Page 91 of Savage Union
"Is that what matters to you?" I ask, my voice not quite steady. "Others envying you?"
"No." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "What matters is that you'll be mine. Officially. Completely."
"I'm not yours," I protest, the words automatic but lacking conviction. "A ceremony doesn't change that."
"Doesn't it?" His hand rises, fingers brushing lightly against the exposed skin of my back where the dress dips low. The touch sends electricity racing along my spine. "You gave yourself to me already,bambola. The ceremony merely confirms what we both already know."
I should step away. Should remind him of all the reasons this wedding is a sham, all the ways he's forced this situation upon me. Instead, I find myself leaning slightly into his touch, my body betraying my mind's protestations.
"This isn't real," I whisper, though I'm no longer sure what I mean by "this"—the wedding? The dress? The growing attraction between us?
"It feels real." His fingers trail up my spine, coming to rest at the nape of my neck. "You, in this dress. Me, unable to look away from you. That's as real as anything in this world."
The intensity in his eyes steals my breath. How can this be the same man who killed my father without hesitation? Who ordered a man tortured for information? Who keeps me essentially prisoner in his penthouse?
Yet here he is, looking at me like I'm something precious, something desirable beyond the political advantage our marriage represents.
A door opens somewhere in the main salon, voices rising briefly before subsiding. Vito's head turns sharply towardthe sound, his posture immediately tensing. The momentary vulnerability vanishes, replaced by the vigilant predator I glimpsed in the car.
"What is it?" I ask, suddenly alert to his change in demeanor.
"Nothing," he says, but I don't believe him. His attention returns to me, but the intensity has shifted from desire to something more calculating. "We need to finish up here."
But before I can respond, his expression changes again, determination replacing caution. In one fluid movement, he takes my hand and pulls me toward the fitting room, his movements swift and purposeful.
"What are you doing?" I whisper as he pushes open the door, guiding me inside before following and closing it behind us.
The space feels impossibly small with his large frame filling it, the white dress surrounding me in a cloud of fabric between us. Vito's eyes are dark, intent, as he backs me against the mirrored wall.
"Vito, what?—"
"Shh." He places a finger against my lips, his gaze moving rapidly between my eyes and the closed door. "Trust me."
And despite every rational reason not to, I find that I do.
CHAPTER 29
Vito
The space is close,intimate, mirrors reflecting Caterina from all angles as she stands against the wall in cascades of white lace. Her eyes widen with confusion, then understanding as my gaze shifts between her and the door.
"What's happening?" she whispers, concern edging her voice.
"Movement in the salon," I murmur, keeping my voice low. "Probably nothing, but..."
I don't finish the thought. Since Sullivan's attempt, I've been hyperaware of our surroundings, cataloging potential threats, escape routes, vulnerabilities. The sudden influx of voices beyond the VIP suite—male, authoritative, disrupting the feminine hush of the bridal salon—triggered alarms honed by years of survival.
But now, with Caterina backed against the mirrored wall, swathed in white lace that makes her skin glow like alabaster, different instincts override caution. The danger, real or imagined, recedes against the immediate reality of her—breathless, uncertain, beautiful beyond description.
"Vito?" Her voice is hushed, questioning.
I should be listening for threats, planning our exit strategy if needed. Instead, I'm captivated by the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat, the slight part of her lips, the way the wedding dress frames her body like it was created specifically for her.
"You're exquisite," I tell her, the words emerging rougher than intended.
Her cheeks flush, color blooming across her skin. "This isn't exactly the time?—"
I silence her with a kiss, gentle at first, then deepening as she responds. Her initial surprise melts quickly into reciprocation, her body arching slightly toward mine despite the voluminous dress between us.
