Page 109 of Savage Union
"Notice what?" I lift my chin, clinging to the rapidly disintegrating pretense.
His hand slams down on the counter beside me, making me flinch despite myself. "Enough games! Who were you talking to?"
The demand echoes in the silent kitchen, leaving no room for evasion. I consider my options—continue denying, attempt distraction, or confess a partial truth. None seem likely to succeed against Vito's apparent certainty.
"It doesn't matter," I try. "It was personal."
"Personal," he repeats, the word dripping with disdain. "There is nothing personal in our world, Caterina. Everything is business. Everything is strategy."
"Not everything," I whisper, thinking of the moments we've shared, the connection that's grown despite our circumstances.
"Clearly." His expression hardens further. "Who. Was. It."
Something in his tone—the finality of it, the dangerous edge—tells me this is my last chance for honesty before consequences I can't predict.
"Liam Costello," I admit finally, the name falling like a stone between us.
Vito goes perfectly still, the kind of stillness that precedes violence. His eyes never leave mine, searching for confirmation of what he must have already suspected.
"The Irish," he says flatly. "You've been conspiring with the Irish."
"Not conspiring," I protest. "I was trying to stop them."
"Stop them from what, exactly?" His voice is calm now, deceptively so.
I swallow hard. "From coming after you. From starting a war."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a cold fury that makes me take an involuntary step back. "You knew about the hit. The shooter at the restaurant."
"Not specifically," I clarify quickly. "I didn't know when or how they would move against you."
"But you knew they would." He steps closer, his height suddenly intimidating as he towers over me. "How long, Caterina? How long have you been in contact with Liam Costello?"
The question I've been dreading. The truth I can't hide any longer.
"Since before you killed my father," I whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes—not just anger now, but a deeper emotion. Betrayal, perhaps. It cuts through me more sharply than I expect.
"Explain," he demands. "All of it. Now."
The command brooks no argument. The time for half-truths and evasions has passed.
"I made a deal with Liam," I begin, voice steadier than I feel. "My hand in marriage in exchange for my father's death."
Vito's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking at his temple. "When?"
"Three weeks before you came to the restaurant. Before you... took over." I force myself to maintain eye contact, to own the truth I've hidden. "My father was planning to marry me off to Carlo Bianchi. I was desperate."
"So you turned to the Irish." His tone is flat, judgmental. "Our enemies."
"I had nowhere else to turn!" The words burst out, raw with remembered desperation. "My father was a monster. You'veseen what he did to my mother. What he was doing to Sofia. What choice did I have?"
"And your arrangement with Costello? The details."
I close my eyes briefly. "Simple. He kills my father. I marry him. My mother and Sofia get protection."
"And then I killed your father instead." Vito's laugh is hard, humorless. "Throwing a wrench in your perfect plan."
