Page 44 of Savage Union
"Our home, you mean." I emphasize the word deliberately. "Since I'm to be your wife."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "A decision you might be rethinking if you're attempting to provoke me."
"I'm not trying to provoke you." The lie comes easily. "I just wanted some clothes that feel like me."
"Forty-seven thousand dollars worth?"
The number makes me blink. I knew I'd spent a lot, but hearing the actual figure is momentarily shocking.
"I have expensive taste," I recover quickly. "Something we apparently have in common."
He steps even closer, his scent enveloping me—cedar and spice and something distinctly Vito. "This isn't about money, Caterina."
"No?" I force myself to hold his gaze despite the hammering of my heart. "What's it about then?"
"Control." He says it simply, without pretense. "You're testing boundaries, seeing what you can get away with."
"And apparently shopping is where you draw the line," I counter. "Not kidnapping, not forced marriage, but heaven forbid I buy some clothes."
His hand comes up to my face, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of it near my cheek. "The purchases aren't the issue. The deliberate defiance is." His voice drops lower. "The intentional attempt to clutter my space with things you know I would find... distasteful."
The fact that he's seen right through my motivation is unsettling. "So predictable of you to be more concerned with your precious order than with my happiness."
"Your happiness was precisely what I was attempting to facilitate today." His hand drops back to his side. "And this is how you repay the gesture."
A twinge of something that feels uncomfortably like guilt stirs in my chest. I push it away. "Did you expect gratitude forallowing me a few hours of basic human interaction? For letting me see my family like any normal person?"
"I expected respect," he says, the words carrying weight beyond their simple meaning. "Not this childish display."
"I'm not a child."
"Then stop acting like one." He gestures toward the Bentley. "Get in the car."
"I came with Dante?—"
"Get in the car, Caterina." His tone carries the same quiet danger as the night he cornered me in his bed. "Now."
I consider refusing, making a scene right here on Fifth Avenue, but the look in his eyes tells me I've already pushed far enough for one day. Besides, Elena's phone is still burning a hole in my purse. I need privacy to use it, which I won't get standing here arguing with Vito.
"Fine." I move toward the Bentley, acutely aware of his presence behind me.
The car interior is cool and quiet, the leather seats soft against my skin as I slide in. Vito follows, closing the door with controlled precision that somehow conveys his anger more effectively than a slam would have.
"Drive," he instructs the chauffeur, who pulls smoothly into traffic without a word.
We sit in tense silence, the space between us on the seat like a demilitarized zone neither dares to cross. I can feel him watching me, but I keep my gaze fixed out the window, pretending fascination with the passing cityscape.
"Was it worth it?" he finally asks.
I turn to face him, finding his expression more curious than angry now. "Was what worth it?"
"This rebellion. Did it give you the satisfaction you were seeking?"
The question catches me off guard with its insight. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." He leans back, studying me with those dark, perceptive eyes. "You wanted to disrupt my order, to assert some control in a situation where you feel powerless."
I hate how easily he reads me, how he strips away my pretenses like they're nothing. "Maybe I just like ugly clothes."
