Page 37 of Savage Union
Marco nods, understanding the implications. We've both seen what happens when signs of weakness are allowed to fester in our world. My father taught me that lesson early—strength isn't just about who has the most guns or the most men. It's about who's willing to do what's necessary without hesitation.
"Before you go nuclear," Marco says carefully, "consider the timing. With the wedding approaching, a major conflict with the Irish could destabilize everything."
"I'm aware of the calendar." I move to my desk, running a finger along its pristine edge. "If they've taken what's mine, there will be consequences. Proportional, but unmistakable."
"Like your approach with Caterina?" The question is a calculated risk on his part. Few would dare draw that parallel.
I look up sharply. "Explain."
He doesn't flinch under my scrutiny. "Proportional consequences. Clear boundaries. But maybe what works for business doesn't work for... personal matters."
"This marriage is business," I remind him.
"Is it?" His expression remains neutral, but the question hangs between us.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. Dante. I answer immediately.
"Confirm location," I say without preamble.
"It's ours," Dante replies, voice low. "Spotted two of the crates through a window. Security is heavier than we thought—at least fifteen armed men."
"Irish?"
"Confirmed. Recognized Costello's lieutenant, Ryan Sullivan."
Marco watches my expression, reading the confirmation there. "Tell Rocco to prepare a team," I instruct him. "Recovery operation. Tonight."
He nods, already on his phone as he steps out of the office to make arrangements.
"Continue surveillance," I tell Dante. "No engagement. Move after dark."
"Understood, boss."
I end the call, my mind already shifting to tactical considerations. The Irish have made their move, crossing a line they can't uncross. Now I need to respond in a way that sendsthe right message—not just to Costello, but to everyone watching from the shadows.
But Marco's words linger. The comparison between my handling of Caterina and my business operations wasn't entirely off-target. I've been treating her like an asset to be secured, a problem to be managed. Perhaps that approach is flawed.
I check my watch. Nearly five. I should be home for dinner—the routine I've established over the past few days. Caterina will be waiting, beautiful and defiant as always, ready to engage in our nightly battle of wills across the dining table.
Tonight, though, I'll try something different. A gesture, as Marco suggested. A shift from jailer to... something else. What, exactly, remains to be seen.
I make a call to Antonia, giving specific instructions for dinner. Then I contact my tailor with a rush order. Finally, I send a text to Dante about adjusted security protocols for the penthouse.
The rain has stopped by the time I leave the office, the sky clearing to reveal hints of approaching evening. As I slide into the back of my car, I find myself oddly anticipating Caterina's reaction to what I have planned. Will it soften her resistance, as Marco suggests? Or will it simply give her new ammunition to use against me?
Either way, something is shifting between us—something I didn't authorize but find myself unable to prevent. The captive and captor dynamic is evolving into something more complex, more dangerous.
And tonight marks the beginning of that transformation.
The car moves smoothly through Manhattan traffic, carrying me toward home—and toward Caterina. My mind should be on the impending operation to recover our stolen shipment, on the message we'll send to the Irish, on the dozen other business concerns demanding my attention.
Instead, I find myself wondering what color her eyes will be in candlelight, and whether I'll glimpse something beyond hatred in them tonight.
I've given her a phone, a connection to her family. Now I'll give her a taste of freedom. Not because I'm weak, but because Marco is right—this isn't just about controlling her anymore. It's about creating something sustainable.
Something that might, eventually, resemble a real marriage.
The thought should disturb me more than it does.
