Page 94 of Savage Union
Reality reasserts itself—we're in a bridal salon, surrounded by strangers, with my security team waiting outside and potential threats still unidentified. The intimate cocoon we created threatens to dissolve against the harsh light of practicality.
But before it can, Caterina surprises me once more. She reaches up, drawing my face down to hers for a kiss that's neither tentative nor calculated—just pure, honest desire. When she pulls back, there's a new confidence in her expression, a certainty I haven't seen before.
"Thank you," she says simply.
"For?"
"Making me feel beautiful." The admission seems to cost her, vulnerability flickering across her features before determination replaces it. "Even if just for a moment."
Something shifts in my chest—an uncomfortable tightening that I refuse to identify as emotion. "You are beautiful," I tell her, meaning it more than I should. "And not just in this dress."
She studies me, searching for deception perhaps, or manipulation. Finding none, she nods once, accepting the compliment. "We should go."
I unlock the door, checking the salon beyond before opening it fully. The voices that prompted our retreat have subsided, the VIP suite returning to its hushed exclusivity. Vivienne approaches as Caterina emerges from the fitting room, her professional smile revealing nothing about what she might suspect occurred in her absence.
"Have you made a decision, Miss Gallo?" she asks, focusing entirely on Caterina.
"Yes," Caterina affirms, her voice steady despite what just transpired between us. "This is the dress."
"Excellent choice." Vivienne gestures for her assistants. "Let's get you changed, and we'll discuss the final details with Mr. Rosso."
As they lead Caterina back to the fitting room—a different one this time—I find myself watching her retreating form with unexpected possessiveness. The satisfaction of what just happened between us mingles with a deeper, more complex emotion I'm reluctant to examine too closely.
Mine, I think, the word reverberating with finality. Whatever game she might be playing, whatever secrets she might still be keeping, Caterina Gallo is mine now in ways that transcend arrangements and alliances.
And I intend to keep it that way, regardless of what threats may come—from the Irish, from within our own organizations, or from the dangerous territory of feelings neither of us anticipated when this arrangement began.
Marco joins me as the assistants help Caterina change, his approach discreet enough not to disturb the bridal atmosphere.
"All clear," he murmurs. "False alarm. Group of groomsmen for another appointment."
I nod, relieved yet strangely disappointed. Part of me had been anticipating conflict, a chance to demonstrate my protection of what's mine.
"The perimeter?"
"Secure." Marco studies me with careful neutrality. "Everything alright, boss? You seem..."
He doesn't finish the observation, but I understand his meaning. I'm not my usual composed self. The encounter with Caterina has left its mark, however invisibly.
"Fine," I say, ending the inquiry. "Arrangements for dinner?"
"All set. Reservations at Per Se for seven. High visibility, as requested."
"Good." I glance toward the fitting room where Caterina is changing. "And the other matter we discussed?"
"In progress." Marco's expression reveals nothing. "I should have preliminary findings by tomorrow."
I nod, satisfied for now. Whatever connection exists between Caterina and the Costellos, I'll uncover it. The fact that I just pleasured her in a bridal fitting room, that I'm developing feelings for her that complicate our arrangement—none of this changes the fundamental reality of our world. Information is power, and I won't relinquish either, even for the woman who's beginning to mean more to me than she should.
Caterina emerges, back in her navy dress, the wedding gown safely in the hands of Vivienne's assistants. She looks composed, though a lingering flush on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes betray our recent activities to anyone looking closely enough.
"Ready?" I ask, offering my arm.
She takes it without hesitation, a small but significant change from her earlier reluctance. "Ready."
As we leave the bridal salon, my security forming a protective perimeter around us, I find myself acutely aware of every point of contact between us—her hand in the crook of my arm, the occasional brush of her shoulder against mine, the subtle ways her body has become attuned to my movements.
The Bentley waits at the curb, Dante holding the door as we approach. I guide Caterina inside before following, hyperaware of potential threats even as my mind lingers on what transpired in the fitting room.
