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My heart skips a beat as I process his words, my eyes widening in shock.
I've heard the name Rosalie enough times tonight to now know that the woman by my side is keeping things from me. Emily - or is it Rosalie - flinches at the mention of her real name and tries to maintain her composure.
But I can see the fear in her eyes.
"Who?" She stammers, trying to sound confused.
"Rosalie Battaglia," he repeats slowly, emphasizing each syllable like a taste he's savoring.
"How long can you run for?"
"F--Felix," she says, looking at me, her voice trembling, betraying her fear.
All night I've heard this name. Rosalie, Rosalie, Rosalie.
And now, it comes crashing down.
A cold shiver runs down my spine, and my mind races with questions.
The name Battaglia is all too familiar to me – the New York mafia family that has been our sworn enemy for years. I glance at her, studying her face, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.
Her eyes – the same distinct grey as Fronzo Battaglia's.
How could I have been so blind?
"Is this some kind of joke?" I question, my voice barely masking the deep sense of betrayal boiling inside me.
"Far from it," the enforcer laughs, exchanging glances with his partner.
"Seems like you've been sleeping with the enemy, Don Carlisi."
My hands clench into fists, and I struggle to control my anger.
I want to believe that this is all a mistake, that there's no way Emily could be related to Fronzo Battaglia.
But the evidence is right before me, and as much as I hate to admit it, it makes perfect sense.
"Get out," I snarl at the enforcers, my eyes burning with fury.
"Sure thing," the enforcer smirks before turning to Emily – or Rosalie – and adding.
"We'll be waiting for you by the docks at midnight if you decide to come with us to your mother. She's found a safe space for you. Your father doesn't know, so don't call home, and if you decide to come, don't keep us
waiting."
The enforcers exchange smirks before slipping out of sight, leaving Emily and me standing there, the silence between us heavier than the weight of the world.
For a moment, she seems to want to say something more, but I cut her off with a sharp wave of my hand.
I'm left standing there, reeling from the revelation.
The woman I've fallen in love with is none other than the daughter of my greatest enemy.
"Emily" I say, the name feeling foreign on my tongue now. "Or should I say Rosalie? You're Fronzo Battaglia's daughter?"
She hesitates for a moment, looking like a cornered animal.
I've never seen her so vulnerable and scared before.
