Page 5 of One Savage Union (Crimson Bonds #1)

ROCCO

L ucia Asare Ricci is in my home.

Bound and safe in my basement.

I’ve never slept better.

She doesn’t know me—not yet.

But I know enough to unravel her. Enough to manipulate the fragile edges of her identity and twist them until she has no choice but to lean on me for truth.

That’s the power of information—and I hold the most explosive piece of all. I know what her father is capable of, and she doesn’t.

When I saw the blood-red R stamped on the envelope that hit the floor when she was taken, my heart damn near stopped.

I didn’t send that note. Which means Leo did.

He found her.

I arrived just in time.

Now she’s under my roof, and the game has changed. She might suspect who she is. But she has no idea what that truly means. And I know what her blood is worth down to the penny.

In my world, blood isn’t just thicker than water. It’s a weapon. A debt. A declaration of war.

Lucia Ricci is no longer an innocent bystander. She’s a pawn in a centuries-old vendetta.

Her blood will either soak the floor beneath her or sanctify the sheets of our matrimonial bed.

The choice is hers.

But the victory will be mine.

She’s my recompense. My revenge. My reward. And when the time is right, I’ll destroy the man who ruined my family… by claiming the one thing he never thought he’d lose.

His daughter.

When my trusted enforcer Mario carried her into the basement, cradled in his arms, I growled in frustration. I sent him to New York to retrieve her; it was too dangerous for me to chance being seen in Ricci’s city again so soon.

But he should have called me to the car to retrieve her myself. I may not want a wife, but she’s still mine.

No one else—not even Mario—touches what belongs to me from this day forward.

I snatched her from him, staring down at my prize. Her soft skin and shallow breaths stirred something primal. She was utterly at my mercy. From then on, I knew no one else could be trusted near her.

Lucia Ricci will depend on me for everything: food, safety, information, and—eventually—pleasure. Ours will be the kind of marriage I can tolerate: one I control completely.

One that will keep her safe.

I’m sitting at my desk, watching her through the live feed installed in the basement.

The cameras were Enzo’s idea—high resolution, night vision, the works.

I’ve never needed a live feed for that part of my house; my basement isn’t a prison.

It’s where I dole out punishments of the pleasurable kind, where women beg for what I can give them.

But with Lucia, I’m undecided. Is she a prisoner or a guest?

From the moment she arrived, I haven’t moved from my chair. Watching her quiets the beast raging inside me since my parents were taken from me, and my music was destroyed.

The cameras are so sharp that I can see the pulse at her neck. My fingers tighten on the armrests as I imagine what it would feel like to bite her there.

She stirs and wakes, her expression a whirlwind of emotions: anxiety, terror, and finally, defiance. Her hazel-green eyes dart around the room, assessing her prison. She hasn’t touched the water I left for her. She’s cautious, strong—a survivor.

Good girl.

Her throat moves as she swallows hard, the effects of Mario’s sedative still lingering. My cock tightens at the thought of the nasty bruise she left on Mario’s shin for grabbing her.

She’s a fighter.

I should have retrieved her myself. Instead, I had to watch her struggle on FaceTime. My methods would have been more persuasive. She wouldn’t have needed drugs. She would’ve obeyed—or suffered consequences she’d want to avoid.

She’s lucky Leo didn’t get to her first. My cousin is a true sociopath, bound by neither reason nor code. If Lucia had fallen into his hands, she’d already be bound in matrimony—and his bed. I kept him busy at his favorite strip club while Mario took care of my beauty.

I’m always one step ahead.

Now that we have Lucia, my uncle Thomasso has sanctioned Leonardo’s death. He’s done tolerating his madness. Leo’s betrayal sealed his fate. There’s no mother to beg for mercy, no reprieve—only punishment.

“Roc, the girl is awake. What do you want me to do with her?”

Mario’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I swivel in my chair, narrowing my eyes. How the hell does he know she’s awake? Has he been down there?

“You will do nothing ,” I growl. “No one speaks to her or even looks at her without my permission. The basement is off-limits. Got it?”

Mario smirks, amused by my anger. “Possessive much?”

I lunge from my chair, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, laughing. Mario, Enzo, and I have been inseparable since Uncle Thomasso brought me to Chicago from my home in Ravello at sixteen. Mario, specifically, has been more like a brother than an employee. But on this matter, I won’t bend.

“She’s mine. Is that clear?”

Mario chuckles. “Crystal. You never did like sharing your toys.”

Before I can respond, the door swings open without warning, and Uncle Thomasso strides into the room. His presence fills the space instantly.

“Is she awake?” he demands, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“She is,” I say, sitting up straighter, forcing my tone to remain neutral.

Thomasso’s eyes snap to the monitor, narrowing as he takes in Lucia’s fragile, disoriented form. He watches her in silence, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room thickens as the seconds drag on. Finally, his lips curl into a thin, disapproving line.

“She looks fragile. You didn’t harm her, did you?”

