Page 54 of Savage Union
"Fine, one move, and that is it."
She smiles, and I feel a sense of pride. Every woman should be able to defend herself—especially a Rosso. Quickly, I guide her. I know we won't have much time. My father should finish the meeting with Uncle soon.
At first, I don't take her seriously, letting my guard down. Then she kicks me hard, right in the chest. I stagger back, surprised by her move. Before I can catch my breath, she comes at me again. My balance rattles. I try to block her but miscalculate and fall backward. The impact is brutal. The worst part is that I never saw it coming.
"What the fuck?" Blood trickles down my face.
"Got knocked on his ass by a girl," one of my father's men laughs.
"You're strong but not invincible," Isabella says, her eyes glinting triumphantly.
I feel the heat rise in my chest, trembling with embarrassment and rage. It's the first time I've ever felt this kind of humiliation, the kind that cuts deep into your pride and refuses to heal. My father expects me to be ruthless like him. I am the future Don. But I failed. His men mock me.
The pain from the blow and the scar on my face will be a permanent reminder of this harsh lesson. As my nightmare shifts, my father's cold stare replaces the image of Isabella's smug face.
"You let a girl beat you. You're the heir to the Rosso Empire."
"Father, it was?—"
"You're good for nothing, but who else is supposed to take over?" He shakes his head. "Guards," he calls.
"Vito," a voice cuts through the nightmare. "Wake up. You're dreaming."
My eyes snap open, disoriented between past and present. Someone is touching me—a hand on my shoulder. Instinct takes over. I grab the wrist, flipping our positions until I have the intruder pinned beneath me, my hand at their throat.
Caterina. Her eyes wide with shock, but not as much fear as there should be.
"Vito," she says, my name barely audible through my grip. "It's me. Caterina."
Reality crashes back. My bedroom. The middle of the night. Caterina in my bed because I ordered it so. Not an intruder—my unwilling fiancée who just witnessed my weakness.
I release her throat immediately, though I don't move away. "You were having a nightmare," she explains, her voice steady despite what just happened. "I tried to wake you."
"I could have hurt you," I say, hearing the raw edge in my voice.
"You didn't," she replies simply.
I search her face for judgment, for the mockery I expect, but find only careful neutrality. It's been a long time since I've had that particular nightmare. The memory of Isabella, of my father's punishment, usually stays buried beneath layers of control I've spent decades perfecting.
"You should know better than to wake a man like me from a nightmare," I tell her, though there's no real admonishment in it.
"A man like you," she repeats. "What does that mean, exactly?"
The question catches me off guard. What am I supposed to say? A killer? A Don? A man whose nightmares are filled with real blood and real consequences?
I don't answer, but she continues anyway. "Everyone has nightmares. Even great Dons, apparently."
There's no mockery in her tone, which surprises me more than if she'd laughed outright. "Go back to sleep, Caterina."
I start to move away, to put distance between us, but her hand on my arm stops me. "Wait," she says, then hesitates. "Do you... want to talk about it?"
Talk about it? When have I ever talked about the things that haunt me? "No."
She releases my arm, a flash of embarrassment crossing her features. "Fine. Forget I asked."
I should turn away, end this strange moment of almost-connection, but something keeps me watching her. "Why did you try to wake me?" I ask. "You could have just moved to the other room."
"I don't know."
