Page 72 of Savage Union
The casual dismissal sets alarm bells ringing. "That's it? He tried to kill you in broad daylight, and all you learned was his nationality? I don't believe you."
"What you believe is irrelevant." He sets his glass down. "The matter is being handled."
"Handled how?" I press, anxiety making me bolder than is probably wise. "Are you planning retaliation? Another war between families?"
Vito's expression cools several degrees. "These are not matters that concern you."
"They absolutely concern me!" My voice rises slightly. "I was there too, remember? Those bullets could have hit me as easily as you."
"Which is precisely why you should leave such matters to me." He steps closer, his height advantage more intimidating when he's displeased. "I will ensure your safety. That's all you need to know."
The dismissal stings more than it should. After what happened between us in the church, being treated like a child who can't handle difficult information feels like a slap in the face.
"Clearly you're not telling me everything you know," I say, holding my ground despite the intimidating proximity.
"Yes." His honesty is disarming. "I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because you're not entitled to know everything, Caterina." His voice remains even, controlled, which only fuels my growing frustration. "Some aspects of my business remain my business, regardless of our... relationship."
The hesitation before "relationship" sends a spike of something hot and angry through me. "Our relationship?" I repeat, incredulous. "You mean your ownership? Your control? Because that's all this is, isn't it? You don't see me as a partner or even a person—just another possession to be managed."
His jaw tightens fractionally. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I gesture toward the dining table, where the bracelet sits in its open box. "What's that supposed to be? A collar with a prettier name?"
"It's a gift." For the first time, a hint of genuine anger seeps into his tone. "Though perhaps I misjudged the gesture."
"You misjudged a lot of things." The words tumble out, fueled by confusion and guilt and fear. "If you think buying mejewelry after what happened in the church somehow makes this—makes us—normal, you're delusional."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "What happened in the church was your choice as much as mine. Don't rewrite history to suit your conscience,bambola."
The use of the pet name feels deliberately provocative. "My choice? When have I ever had a real choice with you? You've orchestrated every aspect of my life since the moment you killed my father."
"And yet, I didn't force you to your knees in that office." His voice drops lower, the words cutting with surgical precision. "That was all you."
Heat floods my face, shame and anger twisting together. "You're a bastard."
"So you've said before." He steps closer, until we're nearly touching. "And yet, here we are."
"Because I'm your prisoner!"
"Are you?" His eyes search mine with unsettling intensity. "The door isn't locked, Caterina. You could walk out right now."
"Into the arms of your men, who would just bring me back." I shake my head. "Don't pretend I have freedom when we both know I don't."
"Perhaps freedom isn't what you really want." There's a dangerous edge to his voice now. "Perhaps what you want is absolution for desiring your captor. For responding to him. For initiating what happened today."
The accuracy of his assessment lands like a physical blow. "You don't know what I want."
"Don't I?" He reaches up, his fingers brushing my cheek in a touch so light it might have been my imagination. "I think I'm beginning to understand you very well, Caterina Gallo."
I step back, away from his touch. "Then you should understand that I deserve to know the truth. About the shooter. About why the Irish are targeting you now."
"Some truths are earned, not given." His expression hardens again. "Trust works both ways."
The implication hangs in the air between us—that he doesn't trust me, that he suspects I'm hiding something. And he's right, of course. I am hiding something. Several somethings, in fact. My deal with Liam. My communication with Elena. My knowledge of the Irish plans to move against him.
