Page 124 of Savage Union
Vito rises in one fluid motion, pulling me to my feet. "Get her out," he instructs Dante. "Safe house protocol. I'll handle the pursuit."
"Vito—" I begin, uncertain what I even want to say.
His hand cups my face briefly, the gesture so unexpected it steals my breath. "Go with Dante. I'll come for you when it's safe."
"My family!"
"They'll be safe. I swear it." Then he's gone, moving with deadly purpose toward the back of the cathedral, weapon ready, Marco falling into step beside him.
Dante's hands close around my shoulders, guiding me urgently toward a side exit. "Move, princess! We need to get you out of here."
The world blurs around me—marble and wood and jeweled light swirling into a kaleidoscope of color. Something warm and wet slides down my cheek, and I realize I'm crying. After all my determination to remain dry-eyed, the tears have finally come, unbidden and unstoppable.
Blood stains the bodice of my wedding dress, Liam's blood. The sight of it—so stark against the white lace—breaks something open inside me. A sob tears from my throat, then another.
"Hey, hey," Dante's voice softens as he guides me into a small antechamber. "You're okay. You're safe."
"Safe?" I laugh, the sound edged with hysteria. "Liam just exposed everything in front of the entire Commission. People are shooting in a cathedral. There are blood stains on my wedding dress. How is any of this safe?"
But even as I voice these fears, one certainty crystallizes in the chaos. I chose. When the moment came, when life and death hung in the balance, I chose Vito. Not consciously, not with calculation, but instinctively—protecting him without thought for consequences.
What that means, what it says about my tangled feelings for the man is a question I can't begin to answer as Dante rushes me toward a waiting car, sirens wailing in the distance.
I close my eyes against the brightness of the day, the tears continuing to fall despite my efforts to contain them. Whatever comes next—whatever consequences follow from this catastrophic ceremony—one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same again.
For any of us.
CHAPTER 41
Vito
Blood crustsbeneath my fingernails as I examine my hands in the dim light of the town car. Not mine—Costello's, or perhaps the gunman's. The day has taken an unexpected turn, even for someone accustomed to violence erupting at a moment's notice.
The image of Caterina pushing me aside, her wedding dress billowing as a bullet passed through the space where my head had been moments before, replays in my mind. Her instinctive protection—not calculated, not strategic, but immediate and unhesitating—has unsettled something deep within me.
"Boss." Marco's voice draws my attention back to the present. He sits across from me, phone pressed to his ear, expression grim as he listens to the latest security updates.
"Status," I demand when he ends the call.
"Irish have retreated to their territory. Heavy casualties on their side—the gunman took one in the chest, not expected to survive. Two of Costello's lieutenants confirmed dead." Marco scrolls through his tablet, cataloguing the day's violence with clinical precision. "Our losses minimal. Ronetti has a shoulderwound, Salvatore caught some glass from the window, nothing serious."
"And Costello?"
"Still alive, based on blood trail and witness reports. Multiple gunshot wounds, condition unknown." Marco's expression darkens. "But we don't have positive ID on his current location. He's gone to ground."
I nod, unsurprised. Liam Costello is nothing if not resilient—a cockroach that refuses to die despite my best efforts. "We'll finish him later."
"The Commission is in emergency session," Marco continues. "Don Federico is attempting to contain the damage, but there's considerable... concern about today's revelations."
"Concern." I repeat the euphemism with a hint of dark amusement. "About my bride's prior entanglement with our Irish enemies."
"Yes." Marco hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "There are rumors the Commission has voted to withdraw their mandate for the marriage. In light of Ms. Gallo's... complicated loyalties."
The news should bring relief. The political necessity that first drove me to claim Caterina has evaporated, freeing me from an arrangement that has grown increasingly complicated. I could release her now, send her and her family away with suitable compensation, wash my hands of the entire situation.
Yet the thought of Caterina leaving—of never again seeing that flash of defiance in her eyes, never again feeling her body yield to mine—it doesn't sit right.
"Do you want me to make arrangements?" Marco asks when I remain silent. "The ceremony was interrupted, no consummation has been registered with the Church. It could be handled discreetly."
