Page 17 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Rina

"What do you think of this one?" I hold up a leather jacket adorned with studs and buckles—the complete opposite of the sleek, minimalist aesthetic that fills Vito's penthouse.

Dante doesn't even look up from his phone. "Whatever, princess."

"Helpful as always." I toss the jacket onto the growing pile that the poor sales associate has been accumulating. The mountain of clothes has expanded far beyond what I could possibly need, which is precisely the point.

Saks Fifth Avenue wasn't my first choice, but it was Dante's, and I've made the most of it.

Leather pants, ripped jeans, graphic tees with obnoxious sayings, chunky boots, and enough accessories to open my own boutique—all selected with meticulous attention to what would most disturb Vito's perfectly ordered world.

The weight of Elena's phone in my purse keeps me focused on my real objective. I need privacy to contact Liam, but Dante hasn't let me out of his sight for more than thirty seconds. Even bathroom breaks have been suspiciously brief, with him standing right outside the door like a prison guard.

"This too," I add a neon pink scarf to the pile. It's hideous and I would never wear it, but the thought of it sitting in Vito's pristine closet brings me petty joy.

"You said one hour," Dante reminds me, checking his watch. "That was ninety minutes ago."

"You also said two stores. This is only our first." I flash him an innocent smile. "And I'm having so much fun."

His eyes narrow. "The boss will hear about this."

"I'm counting on it." I turn to the sales associate, a willowy blonde with impeccable makeup who's been watching our exchange with barely concealed curiosity. "I'd like all of these delivered to this address." I hand her the card Dante reluctantly provided with Vito's details. "Today, if possible."

"Of course, Miss Rosso." She's been calling me that since Dante flashed some ID for the credit card verification. "Anything else you'd like to see?"

"The accessories department," I decide on the spot. "I need sunglasses. Lots of them."

Dante mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a death threat, but he follows as I'm led to another section of the store. The sales associate, Jennifer according to her name tag, is practically glowing at the size of her commission.

"We have some lovely new arrivals from Gucci," she gushes, directing me to a display case.

"I'll take those," I point to the most ostentatious pair—oversized frames with gaudy crystal embellishments. "And those, and those."

"Excellent choices." Jennifer doesn't even blink at my selections, which now include a pair of sunglasses with actual tiny feathers protruding from the frames.

"Don't you want to try them on?" Dante asks, looking pained.

"Why bother? They're all coming home with me." I scan the case again. "Oh, those too."

Jennifer is adding items to my account with the efficiency of someone who recognizes a once-in-a-career sale. "Would you like to look at handbags as well, Miss Rosso?"

"I—"

"No," Dante cuts in firmly. "We're done. Process the payment and arrange delivery." He steps closer to me, dropping his voice. "Boss wants you back. Now."

The way he says it makes me pause. There's tension in his posture that wasn't there before. "Did he call?"

"Just got a text." Dante's expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—concern? Warning? "We need to go."

A small flicker of apprehension rises in my chest before I squash it down. This was the plan—to push boundaries, to create chaos in Vito's ordered world. If he's angry, good. At least I'm not being the obedient bride-to-be he wants.

"Fine." I turn to Jennifer. "Please make sure everything arrives today. It's... a surprise."

Her smile is knowing. "Of course. Your fiancé will be thrilled."

I don't correct her assumption. Let her think this is a romantic gesture rather than an act of rebellion. "Thank you for your help."

"My pleasure." She hands Dante the receipt, which he glances at before folding carefully and tucking into his jacket pocket. His jaw tightens imperceptibly—the damage must be substantial.

As we exit the store, I can't resist asking, "So how much did I spend?"

Dante gives me a sidelong look. "Enough to make me grateful I'm not the one explaining it."

"That bad, huh?" I feel a flutter of satisfaction mixed with nervous anticipation.

"Let's just say I hope it was worth it." He guides me toward the waiting car, his hand hovering near my elbow without quite touching me. Always careful about Vito's rules, even now.

We're halfway to the car when a sleek black Bentley pulls up to the curb, and my stomach drops. The back door opens, and Vito emerges like a storm cloud in human form. His face is composed, as always, but there's a dangerous intensity in his eyes that I can feel even from several feet away.

