Page 4 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

"Determined to ensure you don't try." He rises, buttoning his jacket. "His name is Dante Mancini. He works for me."

"Another minion. Great."

Vito's expression hardens. "Dante isn't someone to antagonize, bambola. He doesn't share my patience."

"Your patience?" I laugh bitterly. "Is that what you call it?"

He moves with that predatory grace until he stands before me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "You have no idea how patient I'm being."

The threat hangs in the air between us. I refuse to look away first.

Finally, he steps back. "Eight hours of my day wasted on an emergency meeting for the business. The Commission is pushing the timeline forward."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're getting married in three weeks instead of four." He delivers this like he's discussing the weather. "Goodnight, Caterina."

He walks toward the elevator, leaving me speechless for once.

I don't see Vito the next morning. Instead, I emerge from my room on the second floor and make my way down to the main level to find a stranger lounging on the sofa, feet propped on Vito's immaculate coffee table.

He's younger than Vito, maybe late twenties, with dark hair cut short on the sides but longer on top.

Black tattoos snake up both forearms, disappearing under the sleeves of his fitted black t-shirt.

Unlike Vito's sophisticated menace, this man exudes raw danger.

"Morning, princess." His voice is rough, with a hint of Brooklyn. "Sleep well in your tower?"

I cross my arms. "Who are you?"

"Dante Mancini." He doesn't stand or offer his hand. "Your new best friend."

"I doubt that."

His lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm just as thrilled as you are."

I move toward the kitchen, hyperaware of his gaze following me. "Where's Vito?"

"Don Vito," he corrects sharply. "Show some respect."

I turn, leaning against the counter. "Or what?"

Dante laughs, the sound unexpectedly genuine. "Damn, you've got fire. Now I get it."

"Get what?"

"Why the boss is so..." He makes a vague gesture with his hand. "Invested."

I scoff, opening the refrigerator to hide my face. "He's not invested in me. He's invested in whatever power play this forced marriage represents."

"Keep telling yourself that." I hear him stand, his footsteps approaching. "But the boss doesn't do anything halfway."

I grab a yogurt and turn to find him blocking my path, arms crossed over his muscular chest. Up close, I can see his tattoos more clearly—intricate patterns that look almost like religious symbols mixed with what might be Latin phrases.

"Move," I say, more boldly than I feel.

His dark eyes assess me with clinical detachment. "You know, I've worked for Don Vito for eight years. Seen him build an empire. Watched him destroy enemies without blinking." He leans closer, voice dropping. "Never seen him rearrange his entire life for anyone. Until you."

"I didn't ask for this."

"Doesn't matter what you asked for, princess. This is happening." He steps aside with exaggerated courtesy. "Enjoy your yogurt."

I brush past him, settling at the breakfast bar in the kitchen area. "How long are you staying?"

"Until the boss gets back." He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, polishing it on his shirt. "So we might as well get comfortable."

"I'm not interested in getting comfortable with you."

He takes a bite of the apple, speaking around it. "Ouch. And here I thought we were bonding."

I ignore him, focusing on my breakfast. After a moment, he speaks again, his tone different—harder.

"Listen up, princess. I've got one job—keep you alive and inside these walls. Do us both a favor and don't make that difficult."

"What are you going to do if I try to leave? Shoot me?" I challenge.

His smile is all teeth. "Nah. Boss was very clear—not a scratch on you. But there are ways to stop someone without leaving marks."

The casual threat sends ice through my veins, but I refuse to show it. "You people think violence solves everything."

"Not everything." He shrugs. "But most things."

We fall into uneasy silence. I finish my yogurt while he demolishes the apple down to its core.

"So what's your story?" he asks eventually. "Besides being Tomasso Gallo's daughter."

"None of your business."

"Just making conversation."

"I'm not interested in conversation with my jailer."

He laughs again. "Jailer? That's harsh. Think of me as... security."

"For whom? Me or Vito?"

"Both." He tosses the apple core into the trash with perfect aim. "Though between us, the boss seemed more concerned about keeping other people away from you than keeping you in line."

That catches my attention. "What does that mean?"

