Page 101 of Savage Union
"She's been exactly who she is," I reply carefully. "Strong-willed. Intelligent. Protective of those she cares about."
Relief softens Olga's features. "She's always been that way. Even as a small child, she positioned herself between danger and those she loved."
"Tell me about her," I request, surprising myself with my genuine interest. "Not what's in her file or records, but who she is. Who she's been."
Olga studies me, measuring my sincerity. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she nods slightly.
"Caterina was only seven the first time she stood up to her father on my behalf." Olga's eyes take on a faraway look. "He was in one of his rages—I'd burned his dinner, or some such trivial offense. He had me cornered in the kitchen, his hand raised, when suddenly Caterina was there between us, her little arms spread wide."
Something uncomfortable stirs in my chest at the image. "What happened?"
"He was so shocked that he actually stopped. Then he laughed and told her she had spirit." Olga's smile holds no humor. "Of course, that didn't last. As she grew older, her interventions only angered him more."
"Yet she continued to intercede."
"Always. She's a protector by nature." Olga touches a rose petal gently. "When Sofia was born, Caterina was just six. She strove to always make everything perfect; perfect grades, perfect behavior—anything to avoid giving Tomasso reason to focus his anger on the baby."
The picture forming of Caterina is both consistent with the woman I know and revealing of depths I'd only glimpsed. Her defiance of me takes on new dimensions—not simply rebellion for its own sake, but the deeply ingrained response of someone who's spent her life standing between loved ones and harm.
"Even in college, she came home every night." Olga continues. "She refused dormitory housing, full scholarships that would have taken her away from us. She said her education wasn't worth what might happen in her absence."
"She sacrificed her own opportunities," I observe.
"Many times over." Olga meets my gaze directly, maternal protectiveness momentarily overriding her caution. "My daughter has spent her entire life placing others' needs before her own, Don Vittore. She doesn't know how to live any other way."
The implied message is clear:treat her accordingly.
"I understand," I tell her, and I find that I do. Caterina's fierce protection of her family, her willingness to endure my terms to ensure their safety—it all aligns with the portrait Olga has painted.
"May I speak frankly?" Olga asks, surprising me with her boldness.
"Please."
"You killed my husband." She states this without emotion, a simple fact. "I will not pretend to mourn him. But Caterina..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "She has known only control and confinement her entire life. First her father's, now yours."
"Our arrangement is different," I begin, but Olga shakes her head.
"The cage may be gilded, the keeper may be kinder, but the effect is the same." Her eyes, so like her daughter's, hold mine steadily. "She will never stop testing boundaries, Don Vittore. It's how she survived all those years."
"I've noticed," I reply dryly.
A ghost of a smile touches Olga's lips. "I imagine you have. She speaks of you differently now than she did at first, even just since our lunch last week."
This catches my interest. "How so?"
"With confusion. Frustration. But also..." she pauses, "a certain respect. Perhaps even fascination."
Something like satisfaction unfurls in my chest, though I keep my expression neutral. "Our relationship is... evolving."
"So I see. May I offer one piece of advice, from someone who has known her all her life?"
I incline my head, granting permission.
"The more you try to control her, the harder she will fight. But give her room to choose, to protect those she loves on her own terms..." Olga's expression softens. "She will surprise you with her loyalty."
Her words align with my own observations over these past weeks, particularly since our relationship took its more intimate turn. The moments when Caterina has been most responsive, most genuinely engaged, have been when I've offered choice rather than command.
"Thank you for your candor," I tell Olga. "It's helpful to understand her better."