The unspoken accusation lands like a blow. “No,” I answer quickly, my voice firm. “She’s untouched.”

“Good.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, focusing on Lucia. “Because if you mishandle her, you’ll ruin everything.”

I clench my jaw but hold my tongue. There’s no point arguing with Thomasso—not when he’s already decided.

He begins to circle the room, his movements deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back. Each step is slow and controlled, carrying the weight of authority. The tension coils tighter with every click of his polished shoes against the floor.

“I’ve been watching you, Rocco. Watching how you’ve been watching her.”

His words land with a force that makes my shoulders stiffen. “She’s my responsibility,” I say evenly. “I’m ensuring she’s secure.”

He stops in front of the monitor, his gaze fixed on Lucia as if she’s a chess piece he’s already planned his next ten moves. He’s silent for a beat too long before turning his head slightly, his eyes cutting toward me.

“It’s more than that,” he says, his tone low and dangerous. “I can see it in your eyes. She’s already starting to get under your skin.”

“That’s not true,” I snap, sharper than intended.

Thomasso tilts slightly, and the faintest grin pulls at the corner of his mouth—not out of amusement, but a warning. “Lying to me, Rocco, is a mistake. I taught you better.”

I give my uncle a tight yes, sir, while Mario tries to contain his laughter.

My uncle doesn't seem to notice anything Mario is doing because his attention is laser-focused on me. "This is why you should fuck more whores Rocco. All you do is work. When I need you on your "A" game, some unconscious woman is already leading you around by your cock. Be careful."

Mario's large 6'5 “frame shakes in amusement. He is a big guy, even bigger than me. My 6’3” frame intimidated everyone when I arrived in the States, but not Mario. My uncle’s favorite soldier, Michael “Mickey” Bianchi, and his wife, Beth, adopted him as an infant.

They wanted more children, and Beth couldn't have any more after Enzo. They didn't care that Mario was Black.

When I arrived in Chicago, he took me under his wing.

He knew what it felt like to be an orphan.

He never knew his biological parents, but in his mind, they may as well be dead.

No one in the organization gives him shit about his roots because Mickey and Enzo would blow their heads off before my uncle and I burned the body.

Mario is one of the few people not afraid to tell me when I'm full of shit.

He knows I'll lay his ass out if he goes too far, so he never does.

..especially not in front of others. No matter how much I love him, I outrank him.

In our world, that shit matters. After a quiet fit of laughter, he gathers himself and walks over to slap me on the back.

"Uncle Thomasso, don't worry. Rocco is the ultimate bachelor. He never stays with any woman long enough for her to come twice, let alone spend the night. So much so that I wondered how he had arrived at the idea of marriage with a woman he barely knew. "

My uncle chuckles while helping himself to a glass of whiskey at my bar. “He didn’t come up with the idea; I did.”

He steps closer, leaning over my desk, his hands pressing into the wood. The room feels smaller under his scrutiny, his presence like a noose tightening around my neck.

“She is the key to bringing Matteo Ricci to his knees,” he says, calm but laced with steel. “Nothing more. Don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s special.”

“I won’t,” I say firmly, my tone clipped.

He studies me for a long, tense moment, his dark eyes probing, searching for cracks in my resolve. I don’t flinch. he knocks back the rest of his drink before removing his gaze.

“Good,” he finally says, straightening and adjusting the cuff of his tailored jacket. “Because love clouds judgment. And your judgment, Rocco, needs to be flawless.”

He turns toward the door but stops halfway, his gaze returning to the monitor. Lucia is rubbing her throat, her face is pale, and her movements are cautious. Thomasso watches her for a beat longer than necessary before speaking again.

“She’s pretty; I’ll give her that,” he says quietly. “But pretty things have a way of becoming dangerous distractions. Don’t let her be yours.”

Without another word, he strides out, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the room heavy with his presence.

I lean back in my chair, his warning echoing in my mind—dangerous distractions. Pretty things. My eyes drift back to the monitor, to Lucia’s full but fragile frame as she lies back down, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Mario slouches into the leather couch, shaking his head. “Why her? She’s Ricci’s daughter. Why not strengthen alliances with a friendly family?”

“Because we don’t leave enemies standing,” I say simply. “Matteo Ricci cares about her. That makes her valuable. Leonardo saw it, too. He planned to marry her to control Ricci.”

Mario exhales sharply, finally grasping the stakes. “And Leo wants to kill Thomasso. He would have undoubtedly used Ricci to do it.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Leo’s ambitions know no bounds. But I beat him to her, and now she’s mine.”

Mario leans back, his expression grim. “And what will you tell her when you finally meet your soon-to-be wife face to face?”

“Whatever I need to,” I reply, grabbing the red Cartier box from my desk—the pear-cut solitaire gleams in the light. It’s perfect, just like her.

Mario shakes his head, smirking. “Good luck, Roc. You’ll need it.”

I straighten my tie, ignoring him, and head for the door.

Time to meet my bride.