Page 41 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

"Many times over." Olga meets my gaze directly, maternal protectiveness momentarily overriding her caution. "My daughter has spent her entire life placing others' needs before her own, Don Vittore. She doesn't know how to live any other way."

The implied message is clear: treat her accordingly .

"I understand," I tell her, and I find that I do. Caterina's fierce protection of her family, her willingness to endure my terms to ensure their safety—it all aligns with the portrait Olga has painted.

"May I speak frankly?" Olga asks, surprising me with her boldness.

"Please."

"You killed my husband." She states this without emotion, a simple fact. "I will not pretend to mourn him. But Caterina..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "She has known only control and confinement her entire life. First her father's, now yours."

"Our arrangement is different," I begin, but Olga shakes her head.

"The cage may be gilded, the keeper may be kinder, but the effect is the same." Her eyes, so like her daughter's, hold mine steadily. "She will never stop testing boundaries, Don Vittore. It's how she survived all those years."

"I've noticed," I reply dryly.

A ghost of a smile touches Olga's lips. "I imagine you have. She speaks of you differently now than she did at first, even just since our lunch last week."

This catches my interest. "How so?"

"With confusion. Frustration. But also..." she pauses, "a certain respect. Perhaps even fascination."

Something like satisfaction unfurls in my chest, though I keep my expression neutral. "Our relationship is... evolving."

"So I see. May I offer one piece of advice, from someone who has known her all her life?"

I incline my head, granting permission.

"The more you try to control her, the harder she will fight. But give her room to choose, to protect those she loves on her own terms..." Olga's expression softens. "She will surprise you with her loyalty."

Her words align with my own observations over these past weeks, particularly since our relationship took its more intimate turn. The moments when Caterina has been most responsive, most genuinely engaged, have been when I've offered choice rather than command.

"Thank you for your candor," I tell Olga. "It's helpful to understand her better."

"May I ask you something in return?" Olga requests.

"You may ask."

"Are you going to marry my daughter because the Commission demands it, or because you want her?"

The directness of the question catches me off guard. I consider deflecting, offering the diplomatic answer that would reassure without revealing. But something about this woman's quiet dignity, her clear-eyed acceptance of realities most would shy from, deserves honesty.

"Both," I admit. "The arrangement began as political necessity. But now..." I pause, articulating what I've barely acknowledged to myself. "Now there are other considerations."

Understanding passes between us—mother to future son-in-law, woman who has survived one dangerous man to the one who will now determine her daughter's fate.

"She could love you, you know," Olga says quietly. "If you allowed it. If you proved worthy of it."

The possibility sends an unexpected current through me—not just desire or possession, but something more profound. Something I've never permitted myself to consider.

"Our world rarely accommodates love, Mrs. Gallo."

"Perhaps." She stands, smoothing her skirt with practiced grace. "But it accommodates happiness even less frequently. When the opportunity presents itself, only a fool would refuse it."

With that parting wisdom, she gestures toward the house. "Shall we join the girls? Sofia was planning to show Caterina her artwork. She's become quite the artist since we arrived here."

I stand, offering my arm in a gesture of respect. "Lead the way."

As we walk back through the rose garden, I find my thoughts dwelling on Olga's insights. The picture of Caterina that emerges is more complex, more admirable than even I had realized—a lifetime of protection, sacrifice, and carefully calculated defiance to preserve what matters most to her.

It changes nothing about our arrangement. The wedding will proceed as planned. The Costellos will be dealt with. Order will be maintained.

And yet... it changes everything about how I see the woman who will soon bear my name. Not just a beautiful, spirited adversary to be conquered, but a warrior in her own right—forged in circumstances not unlike my own, driven by principles I can respect.

We enter the house through the garden doors, the sound of laughter drawing us toward the east wing. In the sitting room, we find Caterina engaged in animated conversation with her cousin Elena, while Sofia sits cross-legged on the floor, sketching in a large pad.

Caterina looks up as we enter, her eyes immediately finding mine. Something passes between us—an acknowledgment, a recognition that extends beyond words. Then she turns back to Elena, resuming their conversation in hushed tones.

I observe from the doorway, noting the easy familiarity between the cousins, the protective way Caterina positions herself slightly in front of Sofia, even in this safe environment. Always the guardian, even when there's no immediate threat.

As I watch her—gesturing emphatically to emphasize a point to Elena, pausing to check Sofia's drawing with genuine interest, glancing occasionally toward her mother to ensure she's comfortable—I find myself wondering what it would be like to be included in that inner circle of people she protects so fiercely.

To be not just her husband in name, her captor by circumstance, but someone she chooses to defend, to watch over, to... love?

The thought is dangerous, unprecedented. Yet I cannot dismiss it entirely.

Perhaps Olga is right. Perhaps only a fool would refuse the opportunity for happiness, even in our world of shadows and sharp edges.