Page 38 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Something shifts in my chest—an uncomfortable tightening that I refuse to identify as emotion. "You are beautiful," I tell her, meaning it more than I should. "And not just in this dress."

She studies me, searching for deception perhaps, or manipulation. Finding none, she nods once, accepting the compliment. "We should go."

I unlock the door, checking the salon beyond before opening it fully.

The voices that prompted our retreat have subsided, the VIP suite returning to its hushed exclusivity.

Vivienne approaches as Caterina emerges from the fitting room, her professional smile revealing nothing about what she might suspect occurred in her absence.

"Have you made a decision, Miss Gallo?" she asks, focusing entirely on Caterina.

"Yes," Caterina affirms, her voice steady despite what just transpired between us. "This is the dress."

"Excellent choice." Vivienne gestures for her assistants. "Let's get you changed, and we'll discuss the final details with Mr. Rosso."

As they lead Caterina back to the fitting room—a different one this time—I find myself watching her retreating form with unexpected possessiveness. The satisfaction of what just happened between us mingles with a deeper, more complex emotion I'm reluctant to examine too closely.

Mine, I think, the word reverberating with finality. Whatever game she might be playing, whatever secrets she might still be keeping, Caterina Gallo is mine now in ways that transcend arrangements and alliances.

And I intend to keep it that way, regardless of what threats may come—from the Irish, from within our own organizations, or from the dangerous territory of feelings neither of us anticipated when this arrangement began.

Marco joins me as the assistants help Caterina change, his approach discreet enough not to disturb the bridal atmosphere.

"All clear," he murmurs. "False alarm. Group of groomsmen for another appointment."

I nod, relieved yet strangely disappointed. Part of me had been anticipating conflict, a chance to demonstrate my protection of what's mine.

"The perimeter?"

"Secure." Marco studies me with careful neutrality. "Everything alright, boss? You seem..."

He doesn't finish the observation, but I understand his meaning. I'm not my usual composed self. The encounter with Caterina has left its mark, however invisibly.

"Fine," I say, ending the inquiry. "Arrangements for dinner?"

"All set. Reservations at Per Se for seven. High visibility, as requested."

"Good." I glance toward the fitting room where Caterina is changing. "And the other matter we discussed?"

"In progress." Marco's expression reveals nothing. "I should have preliminary findings by tomorrow."

I nod, satisfied for now. Whatever connection exists between Caterina and the Costellos, I'll uncover it.

The fact that I just pleasured her in a bridal fitting room, that I'm developing feelings for her that complicate our arrangement—none of this changes the fundamental reality of our world.

Information is power, and I won't relinquish either, even for the woman who's beginning to mean more to me than she should.

Caterina emerges, back in her navy dress, the wedding gown safely in the hands of Vivienne's assistants. She looks composed, though a lingering flush on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes betray our recent activities to anyone looking closely enough.

"Ready?" I ask, offering my arm.

She takes it without hesitation, a small but significant change from her earlier reluctance. "Ready."

As we leave the bridal salon, my security forming a protective perimeter around us, I find myself acutely aware of every point of contact between us—her hand in the crook of my arm, the occasional brush of her shoulder against mine, the subtle ways her body has become attuned to my movements.

The Bentley waits at the curb, Dante holding the door as we approach. I guide Caterina inside before following, hyperaware of potential threats even as my mind lingers on what transpired in the fitting room.

"Where to now?" she asks as the car pulls away from the curb.

"Dinner," I reply, watching her reaction carefully.

"Another public appearance?" Her perceptiveness is one of the qualities I find most compelling about her.

"Yes." I see no reason to deny the obvious strategy. "People should see us together."

"Why?" The directness of the question is refreshing after so many women who would never dare question my motives.

"Because perception shapes reality." I take her hand, my thumb brushing over the silver bracelet at her wrist. "And I want the reality of us to be undeniable."

She studies me, something calculating in her gaze that reminds me not to be blinded by desire or nascent affection. Caterina Gallo is not just a beautiful woman in a wedding dress. She's a player in this game, with her own agenda I've yet to fully uncover.

"What exactly are you hoping people will perceive?" she asks, her tone deceptively casual.

"That you are mine," I answer honestly. "And that anyone who thinks otherwise will face consequences."

Her expression shifts, understanding dawning. "This is about the shooter. About the Costellos."

"Among other things." I don't elaborate, curious how much she'll reveal of her own knowledge.

"You're using me as bait," she concludes, though there's no accusation in her tone—just thoughtful analysis.

"I prefer to think of it as clarifying the situation for all involved parties." I maintain eye contact, wanting her to understand the nuance. "You will be protected at all times."

"I know." The simple confidence in her response surprises me. "I've seen how your security operates."

"Then you understand the necessity?"

She nods slowly. "I understand more than you might think, Vito."

The statement hangs between us, loaded with implications I can't fully decipher.

Is it a confession? A warning? A simple observation?

The complexity of this woman continues to fascinate me, even as it raises alarms in the strategic part of my mind that has kept me alive and in power all these years.