"Shit," Dante mutters beside me.

Vito adjusts his cuffs—a gesture I've come to recognize as a sign he's reining himself in—and walks toward us with measured steps. People instinctively move out of his path, sensing the barely contained energy radiating from him.

"Caterina." His voice is soft, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "Enjoying your shopping?"

I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "Very much, thank you."

His eyes flick to Dante, who visibly stiffens. "Wait in the car."

"Boss, I?—"

"The car, Dante." The command leaves no room for argument.

Dante retreats, leaving me alone with Vito on the crowded sidewalk. Despite the people flowing around us, it feels like we're in our own bubble of tension.

"Your first taste of freedom, and this is how you use it?" Vito steps closer, his voice for my ears only.

"You said I could go shopping."

"I agreed to a reasonable excursion, not emptying half the store." His jaw tightens. "And certainly not having it all delivered to my home."

"Our home, you mean." I emphasize the word deliberately. "Since I'm to be your wife."

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "A decision you might be rethinking if you're attempting to provoke me."

"I'm not trying to provoke you." The lie comes easily. "I just wanted some clothes that feel like me."

"Forty-seven thousand dollars worth?"

The number makes me blink. I knew I'd spent a lot, but hearing the actual figure is momentarily shocking.

"I have expensive taste," I recover quickly. "Something we apparently have in common."

He steps even closer, his scent enveloping me—cedar and spice and something distinctly Vito. "This isn't about money, Caterina."

"No?" I force myself to hold his gaze despite the hammering of my heart. "What's it about then?"

"Control." He says it simply, without pretense. "You're testing boundaries, seeing what you can get away with."

"And apparently shopping is where you draw the line," I counter. "Not kidnapping, not forced marriage, but heaven forbid I buy some clothes."

His hand comes up to my face, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of it near my cheek. "The purchases aren't the issue. The deliberate defiance is." His voice drops lower. "The intentional attempt to clutter my space with things you know I would find... distasteful."

The fact that he's seen right through my motivation is unsettling. "So predictable of you to be more concerned with your precious order than with my happiness."

"Your happiness was precisely what I was attempting to facilitate today." His hand drops back to his side. "And this is how you repay the gesture."

A twinge of something that feels uncomfortably like guilt stirs in my chest. I push it away. "Did you expect gratitude for allowing me a few hours of basic human interaction? For letting me see my family like any normal person?"

"I expected respect," he says, the words carrying weight beyond their simple meaning. "Not this childish display."

"I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one." He gestures toward the Bentley. "Get in the car."

"I came with Dante?—"

"Get in the car, Caterina." His tone carries the same quiet danger as the night he cornered me in his bed. "Now."

I consider refusing, making a scene right here on Fifth Avenue, but the look in his eyes tells me I've already pushed far enough for one day. Besides, Elena's phone is still burning a hole in my purse. I need privacy to use it, which I won't get standing here arguing with Vito.

"Fine." I move toward the Bentley, acutely aware of his presence behind me.

The car interior is cool and quiet, the leather seats soft against my skin as I slide in. Vito follows, closing the door with controlled precision that somehow conveys his anger more effectively than a slam would have.

"Drive," he instructs the chauffeur, who pulls smoothly into traffic without a word.

We sit in tense silence, the space between us on the seat like a demilitarized zone neither dares to cross. I can feel him watching me, but I keep my gaze fixed out the window, pretending fascination with the passing cityscape.

"Was it worth it?" he finally asks.

I turn to face him, finding his expression more curious than angry now. "Was what worth it?"

"This rebellion. Did it give you the satisfaction you were seeking?"

The question catches me off guard with its insight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." He leans back, studying me with those dark, perceptive eyes. "You wanted to disrupt my order, to assert some control in a situation where you feel powerless."

I hate how easily he reads me, how he strips away my pretenses like they're nothing. "Maybe I just like ugly clothes."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "We both know that's not true. Your taste is actually quite refined, when you're not deliberately selecting the most offensive items possible."

The compliment, unexpected and oddly specific, throws me further off balance. "How would you know anything about my taste?"