Chapter 14
ROSALINA
"That is complete bullshit!" I shout at the television screen, mashing buttons on the controller with increasing aggression. "I had you dead to rights!"
Gabriel laughs from his spot on the couch beside me, his own controller held loosely in his hands, the picture of casual confidence. "You had nothing, Bella. I outplayed you."
"You got lucky."
"Three times in a row?" He grins, that infuriating dimpled smile that makes me want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure. "That is not luck. That is skill."
We are sprawled in the media room—a space I did not even know existed until Gabriel dragged me down here an hour ago, claiming I looked bored and restless.
The room is all dark walls and comfortable leather furniture, with a television screen so large it takes up most of one wall.
Empty soda cans litter the coffee table in front of us, and I have long since abandoned any pretense of maintaining the proper Italian wife persona I wore to the compound dinner last week.
Right now, I am just Rosalina, wearing shorts and one of Luca's hoodies I definitely stole, my hair piled on top of my head, my bare feet tucked under me on the couch, engaged in increasingly competitive warfare with Gabriel over some first-person shooter game I barely understand.
"Rematch," I demand, already selecting the option on screen.
"You are a glutton for punishment, you know that?"
"I am going to destroy you this time."
"You have said that the last four rounds."
"This time I mean it."
He laughs again, the sound warm and rich, and I find myself smiling despite my competitive frustration. This is nice—easy and comfortable in a way I did not expect. No pressure, no expectations, just two people hanging out and talking trash over video games.
The new round loads, and I am just lining up my first shot when my phone rings from where I left it on the coffee table.
Unknown number.
I pause the game, staring at the screen.
"You going to get that?" Gabriel asks, glancing over at me.
"I don't know," I say honestly. Unknown numbers at eleven-thirty at night usually mean one of two things in the mafia world—bad news or wrong number.
But something makes me reach for it anyway.
"I should probably—" I gesture vaguely toward my bedroom.
Gabriel's expression shifts slightly, something knowing flickering in his eyes. "Go ahead. I will be here destroying your kill-death ratio in your absence."
"Don't you dare start without me," I warn, already standing and heading toward the door.
"No promises, Bella."
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart inexplicably racing, and make it to my doorless bedroom just as the phone stops ringing. I stare at it for a moment, debating, and then it rings again.
Unknown number.
I swipe to accept.
"Hello?"
"Rosie."
The voice hits me like a physical blow, and I actually have to sit down on the edge of my bed, my knees suddenly weak.
"Erin?" I whisper, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. "Oh my God, Erin, is that you?"
"It's me." Her voice sounds different—lighter somehow, less burdened, like someone has lifted a weight she has been carrying her entire life. "Hi."
"Hi?" I repeat incredulously, my voice rising despite my attempt to keep it down. "Hi? You disappear for two months and all you have to say is hi?"
She laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache with how much I have missed her, how much I have worried, how many nights I have lain awake wondering if she was okay. "I am sorry. I know it has been a while."
"A while? Erin, I have been losing my mind wondering if you were okay, if you made it somewhere safe, if Seamus found you, if something happened—" My voice cracks, and I have to stop, take a breath, force the tears back because I am not going to cry, I am not. "Are you okay?"
"I am more than okay, Rosie. I am happy."
The simple certainty in her voice makes something in my chest loosen, makes the tension I have been carrying for two months finally start to release. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Dolan and I—we made it to Texas. We bought a little farm outside Austin. It is nothing fancy, but it is ours, and it is perfect."
"A farm," I repeat, trying to picture Erin O'Connor—princess of the Irish mafia, raised in mansions and luxury, who once cried because she broke a nail—on a farm. "You are living on a farm."
"I know, right? Who would have thought?" She laughs again, the sound bright and unrestrained. "We have chickens, Rosie. Actual chickens. I have to feed them every morning and collect eggs and everything. I named one of them after you because she is bossy and protective of the other birds."
Despite everything—despite the stress and the confusion and the absolute insanity of the last two months—I find myself smiling. "I am honored."
