Page 27 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The next morning…

The hallway is still, cloaked in that blue-gray hush just before sunrise. I move without sound, trained steps soft over the polished floor. Her door is closed but not locked. I turn the knob and open it, slow and quiet, and slip inside.

The puppy's snore is a soft, high-pitched hum from the bed, where he's all snuggled up in her arms. He perks up the moment he hears me, blinking blearily before giving a little yip.

"Shh," I murmur, crouching over the bed. "You're going to wake her."

Shadow squirms out of her arms; a low growl emanates from him. I chuckle, "You're feistier than I thought." I cradle him under one arm like he's a football and then straighten, ready to turn and slip out?—

I hesitate, my eyes drift back to the bed, where Cat lies tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over her head, hair a dark spill across the pillow. Her mouth is slightly open. She looks so peaceful and so damn vulnerable.

Also, so fucking young.

Too young.

And not just in the way her skin glows or how her lashes fan across her cheeks. It's in the way she sleeps, like someone who hasn't been ruined yet. Like someone who still has dreams no one's crushed. She's nineteen. A baby, by my standards.

I've seen things she can't imagine. Done things she wouldn't understand.

Hell, I'm thirty. When she was learning how to drive, I was already running guns through ports her father signed off on.

I shouldn't even be entertaining these thoughts in my head, not about her.

Not with that soft little sigh she just made, or the curve of her hip peeking out from under the blanket like some kind of goddamn test I'm about to fail. But I can't help it.

Something about her calls to me. Not just her body. It's her fight . Her steel. The way she looks at me like she sees the worst of me, and still doesn't run. She doesn't know it, but she's dangerous.

Because if I let myself have her, even once… I won't ever be able to let her go.

I hate how that makes something in my chest tighten. I've looked at beautiful women my whole life. Dated them. Fucked them. Disposed of them. Catalina shouldn't be any different.

But she is.

She's different in every way that matters, and every way that shouldn't.

The Giordanos used her like a pawn. A pretty doll to blackmail her father. Just a girl. No power. No voice.

And now she's in my house. Not like that, but still. She shouldn't be here. Not with me.

My fingers flex against the warm bundle under my arm. The pup wriggles again, as if annoyed by my stillness. I tear my gaze away from her. It's like pulling free of something sticky and deep.

She doesn't belong to this world. She's not carved from the same jagged stone the rest of us are. She flinches when men raise their voices. Cries when no one's looking. Smiles at broken things, like she doesn't know better.

She's not for me.

And I'm not for her.

But God help me, I want to be.

Just for a moment. Just long enough to press my hand against her cheek and feel that softness up close. To see if her lips taste as innocent as they look.

I take a sharp breath, then push away from the bed before that thought turns into action. I'm not that man. Not with her.

The hallway is even quieter on the way out. Shadow's paws drum a restless beat against my chest. I mutter, "Yeah, yeah. We're going."

Outside, the first sliver of sun breaks over the trees. Pale gold spills over the fields, and the sky stretches wide and empty. The kind of morning that dares you to believe in second chances.

I lower Shadow to the grass, and he immediately starts sniffing around, determined to mark something important.

I watch him with narrowed eyes, pretending my mind isn't still back in that room.

Pretending I didn't just stand over a sleeping girl like some kind of ghost from her nightmares.

She's not scared of me, and that might be the cruelest part.

She should be.

Because wanting her is dangerous.

And wanting to protect her… is lethal.

Shadow pees proudly on the base of an oak tree, tail wagging like he's conquered a kingdom.

I sigh. "You're lucky she likes you."

We head back toward the house. Breakfast will be soon. She'll wake to find the room empty and maybe panic. Maybe come looking. And I'll have to pretend I didn't stand there staring at her like a starving man at a feast. Like a man who's starting to want something he can't afford to keep.

"We're in here," my mother calls when I enter through the balcony.

That woman would hear a pin drop through a concrete wall.

I nudge the door open with my shoulder, Shadow tucked under one arm like contraband.

