Page 100 of Savage Union
"Everything secure?" I ask, eyes never leaving the reunited family.
"Perimeter is locked down. Elena Messina arrived an hour ago, as requested. She's waiting in the east wing sitting room."
"Any issues with the arrangements?"
Marco shakes his head. "None. Mrs. Gallo was quite emotional when we informed her of today's extended visit."
I nod, satisfied. "Maintain regular patrols, but give them privacy. I want this to feel as normal as possible."
"Understood, boss." Marco hesitates. "Will you be staying for the duration?"
"Yes." My tone indicates the conversation is over.
Marco takes the hint, moving away to coordinate with the rest of the security team. I finally approach the family reunion, noting how Caterina's entire demeanor has transformed—her shoulders relaxed, her smile unreserved in a way I've never witnessed, even during our restaurant lunch.
She turns as she senses my approach, one arm still around her sister's shoulders. "Vito, you remember my mother and Sofia."
"Of course." I nod respectfully to Olga. "Mrs. Gallo, I trust the accommodations continue to meet your needs?"
"Yes, Don Vittore." Her deference is automatic, ingrained from years of navigating life adjacent to power. "We are very comfortable. Thank you for bringing Caterina for a proper visit this time."
Sofia watches me with open wariness, pressing closer to her sister. The girl has Caterina's eyes—sharp, assessing, too perceptive for her age.
"Sofia," I acknowledge her with a nod.
"Don Vittore," she replies, the formal address sounding strange from such a young voice.
"Your cousin is waiting inside," I tell Caterina. "Perhaps Sofia could show you to her while I speak with your mother about some arrangements for today."
Understanding flickers in Caterina's eyes—she knows this separation is deliberate, but the opportunity for quality time with Elena outweighs any protest she might make.
"Of course." She squeezes her sister's shoulders. "Lead the way, Sof."
As they walk toward the house, Sofia already chattering animatedly about all she wants to show her sister, I turn my attention to Olga Gallo. The woman has aged gracefully, though strain has left its mark in the fine lines around her eyes and the premature silver threading through her dark hair.
"Walk with me, Mrs. Gallo?" I gesture toward the garden path.
"Please, call me Olga," she says as we begin walking. "And thank you again for bringing Caterina for a longer visit. Our lunch last week was lovely, but..."
"But crowded and brief," I finish for her. "I understand. This seemed appropriate."
"Their bond is strong," she observes, watching her daughters disappear into the house.
"I've noticed." I keep my pace measured to accommodate her shorter stride. "Even during your brief lunch, it was evident."
We reach a stone bench nestled among blooming roses—red, pink, white, and yellow blossoms creating a vibrant sanctuary. Olga's handiwork is evident in the careful pruning, the thoughtful arrangement.
"Your garden is impressive," I observe as we sit.
A genuine smile touches her lips. "Thank you. I've found it... therapeutic. Creating beauty after so much ugliness."
I study her profile, noting the resemblance to Caterina—the same graceful cheekbones, the same quiet dignity despite circumstances beyond her control.
"I wanted to speak with you about Caterina," I say, getting to the heart of the matter.
Olga's expression grows cautious. "Is she well? Has she been... difficult?"
The question reveals volumes about what life with Tomasso must have been like—where "difficult" was synonymous with "defiant" and inevitably followed by punishment.
