Chapter Ten #3
She left the rifle, the clipboard, and the armory behind, taking the concrete stairs two at a time. She sprinted through the lower corridors of the estate, her boots echoing loudly against the stone, her mind a chaotic, spinning storm of panic.
She burst through the double doors of the billiards room.
Marco and Enzo were leaning over the green felt table, deep in a murmured conversation about a shipment manifest. They both snapped their heads up at the violent intrusion.
They took one look at Roselia’s face—pale, wide-eyed, stripped of her usual composure—and the pool cues hit the floor simultaneously.
"What happened?" Marco demanded instantly, his hand dropping instinctively toward the holster at his hip. "Ro, what is it?"
"It’s Renzo," Roselia breathed, leaning back against the mahogany door as if trying to hold back an invading army. "I think he’s lost his mind."
Enzo relaxed his stance, exchanging a quick, sharp look with Marco. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"
"No! No, he didn't hurt me," Roselia stammered, pacing frantically toward the edge of the pool table, her hands gesturing wildly.
"He... he came down to the armory. He said...
he said he wants to court me. He said he was jealous of Dante, but that this wasn't about guilt.
He asked for a chance. He touched my face! "
She stopped, looking at the two brothers with wild, panic-stricken eyes, stumbling over the magnitude of her own explanation.
Marco and Enzo stared at her for exactly three seconds.
Then, simultaneously, they burst into roaring laughter.
Enzo doubled over, bracing his hands on the edge of the billiard table, shaking with mirth. Marco threw his head back, laughing so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.
"Oh my God," Marco gasped, pointing a finger at her. "He actually did it. He was serious. He really meant it."
Roselia’s panic instantly morphed into a flare of betrayal. She slapped her hands down on the green felt. "You guys knew? You knew he was going to do this?"
"Ro, are you legally blind?" Enzo wheezed, straightening up and trying to catch his breath.
"Didn't you notice him looking at you like a starved, lovesick puppy for the last month?
He has been staring at you with this pathetic, tragic devotion every time you walk into a room. How did you not notice?"
"I didn't! I don't pay attention to him!" Roselia shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.
"Oh my God," Marco grinned, leaning against the table, observing the sheer, unadulterated chaos radiating from the syndicate’s most feared female enforcer. "He broke her. Lorenzo actually broke the assassin."
"I am not broken!" Roselia snapped, though her voice wavered dangerously. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, the tough exterior crumbling. "I don't know what to do. Enzo, I don't know what I'm going to do."
Enzo’s grin softened, replaced by a look of genuine, brotherly affection. He walked around the table, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Rose. The Don of the Falcons falls at your feet, bares his soul, and you go into shock. He broke you with honesty."
"I don't know what to say to him," she whispered, dropping her hands. The vulnerability in her dark eyes was startling.
Marco walked over, leaning his hip against the table beside her. The amusement faded from his face, leaving the sharp, tactical mind of a lieutenant.
"Make him sweat for it, Ro," Marco advised, his voice dropping into a serious, protective cadence. "Make him grovel. You hold all the cards now. You can make him wait as many as you want to. He is at your mercy."
Enzo nodded in agreement. "He was willing to go to extremes. Do you know what he told us in the courtyard last week?"
Roselia looked up. "What?"
"He said he would be willing to carve his apologies into stone with his bare hands while on his knees, if that is what it took for you to forgive him," Marco revealed, watching the shock ripple across her face. "He actually looked us in the eye and said that."
Roselia’s breath hitched again. The image of Lorenzo Falco—proud, untouchable Lorenzo—on his knees, bleeding for her forgiveness, was too immense to comprehend.
"Then why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, a hint of her usual fire returning to her voice.
"Why should we tell you?" Enzo countered smoothly, a wicked glint returning to his eye. "It’s his job to beg, Ro. He has to tell you himself. Which, apparently, he just did."
Marco patted her back, stepping away to retrieve his pool cue from the floor. "The ball is in your court now, stella mia. You can accept Dante’s second date, or you can let the Don of Europe prove he knows how to kneel. The choice is yours."
Roselia stood in the quiet luxury of the billiards room, the weight of their words settling over her shoulders.
The armor was gone, the indifference was shattered, and for the first time in years, Roselia Zanetti was forced to seriously, genuinely think about what she wanted her future to look like.