Page 45 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Vito

My mouth crashes down on hers—not gentle, not asking permission, but taking. Claiming. Rage and desire course through me in equal measure, a dangerous cocktail I can barely contain. Her betrayal burns like acid in my veins, yet I want her with an intensity that only fuels my anger.

She should push me away. Should slap me for my presumption. Instead, she responds with equal fervor, her freed hand clutching at my shoulder, pulling me closer even as she bites my lip in retaliation.

I growl against her mouth, the sound torn from somewhere primal inside me. "You want to fight me? Fight me, then."

My hands move to her waist, lifting her onto the counter in one fluid motion. Her legs part instinctively, and I step between them, pressing closer until there's no space left between us. The heat of her core radiates against me, stoking my desire despite the betrayal still raw in my mind.

"This doesn't change anything," she gasps as my mouth moves to her neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "This doesn't mean you own me."

"Doesn't it?" I slide my hand beneath her nightgown, fingertips tracing up her thigh with deliberate slowness. The softness of her skin contrasts with the hardness I feel toward her deception. "Your body seems to disagree."

When my fingers reach their destination, finding her wet and ready, satisfaction mingles with the bitterness in my chest. Even now, with lies festering between us, her body responds to mine with an honesty her words lack.

"Your body responds to me too," she challenges, bold enough to press her palm against my hardness. "What does that prove?"

"That desire and trust are separate things." My fingers find her rhythm, the one that makes her breath hitch in that way I've memorized. "I want you, Caterina. That doesn't mean I trust you."

My father's voice echoes in my head: Never trust a woman. They'll smile while sliding the knife between your ribs. The memory of Isabella's betrayal flashes through my mind—my cousin, my first crush, laughing as I fell, blood streaming from my face.

"I didn't betray you," she insists, even as her hips move against my hand, seeking more friction.

"You lied to me." I circle my thumb precisely where I know she's most sensitive, watching her pupils dilate with pleasure even as we argue. "You plotted with my enemies."

"I tried to protect you," she counters, her protest weakened by the moan that escapes as I increase the pressure.

"Protect me," I repeat, skepticism evident even through the desire darkening my vision. "From a threat you created."

The pattern is so familiar it makes my chest ache. Women who claim devotion while harboring deceit. My mother, promising to return for me, abandoning me to my father's cruelty. The succession of my father's mistresses, each one offering kindness that evaporated the moment it became inconvenient.

I withdraw my hand abruptly, leaving her frustrated and unfinished. In one swift movement, I yank down my sleep pants, freeing myself. The cool air is a momentary shock against heated skin.

"Is this what you want?" I demand, wrapping one hand around my length, the other still pinning her wrist to the counter. "To be claimed by the man you've lied to? The man you've betrayed?"

"I haven't betrayed you," she repeats, the denial sounding hollow even to my ears.

My laugh is dark, bitter. "You're just like all the others. Using your body, your beauty, to manipulate. To deceive."

Yet even as I say the words, a traitorous voice in my mind whispers doubts. Caterina has never used her beauty as currency. Even in captivity, she's met me with fire and honesty—until now.

"That's not true," she protests, genuine hurt flashing in her eyes.

"Isn't it?" I position myself at her entrance, restraint hanging by a thread. "You've played me, Caterina. Used me against Costello, used Costello against me."

"No," she shakes her head, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" I demand, voice harsh with the need to understand. "Tell me the truth, for once."

"I was trapped!" The confession bursts from her, raw and honest. "Trapped between my father's cruelty and Liam's obsession. Then you came along, and I was trapped again—in a different cage, but still trapped."

Her words land with unexpected impact. I know about traps, about impossible choices. About doing what's necessary to survive. Something shifts inside me—anger still dominant, but tempered now with a reluctant understanding.

"And now?" I ask, voice quieter but no less intense.

She meets my gaze, offering what appears to be truth at last. "Now I don't know what I am. What we are."

For a moment, I simply look at her, seeing something new in the familiar landscape of her face.

The vulnerability there matches what I keep buried within myself—the uncertainty, the fear of connection after a lifetime of betrayal.

Then I lean forward, pressing my forehead against hers in a gesture strangely intimate for all the anger still crackling between us.

"You're mine," I say finally, the words both declaration and question, a need for confirmation I've never allowed myself to express before. "Whatever else happens, whatever lies between us, that much remains true."

