Page 96 of Savage Union
"Disappointment?" His tone is casual, but I detect the razor edge beneath.
"That's not what I said." I meet his gaze directly. "Just... adjustment."
The waiter arrives with our first course—delicate morsels arranged with artistic precision on porcelain plates. We eat in comfortable silence, the flavors exquisite but barely registering against the awareness of Vito's presence across from me.
I notice how other diners glance our way, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, fear, and envy. They know who Vito is, even if they pretend not to. Power has its own gravity, pulling attention like a black hole absorbs light.
"Why here?" I ask as our plates are cleared. "Why somewhere so public?"
"I already explained that." His expression reveals nothing.
"Yes, making a statement. But there are other restaurants. Other ways to be seen."
He studies me for a moment before answering. "This is the kind of establishment befitting Don Vittore Rosso and his future wife. The right people will see us here, and word will travel."
"The right people meaning the Costellos."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Among others."
The main course arrives—perfectly seared scallops for me, venison for him. I take a bite, the flavors complex and perfect, yet I barely taste it. My thoughts drift to my mother and Sofia,wondering what they're eating tonight in their own gilded cage at the Greenhouse.
"What's wrong?" Vito asks, his perception sharper than I'd like.
"Nothing," I reply automatically.
"Caterina." My name in his mouth is both warning and entreaty. "After everything we've shared, dishonesty seems... beneath us both."
The unexpected vulnerability in his statement catches me off guard.
"I was thinking about my mother and Sofia," I admit. "Wondering how they're doing."
Something shifts in his expression. "They're well cared for."
"I know, but..." I hesitate, uncertain why I'm sharing this. "I've never been away from them for this long before. Even in college, I lived at home."
"You're very close," he observes.
"We had to be." I look down at my plate, pushing a scallop with my fork. "My father wasn't exactly the nurturing type. We protected each other."
Vito remains silent, allowing me space to continue if I choose. The lack of pressure is strangely comforting.
"Sofia's still so young. Sixteen is a difficult age even without..." I gesture vaguely, encompassing our situation. "And my mother—she's stronger than people realize, but this has been hard for her."
"And your cousin? Elena?" Vito's question seems casual, but something in his tone catches my attention.
I keep my expression neutral, remembering Elena's warnings about the Irish. "I miss her too."
Vito takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine. "Family is important."
"It is," I agree, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"In our world, it's everything." He sets down his glass with practiced precision. "The foundation upon which everything else is built."
"Our world," I repeat, the phrase sitting uncomfortably between us.
"Yes, Caterina. Our world." His gaze intensifies. "Whether you've accepted it yet or not."
I want to protest, to insist that his world—the world ofLa Famiglia, of power built on violence and fear—is not mine and never will be. But the words die on my tongue, feeling hollow after everything that's transpired between us.
