Page 28 of One Savage Union (Crimson Bonds #1)

LUCIA

T he sound of music leads me to my husband. Ivory keys are playing perfectly in tune as Chopin's Second Piano Concerto fills the air. The soft tinkling is timeless, and he doesn’t miss a note. I assume he’s the one playing since he dismissed everyone else for our dinner tonight.

This must be my surprise.

I eyed the baby grand piano when I boarded the yacht earlier today. I wondered if he was the one who played it. Regardless of the answer, I never thought he would play for me. Not after the reaction I got when I asked him to play after our first dinner in Ravello.

When I turn the corner, I see him. He’s seated at the bench in a black suit with his tanned fingers deftly flying across the keys.

He’s good. Rocco didn't lie when he said he was once one of the best in the world. I can believe it. This is a challenging piece to play, and he’s executing it without a misstep.

I sit down on a nearby chair and am mesmerized by his skill. He glances up at me once with warmth and approval in his eyes, and I'm glad I obeyed his dress code.

I’m wearing a sleek Black Versace silk dress with a deep V in the front that barely covers my breasts, with a backless view from behind.

The high split up my right thigh is nearly indecent, but my gams look damn good in it.

The dress feels special, luxurious, and ideally suited for this private concert.

Rocco’s face is awash with peace, and I realize this is his quiet space, and he rarely lets anyone in. But I’m inside his bubble, and right now I’ll do anything to stay.

When the Concerto ends, I’m sad. I was adrift with him inside the music, the way only a true musician understands. He stands and holds his hand out for me to join him at the piano bench.

“You're an amazing musician, Rocco,” I say as I walk towards him. He gestures for me to have a seat at the bench before leaning down and landing a kiss on my temple.

“Thank you,” he mutters as he joins me on the bench. “I'm no Lucia Asare Parisi, but” he shrugs and feigns deference, “I'll do. You look beautiful tonight, Lucia. Thank you for wearing the dress I selected.”

I warm under his praise, and I hate that it feels so good. I will not overthink anything tonight. Right now, I want to enjoy my husband and the fact that he thinks I'm beautiful in the dress that he picked out just for me.

“Thank you.” I inhale a deep breath as I try not to squirm under his intense gaze. He's looking at me like I'm a prize he's finally won, and I don't quite know what to do with all the attention. “So, what now? Was this my surprise?”

He nods, “Yes, it was. I rarely let anyone hear me play anymore.”

I laugh. “Yes, I figured that. But it seems like behind a piano is your happy place.”

He takes my hand and gently kisses every knuckle before speaking.

“Forgive me for how I handled things, Lucia.”

His voice is low, quiet—but it pulls my eyes to him like a tether. He stands there, shoulders broad and tense, as if the words cost him more than he wants to admit.

“I wish I could tell you I was just scared, or trying to protect you. But that would be a lie. I was an asshole. I didn’t trust you. I took you because my uncle ordered it. I married you because it made sense—for the sake of the family. For taking Leo down. You were leverage. Nothing more.”

He pauses, like the next part might choke him.

“But the second you walked into my basement, everything shifted. You mattered more than the mission, and I hated that. I hated how fast I wanted you, for more than strategy. So I tried to shut it down. Push you away. It didn’t work.”

I blink at him, stunned and silent for a beat.

“Why?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you hate that?”

He exhales slowly, eyes shadowed.

“Because when I was sixteen, I learned that wanting something that bad means watching it burn.”

There’s something haunted in his tone. I inch closer.

“What happened?”

“My father was weak,” he says. “He wasn’t a made man.

Claimed he didn’t want a life in the Mafia, but he married my mother, Maria Romano.

Thomasso’s youngest sister. That made escape impossible.

My uncle never thought he was good enough for her, and my father resented him for it.

It made him desperate for power, for approval.

For any sign that he was more than what he was. ”

Rocco’s jaw tightens.

“He slept around. Took comfort in whores that made him feel like a man. One of those women was the daughter of a Ricci soldier. A fucking spy. She gave Ricci the location of our safe house. Matteo was young then, looking to make a name for himself. He had my parents killed. A message to my uncle.”

My hand covers my mouth. “Jesus, Rocco…”

“I was sixteen. I watched the fire from the sidewalk. My hands still smelled like piano keys. I never played again after that night. If my sainted mother, a gifted pianist herself, could no longer hear me-no, no one could.”