Dante's expression turns guarded, realizing he's said too much. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"It's my life. If there's danger?—"

"The only danger you need to worry about is testing Don Vito's patience." He checks his watch. "He'll be back by six. Try not to drive me crazy until then."

"I'll do my best," I mutter sarcastically.

His smile is sharp as a blade. "Appreciate it, princess."

The day stretches endlessly. Dante follows me everywhere except the bathroom, maintaining a precise distance—close enough to intercept any escape attempt, far enough to avoid any accusation of impropriety.

Despite his casual demeanor, I sense the calculation behind every movement.

He's not just muscle; he's smart, observant, and completely loyal to Vito.

By late afternoon, I'm climbing the walls with boredom and frustration. Dante sprawls on the couch in the main living area, scrolling through his phone while I pace.

"If you're trying to wear a hole in the floor, you're doing great," he comments without looking up.

"I need air."

"There's a terrace."

I stop pacing. "Where?"

He sighs dramatically, standing. "This way, princess."

He leads me to a door I hadn't noticed before, tucked beside the library on the main floor. It opens to a stunning terrace garden with views that steal my breath—Manhattan spread beneath us like a glittering toy set.

"Happy now?" Dante asks, leaning against the doorframe.

The fresh air fills my lungs, and for a moment, I almost forget my circumstances. "Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

"You didn't ask." He shrugs. "Boss said you could use it, supervised. Don't get any ideas—it's a long way down."

I approach the edge, glass barriers preventing any potential jumpers—or escapees. "I'm not suicidal."

"Good to know."

The sound of the elevator from inside draws his attention. "Looks like the boss is back early."

He moves with surprising speed, guiding me back inside just as Vito emerges from the elevator into the main living area. He's still in business mode—three-piece suit, expression carved from stone. His eyes flick between us, lingering on Dante's hand near my elbow.

"Everything go smoothly?" Vito asks, though it doesn't sound like a question.

Dante drops his hand immediately. "All quiet, boss."

"Good." Vito loosens his tie. "You're dismissed."

Dante nods, already heading for the elevator. He pauses beside Vito, saying something too low for me to hear. Vito's expression darkens.

Once we're alone, Vito turns his full attention to me. "I see you discovered the terrace."

"No thanks to you."

"I assumed you'd explore." He removes his suit jacket, draping it precisely over a chair. "Did Dante behave himself?"

The strange question catches me off guard. "As much as any kidnapper's henchman can."

Something flashes in Vito's eyes. "Did he touch you?"

"What? No." I frown. "Why would he?"

Vito's jaw relaxes almost imperceptibly. "No reason."

But I see it now—the possessiveness behind the question. The warning in his tone wasn't for me; it was for Dante. The realization sends a complicated shiver through me.

"You're worried about me, or your property?" I ask, unable to help myself.

His eyes lock with mine. "Is there a difference?"

"There is to me."

He moves closer, invading my space with deliberate intent. "You're mine, Caterina. My responsibility. My concern. Mine to protect." His voice drops lower. "And yes, mine to possess."

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I stand my ground. "I belong to no one."

"Keep telling yourself that." His words echo Dante's from earlier. "But the sooner you accept reality, the easier this will be."

"I create my own reality."

His laugh is low, almost intimate. "Such fire. Perhaps that's why the Commission chose you."

"The Commission didn't choose me. You did."

Something shifts in his expression. "Is that what you think?"

"Isn't it true?"

He studies me for a long moment. "Go change. We're having dinner with guests tonight."

"Guests?" The abrupt subject change throws me. "I'm not playing happy fiancée for your friends."

"They're not my friends. They're business associates." He's already walking toward his office. "Wear the red dress in your closet. We leave in an hour."

"And if I refuse?"

He pauses, looking back with those cold, calculating eyes. "Don't push me, Caterina. Not tonight."

There's something in his voice—not just threat, but something almost like... concern? Before I can analyze it, he's disappeared into his office, leaving me alone with the unsettling feeling that there are currents moving beneath this situation that I don't yet understand.

And if I want to survive—if I want my family to survive—I need to start swimming with the tide while I figure out how to control the ocean.