Page 67 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

Two days later…

I never thought picking out shades of ivory could feel like a diplomatic summit.

"We need a base tone that doesn't wash her out," Izzy insists, spreading out another fan of swatches over Eliza's pristine marble table. "This one's too cold. And this one's basically eggshell pretending to be champagne."

Sabine snorts softly beside her. "Isn't that the point of all these? Pretending to be something else?"

Izzy glares. "Some of us call it nuance ."

Sabine doesn't answer, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth says she thinks she's winning. I'm so glad to see these two finally getting along.

"Girls," Eliza says in her serene, authoritative tone, the one that ends arguments without raising her voice. "Let's focus. Catalina, what speaks to you?"

I open my mouth, but my mother beats me to it. "She… she always loves a blush," she says, her accent thick and warm like the Sicilian summer sun. "Not too pink, though? More … dusty… like dusty rose."

She holds the swatch up like it's a sacred relic, squinting at it, determined to find the right words. "It's soft and romantic. It's femminile."

Izzy blinks at her, clearly caught off guard by the intensity. Eliza, ever graceful, nods and replies gently, "It's a perfect choice. It's exactly Catalina's style."

The two are talking like I'm not even here.

My mother brightens. "Yes!"

She beams at me, proud and insistent, as if blush were not just a color but my entire identity.

"That was fourteen years ago," I murmur, but no one's listening.

Mamma and Eliza have drifted into a brainstorming loop of florals, seating charts, and table linens.

Sabine is holding two swatches up to the light, head tilted thoughtfully.

Izzy is swiping through something on her phone—Pinterest, probably—her brow furrowed like the fate of the wedding depends on her screen.

I take this moment and commit it to memory. Here they are, my mamma and my future mother-in-law. My sister and my best friend, who will soon be my sister-in-law. My chest warms up. Family. Something I never thought I would have again. They're right here.

Then the door slams open, so hard, it bounces against the wall. Everyone jumps, even Eliza. Swatches go flying like startled doves. My eyes snap to the entrance: Enrico.

Something is wrong; his face looks carved from granite, his jaw is tight, and a storm is raging in his eyes. He doesn't even pause to take a breath. "The wedding date has to move up."

All of us stare at him, open-mouthed. Izzy catches herself first. "Move up? What do you mean, move up? We just started?—"

"Next week," he says, his voice clipped, low, and final. "That's the deadline."

Izzy presses her fists into her hips, challenging her brother, but she keeps her voice low and patient, like she's talking to a toddler. "Enrico, planning a wedding takes time. These things can't just be rushed?—"

"They can," he cuts in, gaze flicking toward me. "They will."

Eliza stands too, calm as always, but I can see the flicker of steel behind her poise. "That's a very sudden demand. May we ask why?"

Enrico doesn't blink. "Because I said so."

Izzy scoffs. "Oh, that'll go over great on the invitations. Come celebrate eternal love—scheduled by decree ."

"Enough," Enrico snaps, his voice darker now. "There are reasons. None of them concern the guest list or the flower budget."

Eliza narrows her eyes slightly. "If it concerns Catalina's safety, then it concerns me."

"It does," he says, still looking only at me. "But that's not the only reason."

Sabine lowers her swatches. Izzy slowly sits back down, watching her brother with unusual seriousness.

I rise to my feet. "What happened?"

Enrico exhales hard enough through his nose to make his nostrils flare. He runs a hand through his hair and looks away, and for the first time since the door burst open, I realize he's not angry. He's shaken.

"Marcello was shot," he says flatly. "Yesterday."

A soft gasp escapes me before I can stop it. My heart flips, cold and fast. "What? Oh my God. Is he—he's alive?"

Enrico nods, but it's tight. "Barely. He was shot several times, once in the head."

My chest constricts. Marcello… the man who saved my parents. I haven't met him, but I owe him my gratitude. Dio mio. I press a hand to my stomach, willing it to stop turning.

"Oh, Enrico," I whisper. "Are you okay?"

He looks at me—just for a beat—and something breaks behind his eyes.

"No," he admits, so quietly I almost miss it.

My mother stands abruptly and crosses herself. "Marcello? The man who… rescued us?" she whispers, and I see her hands trembling.

"Yes," Enrico says, his voice low again. "It's a warning. And if they're coming after Marcello, they're not far from coming for us."

