Page 2 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Rina

"Don't touch me." I jerk my face away from Vito's hand, the words sharp as broken glass.

"Vito, we have to go," a man says from somewhere behind us. Vito stares at me like I've sprouted a second head, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What do you want from me?" I demand. "If you're worried I'll tell someone you murdered my father in cold blood, don't be. He got what he deserved." The defiance in my voice surprises even me.

My mother's desperate plea cuts through the air. "Please, Don Vittore, I beg you. My daughter is correct. We won't tell anyone." Her voice cracks with fear where they're holding her and Sofia.

I struggle against the iron grip on my arm. "Let them go." The man's fingers dig deeper, bruising. "You're fucking hurting me, asshole."

"Let her go," Vito orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The pressure vanishes instantly. I rub my arm, glaring at him.

"If you're waiting for me to thank you, it will never come," I spit out.

He steps forward. "There is no escaping me, bambola ," Vito warns.

"I'm not your doll." My chin lifts defiantly.

"Vito, we have to go now," the same man repeats, urgency bleeding into his tone.

"Time to go, bambola ," Vito commands as if I hadn't spoken.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

His gaze shifts to my mother and sister, expression hardening. "Take them to the Greenhouse."

Panic claws at my throat. "Don't you dare touch them. They've done nothing to you."

"Then I suggest you walk," he replies coolly, unmoved by my desperation.

"How do I know you won't hurt them?"

"You don't."

My mother's voice reaches me, fragile but determined. "We will be fine." I look at her—really look at her. She's broken, standing in a pool of my father's blood, but her eyes tell me to go with him.

I swallow hard. "Let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."

Vito's expression doesn't change. "You're in no position to make demands."

"Fine." My voice catches. "But please let them go. They haven't done anything wrong."

He ignores me, already walking away. "Take Caterina to the car. Dario, clean this up."

I try to break free, but it's useless. The man throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. My punches and scratches might as well be raindrops for all he reacts. We reach the door where Vito turns to face us, his eyes cold.

"I swear to god, if you don't fucking behave, I'll put a bullet in your mother and sister." The threat freezes the blood in my veins. It's not a bluff—I can see it in his eyes.

"Put me down," I tell the man. Surprisingly, he complies. I look up at Vito, swallowing my pride. "Vito, please let me say goodbye to my family." I force my voice into submission, hating how weak it sounds. Men like Vito only respond to one thing—obedience.

"Don Vito," he corrects, sending a chill down my spine.

I take a deep breath. "Could May I please say goodbye to my family, Don Vito?"

"You have thirty seconds."

I don't waste a moment, catching Sofia in my arms. "It's going to be okay. Do whatever they tell you. I need you to behave." I tighten the hug and turn my mouth to her ear. "I'll break you and Mamma free. Just keep your head down," I whisper, so softly I barely hear it myself.

"Okay," she responds, her voice small, broken.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

I move to my mother, feeling time slipping away. "Mamma."

"My sweet girl." Her arms wrap around me, safe and familiar.

"It's going to be okay. I promise." The lie tastes bitter.

"Be careful. He isn't a man you want to cross," she warns unnecessarily. I know exactly what kind of man he is.

"It's time," the man interrupts.

"I love you, Mamma."

"I love you too, my sweet daughter," she replies. One last squeeze, and I force myself to let go.

Outside, a fleet of black Range Rovers waits with men dressed in all black. Did Vito expect a bloodbath? Why kill my father? What did Vito mean about my father planning to kill him? The questions swirl as I'm pushed into one of the SUVs.

The city blurs past in streaks of light and shadow, but my focus is fixed on Vito.

His chocolate eyes burn with intensity, demanding obedience without a saying a word spoken.

The way he looks at me when I enter the SUV sends ice down my spine.

Despite his calm exterior, I can feel anger radiating from him in waves.

We approach Central Park Tower on Billionaire's Row—the tallest residential building in New York City.

Fitting, I suppose. As the driver opens the door, Vito is still on his cell phone.

His distraction might be my only chance to escape, but before I can move, a man hauls me from the SUV, his grip bruising.

Vito isn't the type to leave anything to chance.

The building's interior matches its impressive exterior. Vito walks ahead, stopping at an elevator that opens as if summoned. He steps aside, letting me enter first. The elevator ride stretches into eternity, the silence crushing.

"Do you know why you're here?" I don't answer. What could I possibly say? My throat is sandpaper, my tongue leaden with fear. His gaze pins me in place, suffocating.

"You're here because you're the key to something bigger than yourself. Something bigger than your father's need to take me out," he explains.

"Is that why you murdered him?" The words escape before I can stop them.

"He was a dead man walking," Vito states as the elevator opens directly into a private residence. He steps out, not checking if I follow.

"What does that mean?" I ask, trailing after him despite myself.

"Your father thought he could kill me and take control of La Famiglia."

"And how is that my problem? I wasn't behind it. I'm not my father's keeper."

"The sins of the father," he replies cryptically.

"What?"

He ignores my question. "This will be your new home.

There are three floors to this penthouse.

We are on the first level. Some of the things you will find on this floor are the kitchen, a library, and a media room.

You'll be free to roam this floor. As you see, a staircase leads to the other two floors. "

"What if I want to take the elevator and not the stairs?" I challenge, knowing it's pointless to press about my father. He won't tell me what I want to know—not yet.

"You are not allowed to take the private elevator unless you are with me. Follow me to the next floor," he orders, already climbing the stairs. Vito stops at the landing, waiting. I can't help but laugh.

"Something funny?" His brow furrows.

"The great Don Vittore Rosso is giving me a tour. You have to see how ridiculous this is." The absurdity of it bubbles out of me like hysteria.

