Page 15 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Rina

The sound of the elevator arriving pulls me from my book.

I've been restless all day, pacing the penthouse, checking my phone obsessively for messages from my mother or Sofia.

The conversations we had yesterday left me with more questions than answers, especially about the Irish.

I need to find a way to contact Liam, to explain what happened, but how?

Every call I make is probably monitored, every text potentially read.

I close my book and stand as Vito emerges from the elevator. He looks different tonight—something in his expression less rigid, his movements less predatory. He's carrying a large garment bag draped carefully over one arm.

"Good evening," he says, the formal greeting still strange coming from the man who shares my bed yet barely speaks to me.

"Hi." I cross my arms, immediately defensive. When Vito is polite, I get nervous.

He walks toward me, stopping at a respectable distance. "I've made arrangements for tomorrow."

"What kind of arrangements?" I ask warily.

"Lunch. With your mother and sister." He says it casually, as if offering me the moon wrapped in ribbon.

I blink, certain I've misheard. "What?"

"You heard me. I've arranged for you to have lunch with your family tomorrow." He drapes the garment bag over the back of the sofa. "At Eleven Madison Park. Private room."

My heart leaps before suspicion dampens my excitement. "Why?"

"Does there need to be a reason?" He loosens his tie, a surprisingly human gesture.

"With you? Always."

The corners of his mouth twitch—not quite a smile, but something. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill."

"Since when do you care about goodwill?"

"Since my future wife requires it."

I roll my eyes and try and find something wrong with the gesture, just because that’s who I am. “Eleven’s a little early for lunch.”

He almost chuckles—almost. “Eleven Madison Park. It’s the name of the restaurant. Lunch is at twelve.”

I twist my lips before mouthing “oh.”

He moves toward the bar, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. "Would you like a drink?"

The casual offer throws me further off-balance. I shake my head, then gather my courage to press my advantage while he seems amenable. "I'd like my cousin to be there too. Elena."

Vito takes a sip, his eyes watching me over the rim of his glass. "The Messina girl? Your mother's brother's daughter?"

I'm surprised he knows the connection. "Yes."

He considers this for a moment, then nods. "That's fine. I'll have Dante make the arrangements."

Just like that? No argument, no demands, no conditions? "What's the catch?"

"No catch." He sets his glass down. "Dante will accompany you, of course. Standard security protocols will be in place."

"Of course," I echo, still trying to process this shift. "Why are you doing this?"

He studies me for a long moment. "You've been cooperative. More or less. This is a... reward."

"I'm not a dog performing tricks."

"No. You're my future wife making adjustments to a new reality." He gestures to the garment bag. "I had something made for you to wear. For tomorrow, and other outings."

"Other outings?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.

"Did you think you would remain in this penthouse forever?" He moves closer, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne. "This marriage requires public appearances. The Commission expects to see us together, presenting a united front."

"So this is about appearances." That makes more sense than sudden generosity.

"Partly." His honesty is disarming. "But it's also about making this situation more... sustainable."

"Sustainable." I repeat the word, turning it over. "You mean making me less miserable so I stop fighting you at every turn."

The ghost of a smile touches his lips. "As I said, you're intelligent."

"Not intelligent enough to avoid this situation in the first place."

"Perhaps it was unavoidable." His voice softens slightly. "Some things are simply destiny, Caterina."

The use of my full name, combined with that almost philosophical statement, sends an unexpected shiver through me. I take a step back, needing distance from whatever is happening.

"What time tomorrow?" I ask, redirecting to practicalities.

"Noon. Dante will escort you." He picks up his glass again. "I have business to attend to, but I expect you back by five. We'll have dinner together."

It sounds so normal. So domestic. As if we're simply a couple with busy schedules coordinating their day.

The facade makes me uneasy, yet I can't help the surge of anticipation at seeing my family—and Elena.

My cousin is the only one who knows about my arrangement with the Irish, the only one I truly confided in when things with my father became unbearable.

"Thank you," I say finally, the words strange on my tongue. "For arranging this."

Vito inclines his head slightly, accepting my gratitude with the same cool detachment he accepts everything else. "Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes."

He picks up the garment bag and holds it out to me. I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch. Whatever game he's playing, I need to stay sharp, stay focused. This unexpected kindness could be just another form of control.

