Page 58 of Savage Union
I can't process what's happening. Rosie's is the little hole-in-the-wall diner Elena and I discovered during our second year at NYU. We'd come here every Saturday morning, our one consistent ritual away from my father's watchful eyes. It was our secret place, our small freedom.
"How do you know about this place?" My voice comes out smaller than intended.
"I had research done on you, Caterina. Thorough research." He says it matter-of-factly, as if it's perfectly normal to investigate every detail of someone's life. "I know your preferred booth is the one in the back corner. I know you always order the blueberry pancakes with a side of crispy bacon and a vanilla latte with extra foam."
A chill runs through me at the depth of his knowledge. "That's... unsettling."
"That's preparation." He opens his door. "Come. The priest is expecting us at noon, but there's no reason we can't enjoy breakfast first."
Numbly, I follow him into the restaurant, the familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee wrapping around me like an old friend. A young waitress I don't recognize greets Vito by name, suggesting he's been here before, and leads us to the back corner booth—my booth.
"Your usual, Miss Gallo?" she asks with a bright smile.
I nod, still too stunned to form words. Vito orders black coffee and eggs over medium, then hands back the menus with the easy confidence of a regular customer rather than someone who orchestrated an elaborate stalking operation to learn my breakfast preferences.
Once we're alone, I find my voice. "Why are we here?"
He studies me across the table, his dark eyes unreadable. "Because you're going to be my wife."
"That's not an explanation."
"Isn't it?" He leans back, his posture relaxed yet somehow still commanding. "You'll be Donna Rosso. My wife. The mother of my children someday. It makes sense that I should know what matters to you."
The casual mention of children sends a jolt through me that I refuse to examine. "This is bizarre. You kidnap me, force me into an engagement, and then take me to my favorite breakfast spot like we're on a date?"
"We are engaged," he says simply. "The circumstances are complicated, yes, but the outcome remains the same. We will be married. Is it so strange that I would want to understand the woman who will share my name and my home?"
Put like that, it almost sounds reasonable. Almost. "Most people get to know each other before the engagement."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "We're not most people."
The waitress returns with our drinks—my vanilla latte exactly as I like it, and his black coffee. I wrap my hands around the warm mug, trying to ground myself in the familiar comfort while my mind reels from the strangeness of sitting across from Vito Rosso in my favorite diner.
"The priest will explain the requirements for the ceremony," Vito says after taking a sip of his coffee. "There are traditions that need to be observed for the Commission's sake."
"The Commission," I repeat, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "The mysterious force behind all of this."
"Not so mysterious. Just old men with old ideas about power and alliances." There's something almost like disdain in his tone.
"And they're the reason you're forcing me to marry you?"
He considers me for a long moment. "Part of the reason."
"And the other part?"
His expression closes off. "Another conversation for another time."
The waitress arrives with our food, momentarily saving him from my questions. She sets a perfect stack of blueberry pancakes in front of me, the sight and smell instantly transporting me to Saturday mornings with Elena, laughing and planning our escape from our families' toxic legacies.
The irony isn't lost on me—I'd planned my escape, made a deal with Liam Costello that was supposed to free me from one cage, only to end up in another.
Except this cage has moments like this—quiet breakfasts in my favorite restaurant, a man across from me who, despite everything, has bothered to learn the small details that make up my life.
I take a bite of pancake, the familiar sweetness spreading across my tongue. Despite everything, I can't help the small sound of appreciation that escapes me.
When I look up, Vito is watching me with an expression I can't quite read—satisfaction mixed with something softer, almost gentle.
"Good?" he asks.
