Page 86 of Savage Union
But humans are complex, contradictory creatures. It's entirely possible for Caterina to be physically drawn to me, even emotionally engaged to some degree, while still maintaining other loyalties, other plans.
I need to know the truth—all of it—before I determine how to proceed.
The soft sound of movement from the hallway alerts me to Caterina's awakening. I move to the office door, opening it to find her padding toward the kitchen, still in her pajamas from last night, hair tousled from sleep.
She pauses when she sees me, a flush rising to her cheeks. "Good morning."
"Good morning." I study her, looking for signs of regret or calculation in her expression. I find only slight awkwardness, a hint of shyness that's oddly endearing. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, actually." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the silver bracelet catching the light as she does. "Better than I have in a while."
"Good." I step aside, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Antonia has breakfast ready whenever you are."
She nods, moving past me, her scent—a mix of the lavender oil from last night's bath filling my senses. "Thank you for..." She trails off, seemingly unable to articulate exactly what she's thanking me for.
"You're welcome," I reply simply, understanding the unspoken sentiment.
She continues toward the kitchen, and I watch her go, my mind already working through the various possibilities Marco's investigation might uncover. Whatever the truth is about Caterina Gallo and her connection to the Costellos, I will discover it.
And when I do, I'll have to decide which matters more: the principle of absolute loyalty I've demanded all my life, or the unexpected, reluctant affection growing for the woman who may have betrayed me before she even knew me.
CHAPTER 27
Rina
The kitchen is filledwith morning light, turning the marble countertops to gleaming ivory. Antonia moves with quiet efficiency, placing a plate of fruit, pastries, and eggs in front of me.
I stare at the food, my appetite at war with the swirl of conflicted emotions from last night. The way Vito bathed me with such tender care, the vulnerability I showed in asking him to stay, the unsettling realization that I no longer want him dead—it all feels surreal in the harsh light of day.
"You should eat," Antonia says gently, breaking my reverie. "Don Vito was specific about you having a proper meal."
Of course he was. Still giving orders, controlling every aspect of my life, even my breakfast. Some things never change, no matter how many intimate moments we share.
I pick up my fork and begin eating mechanically, not tasting much despite Antonia's excellent cooking. My body is sore in unfamiliar ways, a constant reminder of what transpired between Vito and me. The weight of my virginity—gone now, given to the man who killed my father, who forced me into this engagement. The same man who washed my hair withgentle hands and looked at me with something approaching tenderness.
The silver bracelet glints on my wrist as I reach for my coffee. I should take it off. It's a symbol of ownership, of control, no matter how beautifully crafted. Yet I leave it on, telling myself it's just because I haven't gotten around to removing it yet.
"Is there anything else you'd like, Miss Rina?" Antonia asks as she refills my coffee.
"No, thank you." I manage a small smile. "This is plenty."
She nods, returning to her tasks, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my thoughts once more. I need to find a way to contact Elena, to warn her about my change of heart regarding the Irish plan. But how? The phone Vito gave me is surely monitored, and I have no access to another. Perhaps I could?—
"Good morning again."
Vito's voice interrupts my plotting. He strolls into the kitchen with the easy confidence of a man who owns everything he surveys—which, in this case, he does. He's dressed casually by his standards—dark slacks and a light gray sweater that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, giving him an unusually approachable appearance.
"Morning," I reply, eyes dropping back to my plate. It's difficult to look at him directly without remembering the intimacy we shared.
He helps himself to coffee, leaning against the counter as he studies me over the rim of his cup. "Did you sleep well?"
"You already asked me that," I point out, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "So I did."
We lapse into silence, the air between us charged with unspoken words. What does one say the morning after losingone's virginity to one's captor? Emily Post didn't cover that particular social scenario.
"I've arranged a day for us," Vito announces, setting down his cup. "Beginning with shopping."
