Page 50 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

I told Cat I wouldn't make it to dinner, but the longer Marcello, Stephano, and I talk, the more we're going in circles. Every new theory opens another crack, another branch of possibility. Until finally, I've had enough.

"Let's up the guards," I say, pushing back from the table. "Tomorrow I'll try to talk to our Don again, see if he'll finally see some sense. We'll meet again tomorrow afternoon or the day after."

Kingsley left hours ago, still rattled and wearing a Band-Aid over the tracker scar on his hand like it could protect him from the man who put it there.

Since then, it's been the three of us, scribbling on whiteboards and pacing like caged wolves.

I know Marcello loves puzzles and Stephano thrives on impossible problems—but for me? This isn't a game. It's personal.

Izzy. Cat. My mother. My family. Even that damn mutt of Cat's, Shadow—what a stupid name.

I have considerably more skin in the game than they do, and while I appreciate their help, I need out of here before I lose what's left of my patience.

I don't wait for either of them to agree.

I walk out into the cold night and don't stop until I'm behind the wheel of my Hummer.

The city bleeds by in neon streaks and blurry headlights, but my mind isn't on the traffic. It's on her.

Cat.

I feel like a fucking addict. Like I need her to breathe right again. I didn't think a single night in a hotel suite would rewire every synapse in my brain, but here I am. Starved for her laugh. Her scent. Her soft voice calling my name.

By the time I pull into the estate, the sky has already shifted to that deep purple velvet that means sundown isn't far. The guards nod at me, discreet and watchful. Everything appears calm.

But inside me?

It's chaos. Need. Hunger. Something rough and unrelenting. I park and stride toward the house, not bothering to text ahead. The clinking of silverware on porcelain dishes, laughter, and a large baritone belonging to Mattheo greet me. They're at dinner. Perfect.

I stride into the room, my eyes searching for her the second I see the families assembled at the large table.

As if sensing my presence, she looks up.

Our eyes lock, and right then, everything inside me stills.

She's radiant, even in surprise. Her hair is pulled back, a soft flush on her cheeks, lips parted like she was about to say something.

The noise of the dining room fades. The clinking, the laughter, the conversation—it all turns to static behind the thundering certainty in my chest.

That's mine.

That girl. That heartbeat. That soul.

We had unprotected sex. She might be carrying my child right now. Even if she isn't, she will be one day, because no one else will ever touch her. No one else will ever claim her, not while I breathe.

I know what I have to do.

My stride is calm, but inside I'm nothing but fire. I stop behind my father's chair—he turns toward me, lifting a brow—and then I keep walking. Around the table. Past the siblings, noise, and curious glances.

Until I'm standing in front of Cesare Costa.

Her father.

He's mid-laugh, a glass of wine in hand, elbow resting on the table. He blinks at me, puzzled by the sudden halt in conversation. I nod to him with the respect he's owed, even if I'm still questioning how much he deserves it. Then I speak, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Mayor Costa," my voice is steady and calm, commanding even to her father, "I'm here to formally request your daughter's hand in marriage."

The room goes silent.

A pin-drop hush, followed by the sudden scrape of a chair, someone's gasp, and then?—

Chaos.

Mamma claps both hands to her mouth and lets out a joyful little shriek. "Oh Mio Dio—yes! Oh, darling!" She's already rising to her feet, eyes shining.

My father stands as well, clapping me hard on the back. "Finalmente," he mutters with a rare smile, voice proud. "About damn time."

Izzy lets out a full-blown war cry and throws a napkin in the air. "You're going to be my sister!" She yells across the table, grinning at Cat with tears brimming in her eyes.

"Oh, I knew it!" She all but scales the table, her chair crashing back as she runs around the family to pull Cat out of her chair, hugging her.

My brothers nod at me like this was a chess move they didn't see coming, but approve of. Cesare just blinks at first. Then slowly, solemnly, he rises and clasps my hand. "You have it," he says in a hoarse voice, thick with emotion. "You have it, Enrico. With honor."

Then I turn. All the noise, all the congratulations, all the excitement, dulls in the space between her and me.

Cat is up out of her chair, fully engulfed in my sister's octopus arms, unmoving, frozen.

So unlike the girl who raced into my arms under the stars or kissed me with fire and trust and hunger—the beautiful, dangerous creature who dropped from a tree to protect my sister.

Her eyes find mine over Izzy's shoulder, wide and glassy, filled with disbelief or shock. Maybe even panic.

Izzy finally lets her go, bouncing in place like it's her own damn engagement party, and Cat stands there, flushed and frozen.

