Page 83 of Savage Union
"And I still have questions. About the shooter. About what's happening."
"I know that too." His expression softens slightly. "And perhaps, in time, you'll have answers."
It's not a promise, but it's more than I had before. I nod, accepting the implicit compromise. "Goodnight, Vito."
"Goodnight,bambola."
He reaches over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. For several minutes, we lie in silence, neither touching nor speaking, yet somehow more connected than we've ever been.
As I drift toward sleep, my thoughts turn to the Irish, to Liam, to the plans Elena warned me about. Plans that once represented my best hope for escape, but now feel like a looming catastrophe.
Because the truth—the terrible, undeniable truth—is that I no longer want Vito Rosso dead. Not just because I've given him my virginity, or because he's shown me unexpected tenderness tonight. But because I'm beginning to see him as a person, complex and contradictory, capable of both cruelty and gentleness.
And perhaps, more frighteningly, because I'm beginning to see a version of the future where being married to him might not be the hell I assumed it would be.
The realization should terrify me, should feel like a betrayal of everything I've believed, everyone I've aligned myself with. Instead, it brings an unexpected sense of clarity. I need to end whatever the Irish are planning. Before more people get hurt, before Vito discovers my involvement, before I lose this fragile new understanding we've found.
But how? I've made a deal with Liam Costello—a man who clearly doesn't forgive easily, who sent gunmen after Vito in broad daylight, who might now see me as a traitor rather than an ally. How do I extricate myself without putting everyone I care about in even more danger?
Beside me, Vito's breathing deepens, suggesting he's fallen asleep. I turn carefully to study his profile in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. In sleep, the hard lines of his face soften, making him look younger, more vulnerable. It's difficult to reconcile this man with the Don who inspires fear throughout New York.
Yet both are real. Both are Vito. And somehow, impossibly, I find myself caring what happens to him.
I reach out, my fingers hovering just above his cheek before I lose my nerve and withdraw. This is madness. Stockholm syndrome, just as Elena suggested. It has to be. There's no other explanation for the confusion of emotions swirling inside me.
And yet, as sleep finally claims me, my last conscious thought is that I need to find a way to warn him, to stop what's coming, to protect both him and my family from the storm I helped create.
CHAPTER 26
Vito
Morning light filtersthrough the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, casting soft shadows across the sleeping form beside me. Caterina's face is peaceful in sleep, the wariness and defiance that usually animate her features temporarily absent. Her dark hair fans across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
I allow myself a moment to simply watch her, to memorize the details of this unguarded version of the woman who's become an unexpected complication in my carefully ordered world.
Last night changed things between us—not just the physical joining, but the aftermath. The vulnerability she showed. The questions she asked. The way she looked at me as I bathed her, as if seeing me for the first time.
And most tellingly, the lie she told when I asked about her connection to the Costellos.
I ease out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. She needs rest after yesterday's events. After what transpired between us. I move silently to the bathroom, closing the doorbefore turning on the shower, my mind already working through the day's priorities.
The shooter. The Costello threat. The information Sullivan gave us before taking his own life. And now, this new puzzle: Caterina's possible connection to our Irish enemies.
As the hot water washes over me, I review what I know with the methodical precision that's kept me alive and in power. Sullivan's message was clear: "You stole what didn't belong to you." His mention of Caterina too deliberate to be coincidental. The timing of the attack, coming so soon after our engagement became public knowledge.
The conclusion is obvious, though the details remain obscured. Somehow, Liam Costello believes he has a claim on my fiancée. The question is why—and more importantly, whether Caterina is aware of or complicit in that claim.
Last night, I saw genuine fear in her eyes when I asked her directly. Not just the fear of a woman confronted with an uncomfortable truth, but something deeper. The fear of exposure. Of consequences.
I turn off the shower, dry off efficiently, and dress in a casual weekend ensemble—dark slacks and a light sweater, no tie. My phone buzzes with a text from Marco
Morning meeting in your office? Have updates.
Perfect timing.
With one last glance at Caterina's sleeping form, I exit the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. Antonia is already moving about the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.
"Good morning, Don," she greets me, her eyes carefully avoiding any indication she knows what happened in the dining room last night. The broken crystal and china have been cleared away, everything restored to perfect order. "Breakfast?"
