Chapter 1 - Natalie #2
"Yet." The word hangs between us as his fingers complete their work, knuckles probably scraping against my numb skin. "But you're thinking about it. I can see those lawyer wheels turning, even through the hypothermia."
My pants come next, peeled down my legs.
I'm too cold, too weak to fight him. My professional mind notes the exits: two doors, three windows, even as my body betrays me by leaning into his warmth.
My bra and underwear follow, leaving me completely naked on his floor.
The thick rug is soft against my bare skin, and I file that detail away: money, comfort, a safe house that's more than just functional.
I should feel vulnerable, terrified. Instead, all I feel is the blessed warmth starting to seep into my bones.
This is the enemy, I remind myself. The enemy who saved your life.
He disappears, returns with thick blankets that smell like the woods in springtime. His scent. His hands check my fingers, toes, looking for frostbite with surprising delicacy. The touch is professional but it seems like he lingers longer than necessary.
"The storm won't break for days," he says, wrapping me in the blankets that hold his warmth.
"Roads are already impassable. No phone service.
No rescue coming." He pauses, and I catch something that might be regret in his voice.
"Not that anyone's looking for me anyway.
Family likes their black sheep properly isolated when they fuck up. "
The reality of my situation crashes over me. I'm trapped here with a Rosetti. The enemy I've been hunting is now my only chance of survival. And he's in exile, another piece of information I shouldn't have.
"What are you going to do with me?" My voice sounds stronger now, defiance creeping back as my body temperature rises.
He sits back on his heels, studying me with those shadowy eyes. For just a second, something vulnerable flickers across his face. Loneliness, maybe. Then it's gone. "That depends. You going to try to arrest me from under those blankets?"
"I'm a prosecutor, not a cop." I pull the blankets tighter, hyperaware of my nakedness beneath them. "And even if I were, we both know I'm in no position to arrest anyone."
"No," he agrees. "You're not."
The firelight plays across his features, highlighting the treacherous beauty of him.
I notice a shelf of philosophy books behind him: Aurelius, Seneca.
That detail doesn't fit with the gun, the way he assessed my death.
This is not how I pictured meeting a Rosetti.
In my imagination, it would be across a courtroom, me in control, them finally facing justice.
"You saved my life," I say, because it needs acknowledging. "Why?"
His smile is sharp, predatory. "Maybe I like the idea of the crusading lawyer owing me her life.
Maybe I'm curious what drove you to risk everything to find this place.
" He leans closer, and his voice affects me physically, rumbling through places that should not be responding right now.
"Or maybe I just wanted to see if you're as stubborn in person as you are in court. "
"I'm just trying to do my job."
"Your job." He shakes his head. "Your obsession, you mean. Months of eighteen-hour days, skipping meals, sleeping in your office. Yes, we've been watching you too."
The violation of that makes my skin prickle, but there's something else in his tone. Not mockery. Almost… respect?
"Your family are criminals," I say, meeting his gaze steadily despite my naked vulnerability.
"Alleged criminals," he corrects, moving to absently clean his gun while we talk, a casual display of danger. "Isn't that how the law works? Innocent until proven guilty?" He sets the gun aside. "Though I suppose you've already decided our guilt."
"You can posture about innocence all you want," I say, voice growing stronger as warmth returns to my limbs. "We both know what your family is."
He moves to a bar cart in the corner, pours amber liquid into two glasses. "And yet here you are, prosecutor. At my mercy. Drinking my whiskey." He holds out a glass. "Doctor's orders. It'll help with the warming."
I take it, our fingers brushing. Even that small contact sends an unwelcome jolt through me. The whiskey burns, but it's a good burn, spreading heat through my chest. The taste is expensive, smooth, another detail for my mental file.
"The roads won't be clear for at least three days," he says, settling into a leather chair across from me. "Maybe longer. The county doesn't plow this far up until after the storm passes completely."
"You're telling me I'm your prisoner."
"I'm telling you that you're mine until spring if necessary.
" The possession in his voice makes me shiver despite the warmth, and I hate how my body responds to that claim.
"No one knows you're here. Your car is buried.
You have no phone, no weapon, no clothes.
" He sips his whiskey. "Seems like you should be nicer to the man who saved your life. "
"Yours? I'm nobody's." I lift my chin, clinging to defiance. "I'm just temporarily dependent on your hospitality."
"We'll see about that."
I start humming unconsciously. The melody of "Silent Night" fills the space between us. His eyebrows raise slightly, and for just a second, when I hum that carol, something shifts in his expression. Like he remembers being young once, before becoming whatever he is now.
"Christmas carols?"
I stop, embarrassed. "It's December. And Silent Night seems ironically appropriate." I pull the blankets tighter. "You still haven't told me your name. Which Rosetti are you?"
"Does it matter? We're all guilty in your eyes."
"It matters to me."
He studies me for a long moment. "Tomas. The cousin nobody talks about. The one who handles what Dom's too smart to touch and Leo's too hotheaded to manage properly."
Tomas. I've seen the name in financial records, always on the edges, never in the center. The one who handles what others won't. The cleaner. The enforcer.
"You're going to keep me here," I say. It's not a question.
"The storm is keeping you here," he corrects. "I'm just providing hospitality. Though you should know, lawyers who get too close to my family usually disappear. You're lucky it's me you found and not someone less… philosophical about the value of life."
"Forced hospitality."
"Better than frozen death." He stands, finishes his whiskey in one swallow. "There's one bedroom that's usable. The others are under construction. You'll take it. I'll take the couch."
"How gentlemanly for a kidnapper."
His smile is all edges. "I'm not kidnapping you, prosecutor. Nature is. But make no mistake. You walked into my territory. You're under my roof. That makes you mine to protect or not, until those roads clear. In my family's world, possession is more than law. It's everything."
The weight of that statement settles over me like another blanket. Mine. Not the family's. His.
"And then?" I ask.
"Then you go back to your crusade, and I go back to my exile." Something flickers in his eyes. Pain? Anger? "Unless you freeze to death trying to escape before then. Your choice."
He heads toward a hallway, pauses. "Your clothes will be dry by morning. There's food in the kitchen, books in the study. Make yourself comfortable. You're going to be here awhile."
He disappears into the shadows, leaving me alone with the fire and the storm raging outside. I pull his blanket tighter around my naked body, still feeling the ghost of his hands on my skin, touches that somehow branded me more thoroughly than any passionate caress could have.
I've found exactly what I was hunting: a Rosetti safe house, one of their enforcers, proof of their operations. Months of obsessive work, and I've succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. The evidence is all around me, from the luxurious furnishings to the security cameras to the man himself.
And the most terrifying part isn't that I'm trapped here, dependent on his mercy, naked under his blankets while a blizzard seals us in together.
It's that when he said "mine," something ancient and traitorous in my body answered "yes."