Page 12 of Savage Union
I grab a yogurt and turn to find him blocking my path, arms crossed over his muscular chest. Up close, I can see his tattoos more clearly—intricate patterns that look almost like religious symbols mixed with what might be Latin phrases.
"Move," I say, more boldly than I feel.
His dark eyes assess me with clinical detachment. "You know, I've worked for Don Vito for eight years. Seen him build an empire. Watched him destroy enemies without blinking." He leans closer, voice dropping. "Never seen him rearrange his entire life for anyone. Until you."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Doesn't matter what you asked for, princess. This is happening." He steps aside with exaggerated courtesy. "Enjoy your yogurt."
I brush past him, settling at the breakfast bar in the kitchen area. "How long are you staying?"
"Until the boss gets back." He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, polishing it on his shirt. "So we might as well get comfortable."
"I'm not interested in getting comfortable with you."
He takes a bite of the apple, speaking around it. "Ouch. And here I thought we were bonding."
I ignore him, focusing on my breakfast. After a moment, he speaks again, his tone different—harder.
"Listen up, princess. I've got one job—keep you alive and inside these walls. Do us both a favor and don't make that difficult."
"What are you going to do if I try to leave? Shoot me?" I challenge.
His smile is all teeth. "Nah. Boss was very clear—not a scratch on you. But there are ways to stop someone without leaving marks."
The casual threat sends ice through my veins, but I refuse to show it. "You people think violence solves everything."
"Not everything." He shrugs. "But most things."
We fall into uneasy silence. I finish my yogurt while he demolishes the apple down to its core.
"So what's your story?" he asks eventually. "Besides being Tomasso Gallo's daughter."
"None of your business."
"Just making conversation."
"I'm not interested in conversation with my jailer."
He laughs again. "Jailer? That's harsh. Think of me as... security."
"For whom? Me or Vito?"
"Both." He tosses the apple core into the trash with perfect aim. "Though between us, the boss seemed more concerned about keeping other people away from you than keeping you in line."
That catches my attention. "What does that mean?"
Dante's expression turns guarded, realizing he's said too much. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"It's my life. If there's danger?—"
"The only danger you need to worry about is testing Don Vito's patience." He checks his watch. "He'll be back by six. Try not to drive me crazy until then."
"I'll do my best," I mutter sarcastically.
His smile is sharp as a blade. "Appreciate it, princess."
The day stretches endlessly. Dante follows me everywhere except the bathroom, maintaining a precise distance—closeenough to intercept any escape attempt, far enough to avoid any accusation of impropriety. Despite his casual demeanor, I sense the calculation behind every movement. He's not just muscle; he's smart, observant, and completely loyal to Vito.