He continues walking, unfazed by my sarcasm. "This floor is the residential floor. To the left are my quarters, which are off-limits."

"Afraid that I might discover your secrets?" I taunt.

"Your bedroom is on the other side beside the gaming lounge," he continues, ignoring me. We walk in silence until we reaching a door. "Anything you might need is in this bedroom. If there is anything that isn't, ask Antonia. She's the housekeeper."

He pushes the door open, revealing a breathtaking bedroom.

It's modern yet unexpectedly warm. A sitting area occupies one corner, and the view.

.. Christ, it's the most beautiful view I've ever seen.

For a heartbeat, I imagine being happy in a place like this.

Then reality crashes back. I'm here against my will, kidnapped by a monster, and I still don't know why.

"Why am I here, Don Vito?" I ask. A smirk plays at his lips. I want to slap it off his face.

" Matrimonio ," he says simply.

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

"Marriage." The word hangs in the air between us, impossible.

"Marriage?" My pulse hammers in my ears. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't even acknowledge my disbelief.

"Your father's actions led to this. A wedding brings true alliance between families.

It is the only thing that ends wars. It consolidates power.

Stability." Something lurks beneath his words, something unsaid.

"In one month, you will become Lathe Donna Rosso.

If you refuse, your family won't live to see another day. "

The threat stops me cold. The dead look in his eyes tells me he means every word.

I want to scream that he's insane. But the cold, ruthless certainty in his eyes silences me. He's used to winning, to getting exactly what he wants. And right now, that seems to be me. But I can't stay silent—it's not how I'm built. Cowering to men like Vito means death. I refuse to fear him.

"You're insane. I won't marry you," I mutter, the words dangerous but necessary.

"Do you think I want this?" he asks, something flashing across his face too quickly to read.

"I don't care what you want."

"The Commission demanded this marriage. I told them they were paranoid, but you could thank your father for this." He runs his fingers through his hair, the first sign of frustration I've seen.

"You're insane," I repeat, unable to process what's happening.

"No, I'm adaptable. I suggest you learn to do the same quickly." He steps closer, the air between us charging with something dangerous. "Your mother and sister's lives depend on what you do next."

"Why?" The question feels ripped from my chest.

"Because we are getting married in a month."

"You're crazy."

"I'm forced to do this to protect everything I’ve built. Do you understand? We're both prisoners," he says, and for a moment, I glimpse something like resignation in his eyes.

The tension thickens, becoming something else entirely. My heart pounds against my ribs, but beneath the fear stirs something I can't control, something I don't want to name. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch burns against my skin like a brand.

No.

I slap his hand away. "You wouldn't be so ruthless. If you hurt them, you will go against the Mafia code," I challenge, grasping at straws.

His hand closes around my throat—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. His grip says everything his words don't: I'm at his mercy.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking you're in control," he warns, his voice low.

I swallow hard, my pulse racing beneath his fingers. He leans so close I taste the sweet mint on his breath. The darkness in his eyes should terrify me. He's trying to intimidate me, and it's working. But I can't let him see that. If he senses my fear, he'll always have the upper hand.

"I'm not some puppet you can?—"

His mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my words. For one traitorous second, I forget why I'm here, why I should hate him. My lips move against his—the only soft thing about him. Then reality returns with a vengeance. I bite down on his lip, hard. The taste of iron floods my mouth.

He releases me instantly. "Feisty." Amusement colors his tone as he wipes blood from his lower lip. "Let's go over the rules you must obey."

"I don't understand," I begin, but he moves closer, crowding me with his presence.

"I expect nothing less than absolute obedience.

My word is law, and my orders are final.

You will remain confined to this penthouse.

Your only freedom will be granted with my presence or explicit permission.

This is not a marriage. It is a contract.

Do not mistake this for love because there is none and never will be.

You are here to fulfill your role as Donna.

You will be punished if you dare to break my rules. "

“Oh, is that all?” The disdain drips from my tongue.

His smile turns sadistic. "Not quite. The most important rule is that you can't say 'no' to me."

"So let me get this straight. Not only did you kidnap me, but you expect me to be your slave? Who the hell do you think you are?" Anger burns through my fear.

"Your Don," he states simply, as if it explains everything.

"This is ridiculous. You can't keep me prisoner."

" Bambola , this is your new reality."

"Do you think you can just snap your fingers, and I'll fall in line like some obedient pet?"

"I don't expect you to fall in line, bambola . I know you will." His confidence is maddening.

I back up, mind racing. "Stop calling me ‘doll.’ I don't care who you are. No one owns me."

"Do you think you're free?" His voice is dangerously calm, like the eye of a hurricane. "You're in my world now."

I fight the knot of fear climbing my throat. "Do you think you can break me?"

"I don't need to break you." He takes a slow step forward, closing the distance I tried to create. "Because I own you."

"I'll never, ever accept being your possession."

"Oh, bambola , I don’t need your acceptance."

I try to hold my ground, but my stomach twists with something darker I can't name. The pull between us isn't just him. It's me, too. The realization chills me to the bone. Vito isn't playing games. This is his world—and now, I simply exist within it.

"You're already mine," he says, certainty ringing in every word.

"I will never be yours," I insist, my voice weaker than I want it to be.

"There is a box on top of your nightstand. Take a look. Be a good girl, and comply," he says, already walking out the door.

A shiver runs down my spine. I need to find out why he murdered my father. The moment I do, I'll find my mother and sister. We can't stay in New York. If we do, Vito will make good on his threats.

I walk to the nightstand where a small black box sits. I snatch it open. Inside gleams a beautiful engagement ring.

But I know better.

The ring might as well be a chain around my neck.