Page 101 of Savage Vows

The warmth in her words wraps around me, and for the first time in days, I feel a flicker of hope.

“Thanks, Bella,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She grins, raising her glass. “Anytime. Now, let’s eat more macarons and figure out your battle plan. This isn’t going to be easy…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Matteo

The air in the bunker is thick with the scent of stale coffee and growing tension. My fifth cup sits untouched on the table in front of me, the surface marred with faint rings from countless others. Nico’s voice cuts through the low hum of the overhead fluorescents, sharp and precise as always.

“We’ve confirmed the charges were military grade,” he says, sliding a file across the table. “Whoever planted them wasn’t playing around.”

I flip open the folder and scan the photos inside—grainy images of debris, scorch marks, and fragments of metal twisted into grotesque shapes. Though I want to look away, I force myself to memorize every detail. My father deserves it.

“And the Russos?” I ask, my voice flat.

Nico hesitates, his eyes narrowing. “There’s chatter that points their way. Nothing concrete but enough to raise flags. If it wasn’t them, someone wants us to think it was.”

Across the table, Dante leans back in his chair, his arms crossed. His face is more somber than usual, and his scowl digs in deeper the longer we sit here.

“We should have a sit-down,” Nico suggests, leaning forward. “We need to know if they’re involved. If this was them, we handle it. If it wasn’t…” He pauses, his gaze cutting to mine.

We can’t afford a war over a misunderstanding.

I rake a hand through my hair, the weight of the decision pressing against the back of my neck, coiling tension there. “Fine. Set it up. But if they’re lying?—”

“They won’t walk out of the room,” Nico finishes for me, his voice like steel.

Dante leans forward, trenches dug into his forehead. “You’d better be goddamn sure you want to play nice with them, Matteo. I’d just as soon burn their entire family tree to the ground.”

I glance at him, catching the flicker in his eyes, layered behind the anger. Not fear—Dante doesn’t fear anyone—but fury, maybe. A need to act.

As our father’s enforcer, he was accustomed to taking swift action, delivering punishing retribution. Being underboss is a more thoughtful, strategic position, and it’s at war with his inherent personality.

“Anything else?” I ask, ready to end this meeting before the tension can boil over. Nico’s advice is one hundred percent the opposite of Dante’s.

“Yeah.” Dante shrugs, leaning forward as he studies me. “I haven’t seen Alessia this week when I’ve stopped by for our meetings. What’s going on there?”

The room goes silent.

Nico shifts and begins to shuffle pictures back into his file.

“Jesus Christ,” Dante mutters, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you’ve fucked this up already.”

My jaw tightens, the familiar heat of anger rising in my chest. “Mind your own business, Dante.”

“This is my business,” he snaps back. “You’re the Don, Matteo. And you look like shit. Is your head even in the game or are you falling apart over a woman?”

My fists clench under the table, but I force myself to stay calm. “Alessia is my wife.”

“And you’re the head of this family,” Dante shoots back, his voice low and sharp. “We need you here, not chasing after someone who?—”

“Enough.” My voice cuts through the air like a whip, and for a moment, the only sound is the low hum of the ventilation system.

“Protect the family.” Dante stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “If you’ve got issues under your roof, you’re not protecting the family.” He raps his scarred knuckles on the tabletop and looks at me pointedly. “We could have trouble brewing with the Russos, and you’re fucking up with the DeLuca daughter. If you want trouble on two different fronts, you’re an idiot.”

He stalks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving me alone with Nico.