Terror floods through me, sharp and immediate, cutting through even the grief.
"You would not—" I gasp out.
"I would not want to," he says, almost conversationally. "Erin is family too. But if you force my hand by going to the Italians with this information, I will have no choice. She knows too much about the family operations. If she becomes a liability..." He shrugs. "Well. Accidents happen."
My vision blurs with tears—fear and rage and helplessness all tangled together.
"So here is what is going to happen," Patrick says, his thumb pressing against my windpipe. "You are going to agree to help us. You are going to go back to that Italian mansion and you are going to gather information. And when the time comes, you are going to make sure we can take Brooklyn without significant resistance."
"And if I refuse?" I manage to choke out.
"Then Erin dies. And it will be your fault." He releases my throat suddenly, and I gasp, sucking in air, my hands coming up to massage the tender skin. "Do we have an understanding?"
I stare at him through tears, at this man I have known my entire life, who used to sneak me candy after training sessions, who taught me how to pick locks when I was twelve, who I called Uncle Patrick without thinking twice.
This man who is threatening to kill my sister if I do not betray the people I have come to care about.
"Yes," I whisper, because what choice do I have? "We have an understanding."
"Good girl." He straightens, adjusting his suit jacket like we just had a pleasant chat instead of—whatever this was. "I will be in touch soon with specific instructions. In the meantime, play the devoted wife. Do not give them any reason to suspect."
He moves to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob to look back at me.
"I am sorry it has to be this way, Rosalina. But Seamus knew—all things happen in time. His time came. Now it is time for the Irish to rise."
He opens the door, and I see Dante immediately straighten from his position against the wall, his eyes going straight to me, concern flooding his face when he sees whatever expression I am wearing.
I force myself to stand on shaking legs, to plaster something resembling composure onto my face, to walk toward the door even though every instinct is screaming at me to run, to tell Dante everything, to beg for protection.
But I cannot.
Because Patrick knows where Erin is, and I will not risk her life. Not even for this.
Patrick opens his arms as I reach the doorway, and I step into the hug because I have to, because Dante is watching, because this has to look normal.
"Take care of yourself, Rosalina," Patrick says loud enough for Dante to hear, patting my back with false affection. "And remember—family always comes first."
"I will," I manage, my voice barely steady. "Goodbye, Uncle Patrick."
I pull away and immediately reach for Dante's hand, needing the contact, needing something solid to hold onto before I fall apart completely.
Dante's arm comes around my shoulders immediately, and I let him guide me down the hallway, away from Patrick, away from that office, away from the conversation that just shattered what was left of my world.
I can feel Patrick's eyes on my back as we walk away.
Can feel the weight of the threat he just made.
Can feel the impossible choice settling onto my shoulders like a physical burden.
Betray Dante, Gabriel, and Luca—the men who have somehow become essential to my existence.
Or let Erin die. I can’t bear either one.
19
ROSALINA
The punching bagswings violently with each hit, the chain above it rattling in protest, but I do not stop.
