Page 23 of Savage Union
"Maybe you should have better security," I counter, forcing bravado I don't feel.
"The only reason you got in is because I didn't think I needed protection from you." His eyes narrow. "A mistake I won't make again."
"You can't trust anyone in your world, can you, Vito?" I push back, literally and figuratively, moving away from the door. "Not even your forced bride."
"Especially not my forced bride, it seems." He doesn't step back, maintaining the uncomfortable proximity. "You can't hurt me, you know. Not like this. You're only creating problems for yourself."
"You can't hurt me either," I say, grasping at my only leverage. "I know why you need this marriage. The retired Don—Giuseppe—his capos demanded it to quell an uprising from those still loyal to the Gallos. You need me alive and compliant."
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, that I've figured this out. "Who told you that?"
"No one had to tell me. I'm not stupid." I take a calculated risk. "I overheard things at my father's restaurant."
Vito's lips curve into a cold smile. "You're partially right. The marriage is political—a way to unite factions and prevent bloodshed." He steps even closer, his breath warm against my face. "But you're wrong about one crucial detail."
"Which is?"
"I can't kill you, true." His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my upper arm. "But there are many, many ways to punish disobedience that don't involve death."
The threat hangs between us, clear as crystal. My pulse races, but I refuse to show fear. "Do your worst."
His laugh is soft and without humor. "Oh,bambola. You have no idea what my worst looks like." He releases me with a small push. "Clean this up."
I blink, confused by the sudden command. "What?"
He gestures to the shredded papers. "You made this mess. You'll clean it up."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then your punishment will be... creative." The word carries layers of meaning, none of them pleasant.
I consider my options, which are limited. "Fine."
I move to the center of the room, kneeling to begin gathering the scattered strips of paper. The task feels impossible and humiliating, made worse by Vito's unwavering gaze as he settles into his desk chair to watch me.
"All of it," he says. "Every strip."
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, my knees aching against the hard floor as I sort through the chaos I created.
"Why did you really do it?" he asks suddenly.
I look up, surprised by the question. "What?"
"This act of rebellion. Was it just to defy me? Or something more?"
The unexpected insight in the question catches me off guard. "I wanted..."
"Control," he finishes for me. "You wanted to take back some control in a situation where you have none."
I return to sorting paper, uncomfortable with his accuracy. "Don't psychoanalyze me."
"I understand the impulse better than you think." His voice carries no anger now, just cool assessment. "But there are consequences for crossing lines."
"Like being forced to marry a monster?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
In an instant, he's on his feet, towering over me. "You think I'm a monster? You have no idea what real monsters look like,bambola." He crouches down, bringing his face level with mine. "Your father was selling girls barely older than your sister to traffickers. Did you know that?"
The accusation hits like a physical blow. "You're lying."
