Page 62 of Savage Union
We lapse into silence as the car weaves through Brooklyn streets, heading toward the church where Father Alessandro waits to counsel us on our impending marriage. My mind keeps replaying the attack—the screech of tires, the crack of gunshots, the way Vito moved without hesitation to protect me.
And beneath it all, the sickening realization that the gunman wore Costello colors. Liam's family tried to kill Vito today, apparently unconcerned that I might be collateral damage. What does that say about the deal I made? About Liam's supposed feelings for me?
Worse yet, what does it say about me that I'm sitting here, breathless with confusion, because the man I've been plotting against saved my life without a second thought?
"Would it matter to you?" Vito asks unexpectedly. "If I died?"
I turn to face him, startled by the directness of the question. "I don't know," I answer honestly. "A week ago, I would have celebrated. Now..."
I trail off, unable to articulate the confusion of emotions coursing through me. Relief that he survived? Gratitude for his protection? Or simply the disorienting realization that the man I've painted as pure evil in my mind is proving to be far more complex?
To my surprise, Vito nods as if my non-answer makes perfect sense. "Fair enough."
"You're not angry?"
"At your honesty? No. It's refreshing." The ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Most people tell me what they think I want to hear."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agrees, that intense gaze of his seeming to see right through me. "You certainly are not."
The car pulls up to a modest church tucked between brownstones, ending our conversation. Dante is already waiting beside the entrance, having apparently arrived ahead of us with the security team. His posture is alert, vigilant, but he offers a respectful nod as Vito exits the car.
Vito comes around to my door and opens it, extending his hand to help me out. I hesitate for just a moment before taking it, his palm warm and solid against mine. The simple human contact grounds me, pulling me back from the edge of shock that's been threatening since the shooting.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
"No," I answer honestly. "But does it matter?"
Something like regret flickers across his face. "It matters to me."
Before I can process the implications of that statement, he's guiding me toward the church, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back. The gentle pressure is both reassuring and confusing—just like everything about this man I'm being forced to marry.
A man who might be a monster, who might be more, who just risked his life to save mine.
As we enter the cool dimness of the church, I realize with growing unease that the clean lines I've drawn between good and evil, between captor and captive, between villain and victim, are blurring more with each passing day.
And I'm no longer certain which side of those lines I stand on myself.
CHAPTER 19
Vito
Father Alessandro greetsus at the entrance to his modest office, a small space tucked behind the main sanctuary. His kind face breaks into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes—he's known me too long to be entirely comfortable in my presence, though he'd never admit it.
"Don Rosso, welcome." He extends his hand, which I shake firmly. "And this must be your fiancée."
Caterina stands slightly behind me, her posture rigid with tension. The attack has left her visibly shaken, though she's doing an admirable job of hiding it. Most women would be hysterical after what just happened. But not her. Even now, with adrenaline surely still flooding her system, she maintains her composure. It's one of the many qualities that make her suitable to be my Donna, whether she recognizes it or not.
"Father Alessandro, this is Caterina Gallo, my future wife." I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. She doesn't pull away, but I feel the slight stiffening at my touch.
"Miss Gallo, it's a pleasure to meet you." The priest smiles warmly, taking her hand in both of his. "I've heard much about you."
"Have you?" Her voice carries a hint of suspicion. "From whom?"
Father Alessandro's smile falters slightly at her directness. "Why, from Don Rosso, of course. When he called to arrange the ceremony."
She glances at me, questions in her eyes that I choose to ignore for now. The less she knows about certain aspects of our arrangement, the better. Some truths are best revealed gradually.
