Page 51 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Vito

Blood crusts beneath my fingernails as I examine my hands in the dim light of the town car. Not mine—Costello's, or perhaps the gunman's. The day has taken an unexpected turn, even for someone accustomed to violence erupting at a moment's notice.

The image of Caterina pushing me aside, her wedding dress billowing as a bullet passed through the space where my head had been moments before, replays in my mind. Her instinctive protection—not calculated, not strategic, but immediate and unhesitating—has unsettled something deep within me.

"Boss." Marco's voice draws my attention back to the present. He sits across from me, phone pressed to his ear, expression grim as he listens to the latest security updates.

"Status," I demand when he ends the call.

"Irish have retreated to their territory.

Heavy casualties on their side—the gunman took one in the chest, not expected to survive.

Two of Costello's lieutenants confirmed dead.

" Marco scrolls through his tablet, cataloguing the day's violence with clinical precision.

"Our losses minimal. Ronetti has a shoulder wound, Salvatore caught some glass from the window, nothing serious. "

"And Costello?"

"Still alive, based on blood trail and witness reports. Multiple gunshot wounds, condition unknown." Marco's expression darkens. "But we don't have positive ID on his current location. He's gone to ground."

I nod, unsurprised. Liam Costello is nothing if not resilient—a cockroach that refuses to die despite my best efforts. "We'll finish him later."

"The Commission is in emergency session," Marco continues. "Don Federico is attempting to contain the damage, but there's considerable... concern about today's revelations."

"Concern." I repeat the euphemism with a hint of dark amusement. "About my bride's prior entanglement with our Irish enemies."

"Yes." Marco hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "There are rumors the Commission has voted to withdraw their mandate for the marriage. In light of Ms. Gallo's... complicated loyalties."

The news should bring relief. The political necessity that first drove me to claim Caterina has evaporated, freeing me from an arrangement that has grown increasingly complicated.

I could release her now, send her and her family away with suitable compensation, wash my hands of the entire situation.

Yet the thought of Caterina leaving—of never again seeing that flash of defiance in her eyes, never again feeling her body yield to mine—it doesn't sit right.

"Do you want me to make arrangements?" Marco asks when I remain silent. "The ceremony was interrupted, no consummation has been registered with the Church. It could be handled discreetly."

"No."

The single word emerges with more force than intended. Marco's eyebrows rise slightly, but he knows better than to question my decisions.

"As you wish, boss." His neutral tone masks whatever thoughts lie beneath. "What about the... remainder of the wedding ceremonies? Father Alessandro is understandably reluctant to proceed after today's events."

"I'll handle it," I state with finality. "Ensure the penthouse is secure. Triple the normal detail until further notice."

Marco nods, recognizing the end of the discussion. We ride in silence for the remainder of the journey, his fingers moving rapidly over his tablet as he coordinates security, while my thoughts return repeatedly to the woman waiting at the penthouse.

The woman who saved my life.

The question that keeps circling through my mind, unanswered and increasingly urgent: Why? Why would she protect me after everything that's happened between us? After the revelations of last night, the cold silence this morning, the public humiliation at the cathedral?

The car slows as we approach the penthouse building, security teams visibly reinforced around the perimeter. Marco exits first, scanning the surroundings before nodding that it's clear for me to follow.

The elevator ride is brief, silence stretching between us until Marco speaks as the doors begin to open.

"Ms. Gallo did save your life today," he observes quietly. "Whatever her past arrangements, her actions in the moment were... significant."

I meet his gaze, acknowledging the weight of his observation with a slight nod before stepping into the penthouse foyer.

Dante waits by the security monitors, his usual irreverent demeanor subdued. He straightens as I enter, exchanging a brief nod with Marco who moves past him to check the security feeds.

"Boss," Dante acknowledges. "Perimeter is secure. Three teams maintaining surveillance, rotations set for the night."

"Rina?" I inquire, removing my bloodstained jacket.

Dante's expression turns careful. "In the master bedroom. She's been pretty upset since we got back. Cried for hours. Wouldn't change out of the dress, wouldn't eat. Finally quieted down about an hour ago."

