Chapter 16
GAbrIEL
I find her on the fence.
The compound has this old stone wall that runs along the back perimeter, remnants of when this property was some kind of estate before Dante bought it and turned it into our fortress.
Most of the wall is six feet tall, but there is a section near the east corner where it rises to nearly ten feet, and someone—probably Dante in some fit of architectural whimsy—installed a wide wooden fence rail along the top.
It is not exactly safe. It is definitely not designed for sitting on.
Which is exactly where Rosalina is perched, legs dangling over the edge, silhouetted against the sunset like some kind of painting I would see in a museum and immediately want to steal.
I have been looking for her for the better part of twenty minutes.
Dante noticed she was missing first, that hyperawareness he has developed where Rosalina is concerned kicking in the moment she was not where he expected her to be.
Luca checked her bedroom—still doorless, which Dante maintains is a matter of principle at this point rather than punishment.
I checked the media room, the kitchen, the library she has been spending time in lately.
Nothing.
Dante was approximately thirty seconds away from calling a full lockdown when I suggested maybe I should check the grounds first before we assumed she had somehow scaled the walls and escaped again.
And here she is.
Ten feet up, sitting on a fence that is barely wide enough for her ass, watching the sun paint the sky in shades of orange and pink like she doesn’t have three men currently losing their minds trying to find her.
I approach quietly, my shoes making soft sounds on the gravel path, and I take a moment to just look at her before announcing my presence.
She is wearing jeans and one of Luca's hoodies again—the girl has a hoodie-stealing problem that Luca pretends to be annoyed about but secretly loves—and her hair is loose and wild around her shoulders, catching the last rays of sunlight and turning it burnished gold.
She looks peaceful. Contemplative. Like she is having one of those rare moments where the world slows down enough to actually process what is happening in it.
I would feel bad interrupting except Dante is probably about five minutes away from sending out a search party.
"You know," I call up to her, "everyone was looking for you."
She does not startle, does not even look surprised. Just glances down at me with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Were they?"
"Dante is about two seconds from calling the National Guard. Luca checked your room three times like you might have been hiding under the bed." I move closer to the wall, tilting my head back to look at her properly. "We thought you ran away."
"Did you?" she asks, and there is something in her voice—curiosity, maybe, or a test. "Think I ran away?"
"No."
The answer comes immediately, instinctively, and I watch her expression shift slightly at the certainty in my voice.
"Why not?" She kicks her legs gently, heels tapping against the stone wall. "I have a pretty established track record of escape attempts."
"Because you are sitting on a fence watching the sunset instead of being halfway to the Canadian border." I lean against the wall below her, crossing my arms. "If you were running, you would not stop to admire the view, Bella."
She laughs at that, the sound soft and genuine. "Fair point."
"Also," I add, "you left your phone in the kitchen, which means either you genuinely forgot it—unlikely—or you wanted to be found. Eventually."
"Maybe I just wanted some time alone."
"Maybe." I study her silhouetted against the sky. "Or maybe you needed space to think and knew one of us would come looking eventually."
She does not confirm or deny, just continues watching the sunset with that contemplative expression.
"Are you going to come down?" I ask.
"Are you going to make me?"
"Do I need to?"
She considers this, head tilting slightly. "No. You can come up."
"Up there?" I eye the fence dubiously. "That thing does not look like it can hold two people."
"Guess we will find out." She pats the space beside her. "Come on, Gabe. Live dangerously."
The nickname—Gabe instead of Gabriel—makes something warm unfurl in my chest. She has been doing that lately, softening our names in her mouth like she is testing how they feel, like she is deciding whether we get to be familiar or if we stay formal.
I am definitely in favor of familiar.
I find the footholds in the stone wall—deliberate imperfections that make climbing possible if you know where to look—and haul myself up.
The fence is indeed narrow, barely wide enough for one person let alone two, but I manage to settle beside her, our thighs pressed together out of necessity rather than choice.