My mother frowns, her hands fluttering like she's arguing with God in her head. "Then move the wedding. Immediately! What are you waiting for?"

"Mamma—" I begin, but she cuts me off with a look.

"No, we're not going to wait," she says, stabbing a finger toward the floor. "These people, they won't wait. But you—you waste time on flowers? On colors?"

"Lori—" Eliza begins, gently, trying to temper the moment.

But Mamma rounds on her. "No, no, scusami , signora. I mean no disrespect. But this is dangerous, I can feel it, deep in my bones."

She looks at me again. "You marry him now, Catalina. You take this man," she jabs her finger at Enrico, "and you bind him to you like Saint Joseph to la Madonna. Family is a shield.

The room is silent for a long breath.

Enrico's voice cuts through it, quieter now. "I don't want anyone targeting her. Not after yesterday. Not after what happened in the mall. We thought it would be enough to keep her in the house. It's not."

Izzy sighs, shoulders slumping. "It's about safety."

"It's about keeping her alive," Enrico replies, dark eyes on me again. "And making her mine before someone else tries to take her."

My cheeks flame. But I don't look away.

"I'm not a pawn," I say quietly.

His gaze doesn't flinch. "You never were."

Sabine mutters, "You do realize this is the most terrifyingly romantic thing I've ever witnessed?"

"I'm serious," I say, looking at all of them. "I don't want a wedding because of pressure or fear or tactics."

"You want it because it's right," Eliza says gently. "And because it's time."

Mamma nods rapidly. "It's time. I know you feel it in your heart." Her eyes brim. "I see you when you look at him, Catalina. You're already his."

Enrico steps toward me slowly, his hand reaching out but not touching, just hovering near mine.

"I'm not trying to control you," he says, his voice raw. "I just don't want to lose you."

Tears sting the back of my throat, and slowly, I nod once. "I don't want to lose you either."

Eliza sighs, but she's smiling now. "We'll pull it off. But give us two weeks."

Enrico doesn't look happy about the delay, but nods, "Two."

Izzy looks down at her phone and groans. "Fine. I'll call Maison étoile and warn them we're coming like the wrath of hell in heels."

Mamma beams. "Perfect ."

Enrico takes my hand, finally, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "You okay, Piccolina?"

"No," I whisper. "But I will be. Just don't leave."

His eyes soften. "Not ever."

I follow Enrico outside, away from the prying eyes and ears of our family. I know him well enough to know that he won't show his true emotions in front of his mother and sister. I put my hand on his chest. "Talk to me."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm worried." At an encouraging nod from me, he runs his hand through his hair, unused to expressing his true emotions.

"We don't know who is behind it. His own guards turned against him.

It has to be an inside attack, which makes me wonder…

" he drifts off. "If Edoardo is behind it, or Carlos, or…

" he laughs roughly because he doesn't want it to be true, "… or Ledyanoy Prizrak."

"Any of the three could be responsible," he continues, "that's the problem. We have too many enemies right now to take chances."

"But if it was your Don behind it, then… I thought he made peace with us getting married."

He opens his mouth, then something passes through his eyes, and he closes it. "Enrico," I squeeze his arm, "it's me. We're partners, remember."

He sighs and pulls me against him, "I love you."

"I love you too. Now spill." I push against his chest; I want to see his eyes.

"I don't trust Edoardo. He's a scorpion, and a scorpion's nature is to sting, no matter if it is in their best interest or not." He thinks for a moment, "I'm worried he'll come after us, you and me, but I don't see any reason for him to have gone after Marcello."

"So you think it's Ledyanoy Prizrak."

He shrugs humorlessly, "Or Roberto, who the fuck knows?"

Something tickles at the back of my mind. I remember Donna Margarita's warning at the ball, but she was threatening me . Marcello has nothing to do with that. I don't want to worry Enrico; he has enough on his plate. Donna Margarita is just that, a bitter old woman.

"How mad do you think our mothers and sisters would be if I carried you upstairs, now?" Enrico asks against my ear.

A delicious shudder moves through me, "Furious."

"Hmm," he nibbles at my throat, sending heat through me. "It'd be worth it though."

Slowly, he takes a step forward, forcing me to take one back. My head is already getting dizzy from his breath into my ear, the warmth of his breath, and the way he nibbles at the tender skin by my throat now.

"Probably," I agree, taking another step back, wondering where he is leading me.

He puts a hand against my belly, "I want to put a baby in there."