The room is washed in warm morning light, high ceilings, marble floors, and a long table already set with espresso, pastries, and cut fruit no one ever touches.

She's seated at the head, perfectly composed as always, wearing a crisp white blouse, not a hair out of place, even this early. Dante sits beside her, tie loose, sleeves rolled, eyes pinned to his phone like he's solving a diplomatic crisis. He probably is.

My mother lifts her eyes and catches sight of the black-furred lump in my arms. Her brow rises, slow and imperial.

"No dogs in the house, Enrico. You know the rules."

I bend down and kiss her cheek. "Buongiorno, Mamma."

She gives a sigh that's more about disappointment than disobedience. "Don't buongiorno me when you're holding a muddy stray."

Dante finally glances up, his mouth twitching. "It's not muddy. Yet."

I drop into the chair across from him, setting Shadow on my lap. He wiggles briefly, then settles with a sigh. I sip the espresso waiting for me, and meet my mother's stare over the rim of the cup.

"He's recovering from an injury. I didn't think dumping him back in the barn with the others at dawn was ideal."

"And why is there an injured puppy in my house to begin with?" she asks, pointed but not cruel.

"I gave him to Cat last night."

Her expression flickers, turns a few shades softer. "How is she? That poor girl has been through so much."

"She's… holding up."

My mother nods once, as if cataloguing that response. Then, casually—but not—she asks, "And her family?"

"Being taken care of."

She arches a brow. "You've spoken to them?"

"Cat has. Marcello is taking care of them."

Dante perks up, "Marcello Orsi?"

"That's the one," I nod, reaching for a piece of bacon, while Shadow attentively watches my every move.

"You trust him?" Dante cocks an eyebrow.

"Working on it," I reply, taking a bite, trying to ignore Shadow as he paws for the treat.

"What do you mean?" Dante won't let go; he's like a shark on a blood trail.

"Since when do I owe you explanations?" I say, chewing slowly.

Dante lifts his hands, smirking. "Just trying to gauge how close we are to war with the Orsi family. You know, for planning purposes."

"We're not," I mutter, though even I know it sounds half-hearted.

Marcello Orsi is a wild card. He was recalled from Sicily only a year ago.

Before that, his brother Angelo was supposed to take over his father's empire.

Angelo was a piece of work. But at least everyone knew where they stood with him.

With Marcello, not so much. But he didn't hesitate when I called for a favor.

Angelo would have. He would have let me dance like a puppet on strings.

Not that I would have called him in the first place.

"Marcello's protecting her family in Sicily. That's all that matters right now." I fill Dante in.

My mother's gaze sharpens. "And what matters after?"

I look up from the plate. "We'll see."

She exhales, but lets it go. For now.

Shadow yips quietly and stretches against my thigh, little paws pawing at the bacon on my plate like he has a right to it. I tear off a corner and hold it down to him. He snatches it gently, eyes bright with triumph.

"Great," Dante says dryly. "He's already got you wrapped around his paw."

"He's persistent," I reply, which gets a grunt of agreement from Dante.

Movement by the large open archway catches my eye, and I glance up. Catalina. She's barefoot, tangled hair, eyes too wide, and I know what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth. "I can't find Shadow."

Her voice is raw with panic. She scans the room like she's expecting a body, not a puppy, and only when she sees him on my lap does the tension melt from her face.

"Oh, thank God."

Shadow perks up at the sound of her voice, tail thumping the chair.

"I took him out," I say, nodding toward the balcony. "Didn't want him pissing on your floor."

"Enrico Santori, language," Mamma scolds.

Cat's gaze swings to me, then my mother, then Dante. She freezes halfway into the room, clearly just having realized she's in nothing but sleep pajamas and a T-shirt. My mother rises from her seat, gracious but cool. "Good morning, Catalina. Please, join us."

"I… uh…" Catalina stumbles for words in her embarrassment. "Sorry. I just—when I woke up and he wasn't there?—"

"It's fine," I say, cutting her off gently. "Sit. Eat."

I push the chair beside me out with my foot. She hesitates a second longer, then nods and slips into the seat, still holding Shadow close like he's the only anchor she trusts in the room.

