Page 97 of Savage Union
"I miss them," I say instead, the admission costing me more than it should. "Every day."
Vito is silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally speaks, his voice is unexpectedly gentle. "I understand."
"Do you?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
"More than you might think." He signals for the waiter to clear our plates. "Family ties shape us, for better or worse."
There's something in his tone—a hint of old pain, perhaps—that makes me curious about his own family. I know his father was a brutal man, that much he's revealed. But the rest remains a mystery.
"Tell me about yours," I venture. "Your family."
A shadow crosses his face. "Another time, perhaps."
The dessert arrives—something chocolate and decadent that I can't fully appreciate with my thoughts still tangled around my family, around Vito's non-answer, around the growing complexity between us.
"What would make this easier for you?" Vito asks suddenly.
I look up, startled by the question. "What?"
"This transition. This 'adjustment,' as you called it." His eyes remain steady on mine. "What would help?"
The question seems genuine, which throws me off balance. "I... I don't know."
"Yes, you do." His perception is unsettling. "Tell me."
"Seeing them," I admit finally. "My mother and Sofia. Elena too. Even just for an afternoon."
Vito considers this, his expression giving nothing away. "That could be arranged."
Hope flares unexpectedly. "Really?"
"Under appropriate security measures, yes." He watches me carefully. "Would that help?"
"Yes," I say simply, not wanting to overplay my hand. "It would."
He nods once, decision apparently made. "I'll make the arrangements."
"Thank you." The words feel strange on my tongue—gratitude to the man who's upended my entire existence.
"Don't thank me yet." His lips curve slightly. "There will be conditions."
Of course there would be. Nothing with Vito comes without strings attached. "What kind of conditions?"
"Nothing onerous. Your continued cooperation. Appropriate behavior in public. The usual."
"The usual for captive fiancées?" I can't help the sarcasm, though it lacks the bite it would have had days ago.
He actually chuckles, the sound surprising in its warmth. "For my future wife, yes."
The check arrives—or rather, it doesn't. Vito stands, offering me his hand with that old-world courtesy that still catches me off guard. "Shall we?"
I take his hand, allowing him to guide me through the restaurant. As we weave between tables, I notice the other diners watching us—some openly, some trying to be subtle. To them, we must look like the perfect power couple—Vito in hisimmaculate suit, me in my tasteful dress, the picture of mafia royalty.
If only they knew the complicated truth beneath the façade.
Outside, the city glitters in the darkness, lights reflecting off glass towers like stars brought down to earth. Vito's hand rests at the small of my back, a possessive gesture that feels both constraining and oddly comforting.
Dante holds the car door open. He slips me a wink as I slide into the Bentley, Vito following close behind.