I nod, unsurprised by this report. The day's events would test anyone's composure, let alone a woman thrust into our world through violence and politics.

"How bad was it at the cathedral?" Dante asks, his concern genuine beneath the professional inquiry. "After we left?"

"Manageable." I don't elaborate on the bloodshed that followed Caterina's departure. "The Commission is... reconsidering their position on our marriage."

Understanding dawns in Dante's eyes. "So what happens now? With the princess?"

The question carries more weight than its simple phrasing suggests. What indeed happens to a woman caught between two powerful men, her loyalties publicly questioned, her position precarious?

"That remains to be determined," I answer, though my mind is already made up.

Dante studies me for a moment, then speaks with uncharacteristic frankness. "She took that bullet for you, boss. Or would have, if it had come to that. That means something."

"Does it?" I challenge, curious about his assessment.

"Yeah, it does." He meets my gaze without flinching. "She had her chance to let Costello or his enforcer take you out. Would've solved all her problems. Instead, she saved you without even thinking about it." He shrugs. "In our world, actions speak louder than words or vows."

The insight strikes closer to my own thoughts than I care to admit. "Noted."

As I move toward the bedroom, Dante adds, "One more thing, boss."

I pause, raising an eyebrow in question.

"She's stronger than she looks, but she's not made of stone." His voice drops. "Whatever you decide, remember she's been fighting her own war since long before you came along. Sometimes what looks like betrayal is just survival."

The assessment surprises me—not for its content, but for the protective tone underlying it. Dante has clearly developed respect for Caterina during his time guarding her.

"I'll take it from here," I tell him, dismissing him with a nod.

I approach the bedroom door and enter silently, eyes adjusting to the dimness. Caterina lies curled on her side, still wearing the white dress now stained with dried blood. Her hair has come loose from its elegant arrangement, dark strands spilling across the pillow.

The sight of her—vulnerable in sleep, yet still regal even in dishevelment—stirs something in me I've long denied exists. Something dangerously close to tenderness.

I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, studying her face. Despite her pretense of sleep, the tension in her shoulders betrays her wakefulness.

"You're awake," I state quietly.

Her eyes open, red-rimmed and swollen from crying. She doesn't bother denying it, simply meets my gaze with a directness that has always impressed me, even at her most defiant.

"Come to tell me it's over?" Her voice is hoarse, roughened by tears. "That I'm no longer useful to you now that the Commission knows about Liam?"

The bitterness in her tone doesn't mask the underlying fear. She expects rejection, abandonment—natural assumptions after the day's events.

"Why did you save me?" I ask instead, the question that's been burning in my mind since the cathedral.

She blinks, caught off guard by my directness. "What?"

"In the cathedral. The gunman was aiming at my back. You pushed me aside." I search her face for deception, for calculation, finding none. "Why?"

She pushes herself to sitting position. "I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"I didn't think about it," she admits, frustration edging into her voice. "I just... reacted. I saw the gun, saw where he was aiming, and moved."

"Instinct," I observe.

"Yes." She meets my gaze directly. "Apparently my instinct is to protect you, even when it makes no logical sense."

"The Commission has withdrawn their mandate for our marriage," I tell her, watching her reaction closely.

Surprise flickers across her features, followed by confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means there is no longer a political necessity for us to be married." I keep my tone neutral, revealing nothing of my own feelings on the matter. "Your connection to Costello has been deemed too problematic for an alliance."

Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by resignation. "So that's it? It's over?"

"Do you want it to be?"

The question hangs between us, genuine in a way few exchanges between us have been. Her confusion is evident as she searches my face for the trap, the angle, the hidden motivation behind my words.

"What I want has never mattered in any of this," she says finally.

"It matters now." I stand, moving away from the bed to give her space. "The Commission no longer requires our marriage. The political alliance it was meant to cement has been compromised by today's revelations."

She watches me warily, still trying to anticipate where this conversation leads. "And what about you? What do you require?"

The question deserves honesty, though honesty has never come easily to me. I turn to face her fully, abandoning the careful distance I've maintained since discovering her connection to Costello.