Page 53 of Savage Union
I've never heard him speak like this—reflective, almost introspective. It's a glimpse behind the mask he presents to the world, and despite everything, I find myself drawn in, curious about the man beneath the Don.
"Is that why you're so..." I gesture vaguely.
"So what?" he prompts.
"Controlled. Precise. Everything in its place."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Very observant, Caterina."
"It's not hard to notice."
"And yet most people see only what I want them to see."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agrees, his eyes holding mine with unexpected warmth. "You certainly are not."
We fall silent again, the air between us charged with something I can't quite name. Not just tension or the usual animosity, but something more complex—a reluctant recognition, perhaps. Two people shaped by similar pain, following different paths but carrying the same scars.
"We should sleep," Vito finally says, though he makes no move to turn away.
"We should," I agree, equally reluctant to break this strange, fragile moment.
Slowly, tentatively, he raises his hand. I tense, unsure of his intention, but he simply brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch whisper-light against my skin.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For waking me."
The simple gratitude, so at odds with his usual commanding demeanor, catches me off guard. I nod, not trusting my voice.
He turns away then, settling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. I do the same, both of us lying side by side, not touching but somehow less separate than before.
As his breathing gradually evens out, signaling his return to sleep, I find myself staring into the darkness, mind racing. This glimpse of vulnerability, of humanity, has complicated everything. It's easier to plan someone's destruction when you see them as a monster, as something other than human. But tonight, I saw Vito Rosso the man, not just Vito Rosso the Don.
And that man, with his nightmares and scars and carefully hidden pain, is far harder to hate than I want him to be.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, trying to ignore the uncomfortable truth settling in my chest. If the Irish are truly coming for him—if these are truly Vito's last days—why does the thought bring me less satisfaction than it should?
And if I'm starting to see him differently, to feel something other than hatred and fear, what does that make me?
A traitor to my father's memory? A fool being manipulated by a master at the game? Or simply a woman recognizing that the lines between villain and victim, captor and savior, are rarely as clear as we want them to be?
Sleep claims me eventually, but my dreams are troubled, filled with shadowy figures and difficult choices. And through it all, the persistent sensation of Vito's touch against my skin, gentle in a way I never thought him capable of being.
CHAPTER 16
Vito
"Come on,Vito. Don't you want your cousin to be able to defend herself?"
"Uncle would kill me if he knew we were having this conversation."
"But I'm not a kid anymore."
"You are."
I'm annoyed by her insistence. For the past year, she's begged me to teach her how to fight every time we meet. I've put it off, but she's right. Had she been my sister, I would have already taught her how to throw a decent punch. But she's my Uncle's little princess, and I am my father's weapon.
"Please, I promise not to tell anyone." I hesitate. She's ten, and I'm twelve. If she gets hurt, I'll take the beating. "Please," she holds her palms in a prayer position.