Before she can respond, I thrust forward, filling her completely in one powerful movement. The sensation overwhelms me—tight heat enveloping me, pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I've been with other women, but none have felt like this, like coming home to a place I never knew existed.

"Mine," I repeat, beginning to move with deliberate, controlled strokes. "Say it."

She shakes her head, clinging to her last shred of defiance even as her body welcomes me, accommodates me. Her resistance stirs something in me—respect mingled with the need to conquer.

"Say it," I demand again, changing my angle slightly to hit the spot I know makes her unravel. "Say you're mine, Caterina. After everything—the lies, the Irish, the betrayal—say you belong to me now."

"Vito," she gasps instead, a different kind of surrender.

It's not the submission I demanded, but hearing my name on her lips like that—breathless, desperate—satisfies something deeper than ownership.

My rhythm increases, control slipping as desire overtakes anger.

My hand finds hers, fingers interlacing in a gesture at odds with the forceful nature of our coupling.

"Everyone leaves," I confess against her ear, words I've never spoken aloud escaping in the heat of the moment. "Everyone betrays. My mother. My father in his way. Every woman who claimed to care."

Her eyes widen at this glimpse behind my armor, but I can't stop the words now that they've started.

"I won't be betrayed again," I tell her, punctuating each word with a thrust that makes her gasp. "Not by you. Not by anyone."

There is anger in our joining, yes—mine at her deception, hers at my presumption. But there's something else too, something neither of us acknowledges as we move together on the kitchen counter, bodies speaking a truth our words cannot yet admit.

When she comes, her body clenching around me, my name falling from her lips again, I feel a surge of possession and pride more potent than any business victory. I've made her feel this, brought her to this point of surrender despite the lies between us.

I follow moments later, my control finally shattering as I spill myself inside her, claiming her in the most primal way possible. My forehead presses against hers again, our breathing synchronized in the aftermath of shared pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The anger hasn't dissipated entirely, but it's been transformed into something else—a different kind of energy, less destructive but no less potent.

"We're not finished with this conversation," I say finally, my voice rough at the edges. "The Costellos. Your arrangement with them. All of it."

"I know," she acknowledges, too drained for further defiance.

I lift my head, studying her with an intensity that searches for any remaining deception. "Three days, he said. To meet him."

She nods, not bothering to deny it.

"You're not going." It's not a question but a statement, firm and unequivocal. I won't lose her—not to Costello, not to anyone.

"If I don't, he'll come after you anyway," she points out, her voice smaller than I've ever heard it. "After us."

"Let him try," I say, a quiet confidence settling over me. The Irish have been a thorn in my side for too long. "I've been waiting for an excuse to deal with the Irish permanently."

Fear flashes in her eyes—not for herself, I realize with surprise, but for what's to come. For me. "There has to be another way."

"There isn't." I withdraw from her carefully, the physical separation echoing the emotional distance that's reopened between us. "Not anymore."

As I adjust my clothing, I feel myself hardening back into the Don's mask—calculating, controlled, resolute. "This changes our timeline."

"What do you mean?" She slides off the counter on unsteady legs, pulling her nightgown back into place.

"The wedding." My gaze meets hers, unwavering. "It happens tomorrow."

Shock widens her eyes. "What? That's impossible."

"Not for me." I've never been more certain of anything.

By making her officially mine, I protect both of us—from the Irish, from the Commission, from the uncertainty that has plagued us both.

"By this time tomorrow, you will be Donna Rosso in name as well as fact.

The Commission will be informed, the families aligned behind us. "

"And the Irish?" she asks, dread evident in her voice.

I smile, feeling the predator in me stir. "Let them come. They'll find not just a man defending his territory, but a husband protecting his wife."

The distinction matters more than I expected it would. A wife is family. And family—real family—is what I've built my entire empire to protect.

"Tomorrow," I repeat, the word both promise and threat. "Whatever secrets still lie between us, whatever trust needs rebuilding, one thing becomes official tomorrow."

I turn to leave, then pause, looking back at her with all the intensity I feel. "You belong to me, Caterina. Not to Costello, not to yourself. To me." My voice softens fractionally, revealing more vulnerability than I intended. "The sooner you accept that reality, the safer everyone will be."

With that, I walk away, leaving her standing in the kitchen. Despite the anger still simmering beneath my skin, a strange certainty settles over me. Tomorrow, she becomes mine officially. And then I'll deal with anyone who threatens what's mine—starting with Liam Costello and the Irish.