Page 48 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Rina

The stylist tugs at my hair, pinning another section into an elaborate updo I'll never be able to recreate. I sit motionless before the vanity, watching my transformation through eyes that feel like they belong to someone else.

"Almost finished," the woman murmurs, sliding another pearl-topped pin into place. "You'll be the most beautiful bride New York has seen in years."

I say nothing. What is there to say? That I never wanted this wedding? That the acceleration from weeks to hours has left me reeling? That the man I'm about to marry discovered my betrayal last night and responded with equal parts rage and possession?

The dress hangs nearby—the one I chose at the bridal salon, the one Vito approved with dark, hungry eyes. The sight of it brings complicated memories: his mouth on me in the fitting room, his hands gentle despite their strength, the illusion of choice I believed I had then.

A knock at the door interrupts the stylist's work. Dante pokes his head in, his usual cockiness subdued today.

"You've got visitors, princess."

Before I can ask who, my mother and Sofia rush in, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern.

"Caterina!" My mother embraces me carefully, mindful of my half-finished hair. "What's happening? They brought us from the Greenhouse with no explanation, only that there would be a wedding today."

Sofia stands slightly behind her, eyes wide as she takes in the stylist, the makeup, the dress. "You're really doing this? Today?"

The genuine shock in their voices reminds me that less than twenty-four hours ago, even I didn't know I'd be getting married today. I take my mother's hands, forcing a calmness I don't feel.

"Things changed," I say simply. "Vito decided the timeline needed acceleration."

My mother studies my face, seeing too much as she always has. "Because of the Irish," she concludes softly.

I stiffen. "How did you?—"

"I've been married to a mafioso for over twenty years, Caterina." Her smile is sad. "I recognize the signs of impending conflict."

Sofia moves to my other side, face pinched with worry. "Is it because of Liam?" she whispers. "Is that why everything's happening so fast?"

The stylist continues working on my hair, pretending not to hear while obviously absorbing every word. I respond with careful vagueness.

"It's complicated." I squeeze Sofia's hand. "But yes, partly."

My mother's gaze sharpens. "What have you done, Caterina?"

The question carries no judgment, only the weary knowledge of a woman who has navigated these dangerous waters her entire adult life. Still, it stings.

"What I thought I had to," I reply quietly. "And now everything's changed."

Before she can press further, the door opens again. This time it's Elena, looking elegant but frazzled in a deep green dress that brings out the amber flecks in her caramel eyes.

"Jesus, Rina," she exclaims, taking in the bridal preparations. "You could have told me sooner you were getting married today."

"I didn't know myself until last night." I gesture for the stylist to give us space. "Could you check on the veil, please? I think it needed steaming."

The woman nods, diplomatically withdrawing to the adjoining bathroom with the excuse of gathering more supplies. The moment the door closes behind her, Elena moves closer, voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

"Did you tell him everything?"

"He overheard me talking to Liam," I confirm. "He knows about our arrangement."

Elena's face pales. "And you're still alive? Still getting married?"

"The wedding is happening precisely because he knows," I explain, the irony not lost on me. "It's strategic. Once I'm officially his wife, the Irish position weakens."

"And what about you?" Elena demands. "Where do you stand in all this?"

The question echoes the one Vito asked last night in the kitchen. My answer remains unchanged, though no less conflicted. "I don't know."

My mother places a hand on my shoulder, her touch grounding me as it has throughout my life. "Do you want this, Caterina? To be his wife?"

"Does it matter what I want?" The bitterness slips out despite my efforts to contain it.

"It always matters," she says firmly. "Even when we can't have what we want, knowing what it is gives us something to work toward."

I meet her eyes in the mirror, seeing the wisdom earned through decades of an imperfect marriage to a cruel man. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me," I say finally. "If marrying Vito today prevents that, then yes, I want it."

It's not the whole truth, but it's all I can articulate right now, even to myself.

Sofia, perceptive as always, studies me with narrowed eyes. "There's more, isn't there? You feel something for him."

"Sofia," my mother admonishes gently.

"It's okay," I assure her. "She's right. It's... complicated."

Elena snorts. "That's one word for it."

Before the conversation can continue, we hear the distinctive sound of the elevator arriving, followed by male voices in the main room. Vito has returned.

My pulse quickens automatically, my body reacting to his proximity even as my mind remains conflicted. I rise from the vanity, drawn to the doorway despite knowing I shouldn't be seen in my half-prepared state.

Through the partially open door, I catch a glimpse of him—powerful and elegant in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his usual commanding presence amplified by the formal attire. He strides purposefully across the penthouse, Marco beside him discussing something in low, urgent tones.

I watch, expecting him to glance toward my room, to acknowledge me somehow. Instead, he passes by without a look, disappearing into his office. The door closes behind him with quiet finality.

The dismissal shouldn't hurt. After last night's revelations, after the anger and accusations between us, I should expect nothing else. Yet the ache in my chest intensifies, a hollow feeling expanding beneath my ribs.

"Don't," Elena murmurs, correctly interpreting my expression. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

I nod stiffly, returning to the vanity as the stylist reenters with my veil. The woman resumes her work, adding the final touches to my hair before carefully affixing the cathedral-length veil with pearl-tipped pins.

"Now for the dress," she announces, motioning to my mother and Elena for assistance.

They help me into the lace creation that, in another life, might have been my dream gown. It fits perfectly, hugging my curves before flowing into a dramatic train. The neckline dips modestly, the long sleeves extending to points over my hands in classic elegance.

"You're beautiful," Sofia whispers, eyes wide with genuine awe.

I stare at my reflection, trying to reconcile the sophisticated bride in the mirror with the tumultuous emotions churning inside me. I look serene, composed, ready to become Donna Rosso. No one would guess the anger, fear, and confusion warring beneath the surface.

A tear threatens, burning behind my eyes. I blink it back fiercely, refusing to let it fall. Crying would ruin the careful makeup, but more than that, it would be an admission of defeat. A surrender to circumstances rather than a choice made with clear eyes.

"Rina," my mother says softly, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. "This is just another kind of survival," she continues, straightening my veil with gentle hands. "And you've always been a survivor."

"I'm tired of just surviving," I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can stop it. "I want more than that."

Her eyes soften with understanding. "Then find it. Even here, even with him. Find the spaces where you can be more than just a survivor."

The stylist announces that we have thirty minutes until the ceremony begins. Elena squeezes my hand, Sofia embraces me carefully, and my mother presses a kiss to my forehead. They withdraw to prepare themselves, leaving me alone with my reflection.

Donna Caterina Rosso stares back at me, regal and beautiful and utterly foreign. In less than an hour, I will speak vows binding me to Vito, to his family, to his world. Forever.

And he couldn't even look at me when he returned.

I straighten my spine, lifting my chin in the gesture of defiance that has become almost reflexive. If Vito thinks his cold dismissal will break me, he's severely underestimated the woman he's about to marry.

Let him ignore me now. Let him retreat behind his office door, nursing whatever wounds my deception inflicted on his pride.

Once I become his wife—truly, legally, irrevocably his—he'll discover what it really means to bind himself to Caterina Gallo.

If I must survive this marriage, I'll do more than merely exist within it. I'll find those spaces my mother mentioned—the moments and opportunities to be more than just a survivor.

Starting today.