Page 108 of Savage Union
"Then we take you anyway." The matter-of-fact delivery chills me. "After we've eliminated the competition."
"You can't kill Vito," I protest, shock making me careless with my volume.
"Can't we?" His amusement is audible. "We've been planning this for months, darling. The shooter was just a warning—a message to let him know what's coming."
Horror washes over me as I realize the depth of what I've set in motion. "This is madness."
"This is business." His tone turns clinical. "Rosso's elimination serves multiple purposes. It removes our primary competition in the territory, it avenges the slight against our family honor, and it delivers you back where you belong."
"With you," I state flatly.
"Precisely." A pause. "Though I admit, I find myself curious about what's transpired between you and Rosso to make you so... protective of him."
Heat floods my face, shame and anger mingling. "That's none of your concern."
"Everything about you is my concern." The possessiveness in his voice mirrors Vito's, yet lacking the undercurrent of respect I've come to recognize in the latter. "Has he touched what's mine, Caterina? Claimed what was promised to me?"
I swallow hard against the revulsion his words inspire. "I won't be traded between men like property."
"Three days," he repeats, ignoring my declaration. "Either you come to me willingly, or we come for you. And Rosso dies either way."
"Liam—"
"The coffee shop across from St. Patrick's. Seven PM, three days from now. Come alone." He pauses. "Or don't come at all, and accept the consequences."
"Please," I try one last time. "This isn't what I wanted."
"It's what you agreed to." His voice turns final. "Three days, Caterina. Choose wisely."
The line goes dead, leaving me clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grip, panic rising in my chest like floodwater.
"Who was that?"
The voice—Vito's voice—comes from behind me, and I whirl around, the phone clattering to the counter as my hand flies to my throat.
He stands in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable in the dim light. How long has he been there? How much did he hear?
"Vito," I breathe, mind racing for an explanation, an excuse, anything to deflect the thunder I see building in his eyes.
He steps forward into the circle of lamplight, and the cold fury on his face steals my breath. This isn't the controlled displeasure I've witnessed before—this is rage barely contained, all the more terrifying for its quiet intensity.
"I asked you a question." His voice is deadly soft. "Who was that on the phone?"
"No one," I manage, the lie pathetic even to my own ears.
"Don't." The single word cracks like a whip. "Don't lie to me, Caterina. Not now."
He moves closer, his gaze falling to the burner phone on the counter. With deliberate slowness, he picks it up, examining it.
"Where did you get this?" he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.
I remain silent, calculating options that rapidly dwindle under his scrutiny.
"Your cousin," he concludes, setting the phone down with precision. "Elena Messina. At the Greenhouse today."
Still, I say nothing, fear and defiance warring within me.
Vito's laugh is cold, mirthless. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't notice?"
