Page 3 of One Savage Union (Crimson Bonds #1)

ROCCO

FIVE DAYS LATER

H er image flickers to life —small, fragile, completely unaware.

Lucia Asare.

The Ricci secret. The key. The leverage.

My undoing.

I press two fingers to my lips, eyes fixed on the screen.

She’s humming again. Playing the keys softly, lost in whatever world she still believes in.

And I fucking hate it.

I hate that it stirs something in me I thought was long dead.

This should’ve been simple.

Kidnap. Marry. Control.

Deliver her like a pawn across the chessboard and bend Ricci to his knees.

But I’ve already broken the rules.

Every night, I find myself right here. Watching. Waiting.

Ruined by a girl who doesn’t even know she’s started a war.

Leo thinks she’s still in play.

He doesn’t realize I’ve already claimed her.

And soon I’ll be done watching.

Today, she’s seated at her precious piano in a black dress that has ridden up her delicious thighs.

Her posture is elegant yet grounded, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys as if she were born to create music.

The melody is inaudible through the feed, but I don’t need to hear it to know it’s spellbinding—her touch commands it.

Her long, wavy hair cascades over her shoulders, framing bronze cheekbones and a jawline that speaks of quiet strength.

Her full lips press together in concentration, a hint of determination etched in their shape, while her wide, almond-shaped eyes burn with an intensity that hints at visions far beyond the room’s confines.

Music is her world, the domain where she reigns. In three days, she’s set to make her grand debut at the Lincoln Center’s Alice Tully Hall, a performance already drawing the anticipation of critics and admirers worldwide.

Too bad, she’ll never make that performance.

Since I left my uncle’s office five days ago, I’ve done nothing but watch her and find out everything about her. I know her mother’s medical bills put her in deep debt, and she’s drowning. I know that she eats pizza and ice cream every night, only to wake up and run five miles every morning.

I also know that she doesn’t sleep.

She’s a naughty girl but disciplined.

I’ve memorized the cadence of her life. The tilt of her head when she’s deep in thought. The way her fingers hover over the piano before they strike, like she’s giving the keys a warning. Even the curve of her spine when she stretches between rehearsals—I know it all.

It’s surveillance. Strategy. Necessary.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

But it’s a lie.

Because when I watch her, it isn’t always for information. It’s not just about keeping her safe from Leo’s machinations or planning for our eventual confrontation. Sometimes, it’s just to see her.

To feel something. To imagine her beneath me, saying my name like it means something.

She’s sitting in a barely furnished apartment, and I’m sitting in an office at the top of the Hancock building, furnished in leather, glass, and steel.

Yet, her image rules me.

I’m obsessed.

Then I see the tears. They streak silently down her cheeks, catching in the light, and something in me comes alive.

I want to kill the person who caused them, make them suffer for every drop that leaves her beautiful face.

At the same time, I want to lick them away, taste her pain, and claim her grief as my own.

I want to own every inch of Lucia, down to her tears.

Even more disturbing is the urge to comfort her. I don’t do comfort. It’s not in my nature. Yet here I am, imagining what it would be like to soothe her, to take her in my arms and make her forget whoever or whatever caused her sorrow.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Enzo’s voice breaks through my thoughts. Standing behind me, his usual smirk softening as he observes the screen.

I ignore the comment, but my jaw tightens. I’ve seen enough. With a flick of my wrist, I turn off the monitor. “She’ll do,” I say curtly, masking the unease in my chest.

“She’ll do?” Enzo repeats, his voice amused. Turning the monitor back on, he says, “That’s one way to put it. But let’s keep our eyes on the future, Mr. Romano. Now that your cousin knows she’s been promised to you and not him, it puts her in more danger.”

He looks at her hands fly over the piano like air moves over water with a smirk. “Could it be that you’re a bit smitten with your intended because, like your Mother, she’s a wonder on the piano?”

If I didn’t need him, I’d kill him for knowing me so well.

Enzo Bianchi is the best hacker and security expert on this side of the Mississippi. He should be. Uncle Sam and his band of Naval Intelligence Officers trained him. He’s an indispensable pain in my ass and my best friend. Second only to his brother, our resident enforcer, and my capo- Mario.

He’s also the father to my goddaughter Aria, so I let him live even when he’s being a pain in my ass.

Ignoring his observation, I rise from my chair and glance toward the grand piano in the corner of the room.

Its polished surface gleams under the low light, an ever-present reminder of another life—one I left behind long ago.

Without thinking, I cross the room and sit on the bench.

My fingers hover above the keys before pressing down, coaxing a melody buried deep in my memory.

Soft and melancholic notes echo through the room, starkly contrasting the cold calculations consuming my mind.

My mother was a saint. God broke the mold when he made Anna Romano Fieri because all other women were a curse.

I’ve seen what they can do—what they did to my father.

His weakness destroyed everything. It’s why I stopped playing this piano after they died.

Music couldn’t protect us. It didn’t stop the bloodshed. It’s only a reminder of what I lost.

“Still playing that old tune, Roc?” Enzo asks, his tone quieter now. He doesn’t need to elaborate; he knows exactly why I’m playing it.

“Chopin's Nocturnes helps me think,” I reply, though it’s a half-truth. Music is more than a tool; it’s a tether to a part of me and my past that I’d rather forget.

The door to my office flies open, and Leo stalks in, entitled as ever. His eyes go straight to the surveillance screens on the wall behind me.

Lucia.

She’s still playing through her grief, her fingers now thundering against the keys, her expression determined and glistening from silent tears.

Leo leers. His head tilts slightly as he watches the feed, his mouth twisting into something that makes my blood curdle.

“What’s the matter, cousin?” I say coolly, not looking at him. “Never seen a woman cry without being the reason for it?”

His gaze snaps to me.

“You’re wasting time.” His tone is clipped, venomous. “While you sit here playing Beethoven, the Riccis are moving into our territory.”

I rise slowly from the piano bench, adjusting my cuffs, deliberate in every motion.

“Do you even know who Beethoven is, Leo? Or are you just spitting words you heard in a movie once?”

From the corner, Enzo lets out a sharp laugh and sips his whiskey.

“My money’s on Fast he wants her.

The thought makes my blood boil.

“Just remember,” he says, his voice dripping with venom, “if you screw this up, the family will know exactly who to blame, and then she’ll be where she belongs.”

I wait until the door slams shut behind him before speaking. “He’s going to be a problem.”

“He’s always been a problem,” Enzo replies, his voice low. “But this is different, Roc. You saw it too, didn’t you? The way he talks about her—it’s not just about Ricci or power. He’s fixated, Rocco. We’ve seen this with women he has taken an interest in before. They end up broken dolls,”

I clench my fists, the weight of Enzo’s words sinking in.

If he touches her, he’ll die.

I glance at the blank screen, and Lucia’s vivid image remains. Her life as she knows it is soon to change.

“ Fine. We’ll take her tonight. ”