Page 70 of Savage Union
Sullivan's head is thrown back, body convulsing, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. His one good eye bulges as he chokes on something.
"Shit!" Marco rushes forward, but it's already too late. By the time he reaches Sullivan, the man's convulsions are slowing, his body going slack in the restraints.
"Cyanide," I observe, noting the distinctive almond scent now permeating the air. "Check his mouth."
Marco pries open the dead man's jaw, revealing the remains of what appears to be a capsule embedded in a hollow molar. "Suicide tooth. Old school."
"And effective." I study Sullivan's now-still form with a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. The Costellos equipped their messenger with an exit strategy, ensuring he couldn't reveal more than the specific message he was sent to deliver.
"What now, boss?" Marco asks, stepping away from the body.
"Clean this up." I retrieve my jacket from the man holding it by the door. "And get me everything we have on Liam Costello. Every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem."
"You think this is genuinely about your engagement?" Marco's expression is skeptical. "Seems more likely they're using that to distract from whatever business conflict they actually have with us."
"Perhaps." I straighten my cuffs, mind already racing through possibilities. "But I dislike coincidences, and the timing of this attack—so soon after my engagement became public knowledge—bears investigation."
Marco hesitates, then adds, "And Miss Gallo? Should we increase security around her?"
The question sends a surge of possessiveness through me that I don't bother to disguise. "Double the detail. No one gets near her without my explicit approval."
"Consider it done."
As I walk out of the warehouse into the cool evening air, Sullivan's message replays in my mind. "You stole what didn't belong to you." The weapons shipment is the obvious interpretation.
But the mention of Caterina nags at me. What possible connection could my fiancée have to Liam Costello? Her father was firmly embedded in the Italian hierarchy, despitehis mediocre standing. The Gallos have never had ties to the Irish, at least none that appeared in my extensive background investigation.
Unless...
I pause by my car, a disturbing thought taking shape. What if the connection is more recent? What if it formed after her father's death—or just before it?
Caterina's reaction when I mentioned the Costellos in the car comes back to me—that subtle tension in her posture, the way she couldn't quite meet my eyes. At the time, I attributed it to general distress over the shooting, but now I'm not so certain.
I get into my car, instructing the driver to take me home. As we pull away from the warehouse, I find my thoughts occupied not with the dead messenger or the potential turf war brewing with the Irish, but with the woman waiting for me in my penthouse.
Caterina Gallo—the woman I've claimed as mine, who responded so passionately to my touch just hours ago, whose body yielded to me with a desire that seemed genuine. Is she playing a deeper game than I realized? Does she have secrets that even my thorough investigation failed to uncover?
The thought should infuriate me. Instead, I find myself almost admiring the possibility. If Caterina has indeed managed to conceal something significant from me—from my network of informants, my background checks, my surveillance—then she's more formidable than I gave her credit for.
And if there is a connection between her and Liam Costello, I will discover it. I will unravel whatever web she's woven, whatever secrets she's keeping.
Because she is mine now.
Not Costello's.
Mine.
CHAPTER 22
Rina
The penthouse feelslike a prison again, though the walls haven't changed. I've paced every inch of it since Dante brought me back, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Every few minutes, I check my reflection, half-expecting to see evidence of what happened in the church etched on my skin like a scarlet letter.
What was I thinking? How could I have allowed that to happen—not just allowed it, but initiated it?
I'm supposed to be plotting against Vito, not submitting to him in a priest's office. I'm supposed to be the victim in this scenario, not an eager participant in my own captivity. The Irish are planning to kill him, to "rescue" me, and here I am letting him touch me, taste me, claim me.
The worst part is that I can't even blame it entirely on the adrenaline from the shooting. Yes, seeing him risk his life to save mine rattled something loose inside me. But if I'm being honest—and what's the point of lying to myself now?—the attraction has been building since the beginning, a current of unwanted desire running beneath my anger and fear.