"Cat," I say quietly, reaching for her hand.

She doesn't pull away; she looks like she's about to faint. The chatter around us continues—laughter, toasts, overlapping voices—but for us, the world narrows again, the same way it always does when we're in the same space.

I tug gently, guiding her to me.

"You don't have to say yes right now," I murmur just for her.

"But I need you to know this isn't a show.

This isn't about legacy or duty." My fingers graze her cheek.

"It's about you. And the way I can't imagine my life without hearing your laugh every day.

Without feeling your skin against mine every night.

Without watching you take over the world with that soft fire in you. "

She blinks, lips parted, and something wavers in her gaze—then steadies.

"What if I'm not ready?" She whispers.

"Then I'll wait," I say simply. "But I'm not going anywhere."

Her fingers curl around mine slowly, like she's testing if this is real. If I'm real.

"And what if I say yes?" She asks next.

I step closer, brushing my mouth against her temple.

"Then I'll spend the rest of my life proving I'm worthy of you."

She lets out a breath, shaky and soft. Then her whole face shifts, like the clouds parting after a storm.

Her eyes widen, glistening, and her lips curve slowly into a smile that lights up the entire room.

Pure, unfiltered happiness takes over her expression.

It's so bright, so open, it steals the breath right from my lungs.

Still, I can't help but feel I'm missing something. Then it hits me.

"I should've asked you first," I say, stepping closer. "I should have been prepared, taken you somewhere private. Lit a thousand candles. Given you the moment you deserve and the biggest rin?—"

But before I can say more, she laughs through her tears, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls me down into her arms.

"Yes," she whispers, fierce and trembling. "Yes, Enrico. Yes."

The room explodes. Applause, cheers, laughter, crying, all over again, I hear it all like I'm underwater. Background noise to the only thing that matters: her.

And the way she kisses me, unabashed, happy.

Izzy squeals and hugs her a second time, and Mamma's already pulling out her phone to call someone, probably Nonna.

Champagne appears from out of nowhere as if the servants had been on standby with it.

I keep Cat's hand in mine, thumb tracing the inside of her wrist. Her pulse flutters like a bird against my skin.

Izzy lets out a dramatic gasp, "Wait—oh my god. When do you want to get married?"

Cat blinks. "I—what?"

"There's so much to do," Mamma says, already smoothing down her skirt like she's about to enter a boardroom. "The dress, the venue, the guest list?—"

"It'll take at least a year," Izzy declares, pointing toward Mamma. "You'll need fittings, and tastings, and?—"

"No," I interrupt firmly.

Everyone goes silent, staring at me. "You have three months," I declare, calm but absolute.

The room explodes again, only this time, with a different kind of energy.

"Three months?" Mamma demands, raising an elegant brow. "What, are we eloping in a snowstorm?"

"Three months isn't a wedding," Izzy says. "It's a party with vows and chaos."

Mamma clutches her pearls. "Darling, we need at least six for the cathedral alone?—"

I hold up a hand. "You have three. That's the deadline."

Mamma narrows her eyes at me, those sharp mamma eyes that used to intimidate the hell out of me when I was a kid. "That's not up to you," she says sharply. "That's up to the bride."

All heads swivel to Cat, who turns scarlet.

"I don't want to be a bother," she murmurs, eyes downcast. "It doesn't have to be anything huge. We can just… do something small?—"

"Small wedding? Hell no," Izzy cuts in like a lightning bolt. "You're marrying a Sartori, and also—me, which means big dress, big flowers, big party. End of discussion."

Mamma hums, already flipping into planning mode again. "Three months…" She taps her chin, then nods once, a spark lighting in her eyes. "Fine. Challenge accepted."

She turns, almost like an afterthought, to include Sabine and Cat's mother.

"Ladies, we're going to need a full planning committee.

Sabine, I'm going to need your eye on dress styles.

Loredana, I need a list of colors, flowers, anything your daughter has ever dreamed of.

We need to sit together, tomorrow morning?

" At Cat's mother's nod, Mamma let out a sigh.

Cat's eyes go wide. "I—uh—wow."

"You'll thank me later," Izzy says with a grin, then raises her glass. "To the bride!"

"To the warpath," Sabine mutters with an edge to her tone I can't quite pinpoint, but then Cat looks at me, dazed and still pink in the cheeks, and I forget everything but her. I wrap my arm around her and murmur against her hair, "Three months, Piccolina. I'm not waiting longer."

I didn't say why, but there is a very real possibility that she is carrying my child—if not yet, she will be soon— and there's no way in hell she walks down that aisle with a baby bump. Not while the world is watching.