Though I am not complaining about the necessity.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun sink lower toward the horizon, painting the sky in increasingly dramatic shades of color. The air is cool but not cold, carrying the smell of autumn and the city and something distinctly Rosalina that I have come to associate with contentment.
"So," I say finally. "What are you thinking about up here?"
She doesn’t answer right away, just continues watching the sunset like it might hold answers. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, thoughtful.
"Everything," she says. "The last two months. How I got here. What happened the other night with Dante and Luca." She glances at me sideways. "How completely insane my life has become."
"Insane good or insane bad?"
"Insane good," she says, and there is wonder in her voice, like she is surprising herself with the admission. "Which is maybe the most insane part."
I lean back slightly, bracing my hands on the fence behind me, careful to maintain my balance. "You sound surprised."
"I am surprised," she admits. "Two months ago I was prepared to hate this. Hate being trapped here, hate being married to Dante, hate every single second of this arrangement." She kicks her legs again, gentler this time. "But I don't. I actually—I like it."
The words hang in the air between us, weighted with significance.
"The sharing thing," she continues, and I can hear the slight hesitation in her voice, like she is testing how the words sound out loud. "I have never felt so free."
That catches me off guard. "Free?"
"I know how that sounds," she says quickly. "I am literally in an arranged marriage with three men who took my bedroom door off its hinges. Free is probably not the word most people would use."
"But it is the word you are using."
"Yeah." She turns to look at me fully now, and in the fading light her eyes are dark and serious.
"My entire life has been about Erin. Protecting her, making sure she was safe, putting her needs before my own.
And I do not regret that—I would do it again in a heartbeat.
She is my sister in every way that matters. "
"But," I prompt gently.
"But I have never had time to just think about myself.
About what I want. About my own desires.
" She looks back at the sunset, her profile sharp and beautiful against the colorful sky.
"Here, with you three, I get to be selfish.
I get to want things and take them and not feel guilty about it. It is refreshing."
I process this carefully, turning her words over in my mind. "So you are saying being shared by three men who are completely obsessed with you is freeing because it lets you be selfish."
"When you put it like that it sounds insane."
"Bella, everything about this situation is insane. That is kind of the point."
She laughs, and the sound makes me smile. "True."
We sit in comfortable silence for another minute, the sky darkening by degrees, the first stars starting to appear overhead.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"Always."
"What do you want?" I turn to look at her, watching her face carefully. "Right now, in this moment, knowing everything you know—what do you actually want?"
She does not hesitate. Doesn’t look away. Just meets my eyes with absolute certainty.
"You," she says simply. "Luca. Dante. I want it all."
The words hit me square in the chest, and for a moment I cannot breathe, cannot think, can only stare at her while my brain tries to process the fact that she just said out loud what I have been hoping to hear since the moment I met her.
"You can have it," I tell her, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. "You can have all of it, Bella. All of us. However you want us."
Something shifts in her expression—heat replacing contemplation, want replacing uncertainty. She turns toward me more fully, and the movement makes her thigh press harder against mine.
"I’m still thinking about the other night," she says, a teasing, dangerous edge sharpening her voice.
I stiffen, the memory of that dinner hitting me with the force of a physical blow. I can still see the candlelight reflecting in her eyes while Dante and Luca took what they wanted, right there on the mahogany table.
"I remember," I say, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. "I was there, Rosalina. I saw everything."
"You did." She reaches out, her hand settling on my thigh, her fingers splaying over the denim and burning through the fabric. "But you only watched. You stayed in your chair, sipping your tea like it was just another business meeting."
The accusation in her tone does something to me, making my chest go tight and warm simultaneously. My hand twitches, wanting to grab her, to prove her wrong.
"I have more self-control than my brothers," I remind her, though even I can hear how thin that excuse is sounding.
"Maybe." She leans in closer, her breath a warm ghost against my skin. "But I didn't want your self-control that night. I wanted you."