Page 115 of Savage Union
"I'm a poet at heart." He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Seriously though, Rina. Things are about to get ugly. The boss... he doesn't react well to threats against what's his."
The ominous tone sends a chill through me. "And I'm his."
"More than you know." Dante studies me with unexpected perception. "He's never moved this fast for anyone. Never accelerated a wedding, never made himself this vulnerable."
"Vulnerable?" I blink in surprise. "Vito?"
"Even Dons have weak spots." He shrugs. "You've become his. Congrats."
I'm not sure how to process this information—that Vito Rosso, the feared head of La Famiglia, might have a weakness. That I might be it.
"I never wanted any of this," I whisper.
"Yeah, well." Dante stands, stretching. "Welcome to the family business. Nobody ever wants it until they're in it. Then it's blood in, blood out."
"That's comforting."
"I'm not here to comfort you, princess." His tone is gentler than his words. "I'm here to keep you alive. Speaking of which—" He checks his watch. "The stylist will be here in thirty minutes. Hair, makeup, the works. Boss's orders."
"For the wedding," I say, the reality of it settling over me like a physical weight.
I nod numbly, the surreal nature of the situation washing over me. "And Vito? When will he be back?"
"When the preparations are complete." Dante's deliberate vagueness tells me everything I need to know. Vito is dealing with the Irish threat—or at least beginning to.
"Will he be safe?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Dante's expression softens fractionally. "The boss can take care of himself, Rina. He's been doing it a long time."
But there's something in his eyes—a shadow of concern—that tells me this situation is different. More dangerous, perhaps, than the usual conflicts that arise in their world.
"He trusted you, you know," Dante says suddenly, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "More than anyone I've ever seen."
The past tense isn't lost on me. "And now?"
"Now?" He shrugs. "Now you're going to be his wife. Trust becomes a luxury neither of you can afford."
With that cryptic statement, he pushes away from the counter. "Get yourself together, princess. It's your wedding day."
He leaves me alone in the kitchen—the same kitchen where last night everything changed. Where secrets were exposed, truths acknowledged, futures decided.
Today I become Donna Rosso. Wife to the most dangerous man in New York. Target of the Irish mob. Central figure in a war I never meant to start.
I drain my coffee, the sweetness now cloying on my tongue. Whatever happens next, there's no going back. I made my choices—first with Liam, then with Vito. Now I'll live with the consequences, whatever they may be.
Starting with becoming a bride.
CHAPTER 37
Vito
The cathedral'svaulted ceilings soar overhead, stone and stained glass defying gravity in testament to faith and human ambition. My footsteps echo on marble as I walk the perimeter, cataloging exits, sightlines, vulnerabilities—the assessment automatic after years of survival in a world where moments of ceremony are also moments of exposure.
St. Patrick's Cathedral wasn't my first choice. Too public, too prominent, too difficult to secure. But tradition demands certain concessions, and a Rosso wedding requires the appropriate setting. The Commission would accept nothing less.
"The west entrance will have four men," Marco says beside me, tablet in hand as he tracks security deployments. "Two visible as ushers, two concealed."
I nod, eyes tracking the path from entrance to altar. "The balcony?"