But as I hang the garment bag in my closet—I still think of it as "my" closet despite sleeping in Vito's room now—I can't help the small flicker of hope.

Seeing my family means a chance to gather information, to coordinate, to plan.

And Elena... Elena might be my best chance at finding a way out of this gilded cage.

The restaurant is even more impressive than I expected—soaring ceilings, elegant minimalist decor, staff that move like ghosts, anticipating needs before they're expressed. Dante walks slightly behind me as the ma?tre d' leads us to a private dining room at the back.

"Your guests are already seated, Miss Gallo," he informs me with a respectful nod.

The moment the door opens, Sofia launches herself at me, nearly knocking me off my feet. "Rina!"

I wrap my arms around her, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. "Hey, little one."

"I'm not little anymore," she protests automatically, but she doesn't let go.

My mother approaches more slowly, her smile watery. "Caterina." She embraces me once Sofia reluctantly steps back. "You look well."

"So do you." It's mostly true. She looks tired but unharmed. The Greenhouse must be treating them decently at least.

"Well, well, look who's alive and kicking." The drawling voice comes from the corner of the room, where Elena lounges in her chair like she's at a beach bar instead of one of New York's most exclusive restaurants.

My cousin Elena Rosso, twenty-two going on fifty in terms of world-weariness, raises her champagne flute in a mocking toast. With her dark brunette hair falling in long, flowing waves past her shoulders, eyes perpetually lined with kohl, and red lips that rarely smile without irony, she exudes a magnetic confidence that's always drawn people to her.

"Elena." I can't help the genuine smile that breaks across my face. "You came."

"When I heard my favorite cousin was being held captive by the big bad wolf, how could I resist?" She stands, embracing me tightly before whispering in my ear, "We need to talk."

"I know," I whisper back.

Dante clears his throat from his position by the door. "I'll be right outside. The staff knows to call me if you need anything."

I'm surprised by this small concession of privacy. "Thank you."

He nods and steps out, closing the door behind him. The moment it clicks shut, Elena's sardonic expression drops.

"What the fuck, Rina? One minute you're texting me about meeting up, the next you've been kidnapped by Vito fucking Rosso?" Her voice is low but intense, her caramel eyes flashing. "And now you're what—engaged to him?"

"It's complicated," I mutter, guiding everyone to the table. "How much do you know?"

"Only what your mother has told me, which isn't much." Elena glances at my mother, who busies herself helping Sofia with her napkin. "Just that after your father was killed, Vito took you all and now you're marrying him. Which is insane, by the way."

"Not by choice," I clarify.

Elena's eyes narrow. "What about your other... arrangement?"

She's being careful, but I still glance nervously at the door. "Not now."

"But—"

"Elena." My tone carries a warning. "Later."

She subsides, her sharp mind clearly processing the implications. "Fine. But you owe me details."

The waiter enters with appetizers I don't remember ordering, momentarily distracting us. Once he's gone, Sofia peppers me with questions about the penthouse, about what I do all day, about whether Vito is as scary as he seemed that night at the restaurant.

I answer carefully, aware that anything I say could get back to him. "It's... luxurious. I mostly read. And he's..." I search for a diplomatic word. "Complex."

Elena snorts into her champagne. "Complex. Right."

My mother gives her a reproving look before turning to me. "Are you being treated well, Caterina?"

"Yes," I say, and it's not entirely a lie. I haven't been physically harmed. "How about you and Sofia? The Greenhouse is comfortable?"

"Very." My mother's eyes dart to Sofia, then back to me with a message I understand instantly. She doesn't want to worry her youngest. "We have everything we need."

"Except freedom," Sofia mutters.

"Sofia," my mother warns gently.

"What? It's true. We're prisoners, just like Rina."

I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. "It's okay, Sof. Things will get better."

"How?" Her young face is so earnest it breaks my heart. "Are you really going to marry him? After what he did to Dad?"

The table falls silent. No one seems to know how to answer that.

"I'm doing what I need to do to keep us all safe," I finally say. "That's what matters right now."

Elena studies me with those penetrating eyes that miss nothing. "And is that working out for you? Being the sacrificial lamb?"