My mother passes her a plate. "It's still early in the morning; nobody expects you to look your best yet.

" She keeps her voice low, amusing me, because usually, a drill sergeant could take pointers from her.

But not with Cat. With her, she's like a mother hen.

Judging by the amused wink Dante sends my way, he's just as surprised by our mother's sudden change as I am.

Catalina gives a faint, respectful smile. "Thank you."

"She needs more clothes, Enrico. Take her and Izzy to Maison étoile."

Maison étoile is a mall more secure than the Pentagon, and the place where I should have taken the girls yesterday.

"I would love to, mamma, but I have?—"

"We have a meeting with Roberto and Edoardo to see how we can clean up the mess your son made," my father enters the room like a storm that's already passed but still leaves everything wet and splintered.

Catalina stiffens beside me. I see it, the way her fingers tighten on Shadow, and my eyes land once again on her hand.

On the missing pinky. A detail so small, yet it screams louder than anything at this table.

A flood of ice-cold fury rushes through my veins.

I imagine Giovanni's screams. His breath ragged.

His body broken. I imagine taking my time.

But not yet. There is a time and a place . The breakfast table isn't it. Not in front of Catalina. Not in front of my family. Rage is a weapon, but only when it's sharpened and timed just right.

I inhale once, long and slow, to tamp the fire down to coals. Controlled. Focused. I don't need to explode. I only need to wait. Giovanni's end is already written.

"Good morning to you too, Papà," I say dryly, keeping my tone cool and unreadable, as I swallow the fury down like poison I intend to feed someone else later.

Papà ignores the sarcasm; his eyes sweep the table like he's already displeased. "And why is there a dog on my furniture?"

"He's recovering," I say without looking up. "And behaving better than most men in this room."

Dante chokes back a laugh into his espresso, earning a narrowed look from Papà, who pointedly ignores my sarcasm. His eyes sweep the room, and when they land on Cat, his expression shifts . The sharpness eases, just slightly. The kind of softness that's usually reserved for Izzy.

"Cat," he says with a nod. He pours himself a coffee, and the weight of the room tilts. It's not approval, exactly, but in this family, it's as close as anyone gets. "What's his name?"

"Shadow," Cat replies, her voice barely above a whisper. My father must intimidate her.

"Shadow," he says, eyeing the puppy curled in her lap, "is a terrible name."

Catalina smiles shyly. "He was hiding in the shadows when I found him."

He grunts. "Still terrible. But I suppose it fits."

Dante leans back in his chair. "I can take the girls to Maison étoile."

Somehow, that offer doesn't sit well with me. "No, I'll take them. After the meeting."

Dante's lip curves in a satisfied smile. The bastard was baiting me, and I bit the line. Damn him. Before I can answer, Shadow yips again and wriggles in Cat's arms. She strokes him instinctively, gazes down, and her whole body starts to relax.

Only for a second, though, because then my father adds, "Don Edoardo wants to see her too."

I glare up at him, "I already told the bastard?—"

My father's fist hits the table so fast and hard that cups fly off their saucers. Cat's entire body jerks, making Shadow first yelp and then growl at my father. "Do not," he raises a finger at me, "talk like that about our Don in my house."

Dante kicks me underneath the chair and shakes his head warningly. He knows I'm about to go off on our father. I still might have, if a small hand hadn't landed on top of my thigh. Cat. She doesn't look at me, but the touch is enough to bring my boiling anger down to a simmer.

I take a deep breath, controlling the churning in my gut.

My voice is still pressed, but more civil than I would like it to be.

"I already told our Don that if he wants to talk to Cat, he has to come here .

I'm not taking her into his house, where Roberto's men lie in waiting.

They kept her hostage for nearly fourteen years. "

My father's temper flares, just like mine. We are too similar. "You cannot?—"

Mamma puts her hand on his arm. "That does sound reasonable, caro. Cat has been through so much."

I tilt my head, surprised by her support, but I take it. Then I challenge my father with my eyes. He thinks it over before he nods. "Fine."