets together.
But he used Maddy, got her killed, and hurt the one person I've started to care about more than I should.
The old Rafe wouldn't have hesitated. Would have seen this as just another job, another body, another message to send.
But now there's Sloane, and I can't stop thinking about what she'd say if she knew what I was about to do.
The disappointment in those green eyes. The fear that maybe she was wrong about me.
I should walk away. Should find another solution. One that doesn't add more blood to hands already stained beyond redemption.
But this is who I am. This is what I do. And no matter how much Sloane makes me wish I could be different, some debts can only be paid one way.
I get out of the car, the cold February air hitting me like a slap. The warehouse looms ahead, silent and waiting. I adjust my gloves—the ones I didn't wear at Nanna's dinner, the ones that separate the man Sloane thinks I can be from the man I've always been.
Dale Callahan has to pay for what he did to Maddy. For what he did to Sloane. And I'm the one who's going to collect.
I just hope that when it's done, when I return to Sloane with blood on my hands that she can't see but will always be there, she'll still look at me the way she did at Nanna's table. Like I'm someone worth saving.
But I know better. Men like me don't get saved. We just keep adding to the tally until someone puts us in the ground.
I take one last look at my phone, at the picture of Sloane I shouldn't have but couldn't resist taking when she wasn't looking, smiling at something Matteo said at dinner. Then I tuck it away, lock that softer part of me behind the walls I've built over years of doing the family's darkest work.
Tonight isn't about redemption. It's about justice—the only kind I know how to deliver.
The underground fighting ring stretches out before me, a barren space of concrete and grit. It reeks of blood and sweat, soaked into the floors and walls. A small bar sits in one corner, nothing but a lonely slab of wood surrounded by empty stools.
Not a soul in sight. Dom made sure we'd have the place to ourselves by shutting it down for the day. Just me and Dale fucking Callahan, the kind of scum who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air.
His footsteps echo through the vast emptiness as he crosses the space, making his way toward the center where I'm waiting. The overhead fluorescents flicker in time with my heartbeat, bathing everything in harsh, cold light.
Dale grins. "Well, shit. Look who finally called. Thought you were ghosting me, Rosetti."
"I needed quiet. This place is perfect," I respond flatly.
Dale laughs. "Still got that dramatic flair. What's the deal? You gonna ask me to square up for old time's sake?"
"This isn't nostalgia. It's an execution."
Dale's grin falters for the first time. Realization dawns on his stupid face like a light bulb switching on.
I enjoy every second of it. One of his hands goes to his pocket, fast, like he's scrambling for something that will bail him out of this mess.
Phone? Gun? Nope, he left both of those with Domenico at the front door. Club rules, and all that.
It's almost pathetic, seeing him sweat. The cockiness drains out of him, and he stands there, frozen. His eyes dart around the room, desperate, calculating his odds. They're not good.
More footsteps as the cavalry arrives. Domenico is posted at the door. Matteo and Emilio show their faces, emerging, ready to close in if he makes a break for it. Leonardo crosses over and leans against the bar. Four massive tattooed guys with bad fucking attitudes. Plus me, the worst of the lot.
Dale's never seen the family like this, and he's gotta be wishing he didn't now.
"Shit," he says. "A whole reunion, huh? Can't believe you brought the gang."
He's trying for smooth, but he can't pull it off. Leo pours shots, lines them up along the bar, one for each brother. For after.
"Careful," I tell Dale, dragging up a chair. "Wouldn't want to spill any secrets."
"Thought we had all this shit worked out, Rosetti," he says, gesturing to the fight ring. "You bring me all the way down here to renegotiate?"
"Call it a final offer. Compensation for lost funds."
I smile, showing him the edge of my teeth.
We started this fight ring as a joint effort between families. The Callahans managing the cash, and us Rosettis running the show. A peace offering. A way to get us all rich. And he's gone and ruined everything. Cut the Rosettis out of the profits. Played us for fools.
Dale looks around, measuring his chances. Trying to act casual, like he's not cornered.
He fakes a grin, scratches his neck. He doesn't know I've been watching him like a hawk, and he thinks he can talk his way out of it. The dumb fuck.
He leans against the edge of a table, crossing his arms like we're just two old buddies catching up.
"You insult me, Rafe, if you think I'd steal from you. Remember juvie? C'mon. We're tighter than this."
"Not anymore."
I let him hear the bite in my voice.
I stand up and step forward.
"You skimmed from me. From my ring. You laundered money through Maddy's name. You signed her death certificate."
Sloane's face flashes in my mind – her eyes filled with grief, searching for answers, desperate to know the truth about her friend.
My focus sharpens, my rage crystallizes into something colder, more precise than usual.
This isn't just about business anymore. It's about her.
About giving her the closure she deserves.
Dale scoffs. "You don't know the whole story."
I remain dead calm. "I know enough. Lucas told me everything."
Frantic now, Dale spins around. A flicker of panic crosses his face as he shifts his weight, searching for exits. But there aren't any. Every exit is covered by a Rosetti. He's hedged in tight, and he knows it. I watch him, knowing exactly what's going on in his useless head.
He looks to the front and sees Dom standing solid, all muscles and crossed arms.
"Going somewhere?" Dom asks. His voice is flat, steady, and dangerous. The kind of voice that should have Dale shaking in his shoes.
He pivots, fast, weighing his odds.
"Whoa!" Leo shouts, raising his arms like he's calling a touchdown. "Where do you think you're going?"
Dale turns toward the back, and there's Emilio, leaning against the wall, flipping his knife in one hand. The movement is slow and easy, but there's no mistaking the threat. He's not even trying to pretend.
"Take your time," Emilio says with a dry smile. "We're not in a rush."
Dale is practically sweating bullets.
"Okay," he says, giving it one last shot. "So maybe I skimmed a bit. That's all. Nothing crazy."
"Nothing crazy," I repeat, slow and deliberate, watching as he starts to sweat. "All those zeros. Just a bit of pocket change."
I pull on my gloves, taking my time with each finger. The room goes silent. Dale's eyes are fixed on my hands like they're already around his neck.
"I didn't kill her, man. I didn't touch her," Dale insists.
I respond, my voice low and lethal. "You didn't have to. You just handed her over."
I feel something shift inside me – a strange, unfamiliar heat that has nothing to do with family honor or Rosetti business.
Normally, this would be about sending a message, about protecting our interests.
Clean. Professional. But this is different.
This is personal in a way I've never allowed myself to be.
I think of Sloane – of the way she looked at me on the rooftop, of how she trusted me with her pain. Of how she's crawled under my skin and made a home there. And suddenly, this isn't just another job. This is for her.
"It was just numbers. Just a few accounts. You would've done the same if—" Dale starts.
"Don't you fucking compare yourself to me. Get in the ring," I interrupt.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"Get in the fucking ring," I repeat.
Dale crosses the floor slowly, eyes darting for exits, and walks right into the damn cage. I follow, and the cage door groans shut behind me.
With hands raised and backing off slightly, Dale pleads, "Look, we've been through shit together. Juvie. The streets. I never meant to cross you."
Leonardo moves over and locks the cage behind us.