"You should be. Rosie the chicken is clearly the best chicken.
She runs the whole coop." There is a pause, and when she speaks again her voice is softer, more serious, weighted with concern.
"But what about you? Are you okay? I have been so worried about you stuck in that marriage with Dante Salvatore.
Has he been treating you well? Because if he has hurt you, if you need help getting out, Dolan and I will come back.
We will figure something out. You do not have to stay there if—"
"I am okay," I interrupt, and I realize as I say it that it is actually true. "Better than okay, actually."
"Really?" The skepticism in her voice is clear and immediate. "Rosie, you do not have to lie to me. If they are treating you badly, if you need help getting out, you can tell me. I will not judge you. I will just help."
"I do not need help getting out," I say gently, lying back on my bed and staring at the ceiling. "Erin, I know this is going to sound insane, but I actually like being married to Dante."
Silence on the other end of the line.
Complete, total silence.
"Erin?"
"I am sorry, I think I misheard you." Her voice is careful, measured. "It sounded like you said you like being married to the Italian mafia prince you were forced to marry in my place."
"I did say that."
More silence. Longer this time.
"Erin, say something."
"I am trying to process," she says slowly, and I can practically see her sitting there with her mouth open, trying to make sense of what I just said.
"You—Rosalina Carter, the most commitment-phobic person I have ever met, the woman who once broke up with a guy because he used the word 'we' when talking about weekend plans—like being married? "
"Yes."
"To Dante Salvatore."
"Yes."
"The man you married under false pretenses while wearing my wedding dress."
"Technically he married me under false pretenses since he thought I was you, but yes."
I hear her exhale on the other end, a long breath that might be disbelief or relief or both. "Rosie. What the hell happened in the last two months? Tell me everything. And I mean everything. Do not leave out a single detail."
So I do. I tell her about the first week locked in my room, about the escape attempts that Gabriel foiled every single time, about how I tried to scale the building and he caught me by my ankles.
I tell her about refusing food and demanding to speak to Seamus and slowly going insane from boredom.
I tell her about Dante taking my door off its hinges and carrying me downstairs over his shoulder for dinner.
I tell her about the spanking that should have been humiliating but was somehow not, about the shopping trip with Luca where things got heated in the fitting room, about the run with Gabriel that ended with kissing against a tree in Central Park.
I tell her about the arrangement they proposed, about how all three of them want to share me, about how terrifying and confusing and somehow right it all feels even though I know it should feel wrong.
I tell her about meeting Dante's family, about his mother being warm and wonderful, about the Don being exactly as terrible as Dante's tension suggested he would be.
I tell her about standing up to him at dinner, about defending Dante in front of the entire family, about the way Dante kissed me on the steps afterward like I had given him something he did not even know he needed.
"So let me get this straight," Erin says when I finish, and I can hear her moving around on the other end, probably pacing the way she does when she is processing information. "You are potentially going to be in a relationship with all three of them? Dante and his cousin and his half-brother?"
"Maybe," I say, because I still have not fully decided, still have not fully processed what that would even mean. "It is complicated."
"Complicated," she repeats, and then she laughs—actually laughs, bright and genuine. "Rosie, that is not complicated. That is—" She pauses, and I can practically hear her shaking her head. "Actually, knowing you, that is kind of perfect."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you have never done anything the normal way in your entire life.
Why would this be any different?" I can hear the smile in her voice now, warm and affectionate.
"Remember when you were supposed to learn ballroom dancing for formal events and instead you convinced the instructor to teach you self-defense moves?
Or when you were supposed to attend that fancy finishing school and you got expelled for starting an underground poker ring? "
"That poker ring was very successful, thank you very much."
"My point exactly. You have never fit into the mold people tried to put you in. So why would your love life be any different?" She pauses. "If you are happy, then I am happy for you. Even if the situation is completely insane."
"Says the woman who ran away to Texas to raise chickens with her random guard to go raise chickens."
"Touché." She laughs again. "We are both living absolutely ridiculous lives, and I love that for us."