His voice dips, full of pain. “Thomasso took me in. Raised me with Leo and Luna. By seventeen, I was a made man. By twenty-one, a killer.”

“But you’re not just muscle,” I say, needing to understand more of him. “I’ve heard you talk. You’re... calculated. Educated.”

A small, bitter smile tugs at his lips.

“My uncle had a plan. He kept me off the streets. Made me finish school. Four years at Princeton. Three more at Harvard Law. While Leo beat men to prove he was tough, I was studying tax codes and zoning permits. I’ve beaten murder cases, negotiated labor contracts, and laundered millions in dirty money so clean it sparkles.

I’m not just Consigliere—I’m the brain that keeps the Romano empire untouchable. ”

“And yet,” I whisper, “you cook for me. You hold me when I’m scared. You play piano when no one’s watching.”

He flinches.

“I don’t play anymore.”

“But you do,” I say gently. “I heard you.”

His jaw clenches.

“It’s a weakness. And I don’t have room for weakness. Not when Leo’s building his army. Not when you’ve become the one thing I can’t afford to lose.”

I cross the room and stand in front of him, unsure what I’m doing. Uncertain what he’ll do.

“You’re not weak, Rocco. You’re just… human.”

He looks at me like no one ever dared say that to his face before.

“I buried my parents. I burned my past. I built a life on blood and fire. But you?”

He reaches out, his fingers barely brushing my cheek.

“You terrify me, Lucia. Because for the first time, I don’t want to win if it means losing something precious to me.”

My breath catches in my throat as his strokes up and down my arm leave goosebumps in their wake.

“Now, piccolo ragazza, will you play for me?”

After hearing the closest thing I think Rocco will ever say to me —‘I love you’ — my mouth is dry and my ears are buzzing. He’s wanted me from the beginning? Does he like me? When I finally clear my head, I answer.

“Of course, what would you like to hear? Maybe some Mozart or Beethoven?

He shakes his head, “No, I'd like to hear something you've composed.

I know you have songs because my men found your notebooks amongst your things when they cleaned out your apartment.

I want to say I'm sorry for snooping, but I'm not.

It was the only way I could learn anything about you.

I was trying to make your stay with me as painless as possible.

Rocco is being so soft and tender with me right now, so I decide to let the blatant violation of my privacy go.

Now I understand why all my favorite foods and drinks were always readily available.

He knew what I liked, and he made sure I had it.

He tried to make a terrible situation bearable.

Something about that makes me feel good inside.

“OK, I'll play something original for you, but I’ll warn you. All my stuff is jazzy, not classical. Are you ready for some good old-fashioned Black music? Think Thelonious Monk meets Hazel Scott.

He smirks. “I'm more than ready for anything that you give me.”

I swallow and focus my attention on the keys in front of me so that I don't do something crazy like grab and kiss him breathless. We're still technically on shaky ground, but it's becoming more solid every day. I launch into Mama, the last piece I wrote before I was kidnapped.

The melody begins bright but quickly turns somber and heavy.

I thump the keys like I'm trying to reincarnate the only woman who ever loved me unconditionally. The woman who brought me life, but is no longer present in mine. It’s not long before the tears come, and Rocco wipes them away, one by one.

As I continue to play and cry, not one tear hits the keys.

I weep for a mother and a father I've never known. I wail on these keys for having no place in this world that I can call my own. I belong to a husband I barely know, but who’s quickly becoming my lifeline. This is dangerous.

As I continue to play his hands began to sweep over my body and I feel his fingertips creep up the slit of my dress and between my thighs.

I tense, but I never stop playing. On and on, the notes of the piano fill the room as his fingertips fill my body.

His hand rubs across my clit and I moan into the sounds that come from the piano.

“Don’t come,” he whispers. “Keep playing.”

Fuck, I need to come…

I bite my bottom lip as he adds another finger inside me, and I play like my life depends on it.

I play as if I won’t get to come if this song doesn’t, please him.

His fingers move in and out of me in rhythm with my heart song.

When I hear the rip of my dress, I gasp, but I don’t stop playing.

Now., I’m playing in only a black bra and silk pooled around my thong-clad ass.

It's only when he stands up behind me and places his hands over mine that I stop playing and catch my panting breath.