Page 55 of Brutal Union
"Your grandmother called," she mentions, capturing my king with elegant finality. "Something about skinny grandsons needing proper Italian wives."
The casual way she mentions Nanna Toni, like they're conspirators, makes something shift in my chest. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to repeat history—trusting someone's strategy, letting them see our weaknesses.
"I have something to show you," I say, the decision sudden but necessary. If I'm going to trust her fully, she needs to know everything. "In the safe."
Her eyebrows rise slightly, but she follows without question, bare feet silent on the marble. Another transformation: she trusts me now, even heading to the safe where I keep my deepest secrets.
This could destroy us. Evidence of the monster I am. But she deserves the truth. Or maybe I just need her to see me fully and still choose to stay.
I move to the painting, entering the combination. The safe opens with a subtle hiss, revealing stacks of cash, documents, and on top, a large photograph of her.
"What is that?" she asks, moving closer.
I step aside and let her see the photograph. She freezes. It was taken the night she threw wine in my face and called me a fossil, lighting a fire in my chest that still hasn’t doused.
“Why do you have this?” Her voice is sharp.
“I couldn’t throw it out,” I admit. “I tried to, dozens of times, but… well, here it is.”
Her fingers trace the photo. “This was the night we first met.”
“Yes. When you walked into my conference room in that red dress and told me exactly what you thought of my proposed territory restructuring."
Her hands shake as she sets down the photo, but when she looks at me, there's no horror in her eyes. Instead, I seesomething that makes my pulse quicken: arousal. Her pupils are dilated, breath coming faster, and I know that look. It's the same one she gets when I pin her against the wall, when violence and desire merge into something darker.
"You didn't just take me to stop my father’s alliance with the Irish," she says, understanding dawning in her voice. "You took me because you wanted me. The alliance was just the excuse you needed."
"I would have found another way to stop the alliance if necessary," I admit, moving closer. "But when the opportunity arose to take what I'd been planning to claim anyway…"
"You chose me." Her voice carries wonder and heat in equal measure. "Out of every woman in Chicago, every possible alliance, every strategic marriage. You chose to obsess over me."
The truth of it hangs between us, the depth of my investment in her laid bare. Not just the past month but years of patience, planning, waiting for the perfect moment to make her mine.
She picks up the photo and deliberately tears it in half. "That girl is dead. You killed her the moment you decided to take her. And I think… I think I'm grateful."
The admission breaks something in me, control shattering as she rises on her toes, mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like possession and surrender both.
Her mouth moves against mine with desperate hunger, like she's trying to crawl inside me through the kiss. My hands tangle in her hair, holding her against me as years of wanting crystallize into this moment. She knows the truth now: the depth of my obsession, the planning, the patient determination to make her mine.
My phone buzzes on the desk, the specific pattern that means urgent family business. I ignore it, pulling her closer, but it buzzes again. And again.
"Marco," she says softly, understanding the significance. "You should check that."
Reluctantly, I reach for the phone, keeping one arm around her waist. The screen shows multiple messages from Dante, and my blood turns to ice as I read:
Dante:Situation critical. Twenty Irish soldiers mobilizing.
Dante:They're making their move.
Dante:War council in one hour. Come armed.
The peace I knew couldn't last has just shattered, right on schedule.
"What is it?" Valentina asks, reading the tension in my body.
"The Irish." I show her the texts, watch her face pale. "They're moving against us. The real threat we've been expecting."
The atmosphere shifts instantly, our domestic paradise shattering like glass. I feel the change in my bones, the comfortable warmth of the morning replaced by ice-cold focus. The man who was kissing her seconds ago disappears, replaced by the Don who built an empire on blood and discipline.
