Page 128 of Savage Union
Rina
The small chapelglows with the soft light of dozens of candles, their flames casting dancing shadows across ancient stone walls. No grand cathedral this time, no audience of Commission members and capos—just a handful of people who matter, gathered in this intimate space.
My mother and Sofia sit in the front row, their expressions a mixture of concern and cautious hope. Elena beside them, her skepticism barely concealed beneath a veneer of support. On the other side, Marco stands with military precision, ever vigilant, while Dante offers me a subtle thumbs-up when he catches my eye.
And at the altar, waiting—Vito.
I pause at the entrance, taking in the scene. The bloodstained wedding gown is gone, replaced by a simple ivory dress Vito had delivered to the penthouse while I showered away the tears and chaos of the day. My hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, free of elaborate styling. No veil, no train, no pretense.
This isn't the wedding I expected. Not the one I dreamed of as a girl, certainly not the political spectacle planned forthis morning. It's something else entirely—something real and fragile and terrifying in its sincerity.
Father Alessandro stands at the altar again, his earlier terror at the cathedral shooting replaced with nervous determination. Guards are stationed outside, but they remain invisible from within this sanctuary. For this moment, at least, we exist in a bubble separate from the violent world that brought us together.
Vito turns as I enter, and the look on his face steals my breath. Gone is the cold calculation, the controlled mask of Don Rosso. What remains is simply a man—a dangerous man, yes, but one who looks at me as if I've somehow become essential to his existence.
I walk forward alone. No one gives me away this time—I come to him by choice, each step deliberate and unhurried. The stone floor is cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the reality of this moment.
When I reach him, Vito extends his hand. I place mine in his, our fingers interlacing with a familiarity that should be impossible given the brevity and tumult of our relationship.
"You came," he says softly, just for me.
"I did," I confirm, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
Father Alessandro clears his throat, drawing our attention. "We are gathered here to witness the union of Vittore Rosso and Caterina Gallo in holy matrimony," he begins, his tone more relaxed than during the cathedral ceremony. "After the events of today, they have chosen to come before God and family to affirm their commitment to one another."
The ritual proceeds with quiet dignity, none of the pomp of the morning's interrupted ceremony. When it comes time for the vows, Father Alessandro surprises us.
"I understand you wish to speak your own words rather than the traditional vows," he says, stepping back slightly.
Vito nods, then turns to face me fully, still holding my hands in his. The vulnerability in his expression is so unexpected, so contrary to everything I know of him, that I feel momentarily disoriented.
"Caterina," he begins, his voice low but steady. "When you came into my life, it was through violence and necessity. I claimed you as property, as a political arrangement, as a means to an end." He pauses, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of my hands. "I was wrong."
A small gasp escapes Elena—clearly not expecting such an admission from the feared Don Vittore.
"You have never been just an arrangement," Vito continues. "From the first moment you defied me, challenged me, showed me the fire that burns within you, you became something else entirely—something I never expected to find in this life."
His words flow with surprising eloquence, as if he's been composing them in his mind for longer than the brief hour since I accepted his proposal.
"I cannot promise you a peaceful life," he says with brutal honesty. "Our world is violent, dangerous, unpredictable. But I can promise you this: you will never again be treated as property. You will stand beside me as equal, as partner, as Donna in truth as well as title."
He takes a small breath, something almost like nervousness flickering across his features. "Today, when that bullet was meant for me, you acted without hesitation to protect me—a man who, by all rights, you should hate. That moment revealed more truth than any vow could ever capture."
His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I vow to be worthy of that protection. To respect your strength, to value your counsel, to honor your independence even as I keep you safe. I vow to be not just your husband in name, but your partner in all things, until death parts us."
The sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, leaves me momentarily speechless. This is not the cold, calculating Don speaking carefully crafted lines. This is Vito—the man beneath the title—offering me something I never expected: truth.
When I find my voice, the words come from somewhere deeper than conscious thought.
"Vito," I begin, surprised by the steadiness in my tone. "I came to you as a prisoner, defiant and angry, determined to hate you for what you took from me."
His expression doesn't change, accepting this harsh beginning without flinching.
"I didn't understand then what I was becoming part of—not just a political arrangement, but a new life, a new world, a new version of myself." I tighten my grip on his hands. "I've fought you at every turn, challenged your control, tested your limits. And each time, you've surprised me by bending rather than breaking."
A small smile touches his lips, acknowledgment of our many battles.
"Today, when I saw that gun aimed at you, I didn't think—I just moved. Not out of calculation or strategy, but because in that moment, I couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt." The admission costs me, exposing a vulnerability I've tried desperately to deny. "I still don't fully understand what that means, but I'm choosing to explore it, with you."
