Page 53 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)
Rina
The small chapel glows with the soft light of dozens of candles, their flames casting dancing shadows across ancient stone walls. No grand cathedral this time, no audience of Commission members and capos—just a handful of people who matter, gathered in this intimate space.
My mother and Sofia sit in the front row, their expressions a mixture of concern and cautious hope.
Elena beside them, her skepticism barely concealed beneath a veneer of support.
On the other side, Marco stands with military precision, ever vigilant, while Dante offers me a subtle thumbs-up when he catches my eye.
And at the altar, waiting—Vito.
I pause at the entrance, taking in the scene.
The bloodstained wedding gown is gone, replaced by a simple ivory dress Vito had delivered to the penthouse while I showered away the tears and chaos of the day.
My hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, free of elaborate styling. No veil, no train, no pretense.
This isn't the wedding I expected. Not the one I dreamed of as a girl, certainly not the political spectacle planned for this morning. It's something else entirely—something real and fragile and terrifying in its sincerity.
Father Alessandro stands at the altar again, his earlier terror at the cathedral shooting replaced with nervous determination.
Guards are stationed outside, but they remain invisible from within this sanctuary.
For this moment, at least, we exist in a bubble separate from the violent world that brought us together.
Vito turns as I enter, and the look on his face steals my breath. Gone is the cold calculation, the controlled mask of Don Rosso. What remains is simply a man—a dangerous man, yes, but one who looks at me as if I've somehow become essential to his existence.
I walk forward alone. No one gives me away this time—I come to him by choice, each step deliberate and unhurried. The stone floor is cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the reality of this moment.
When I reach him, Vito extends his hand. I place mine in his, our fingers interlacing with a familiarity that should be impossible given the brevity and tumult of our relationship.
"You came," he says softly, just for me.
"I did," I confirm, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
Father Alessandro clears his throat, drawing our attention.
"We are gathered here to witness the union of Vittore Rosso and Caterina Gallo in holy matrimony," he begins, his tone more relaxed than during the cathedral ceremony.
"After the events of today, they have chosen to come before God and family to affirm their commitment to one another. "
The ritual proceeds with quiet dignity, none of the pomp of the morning's interrupted ceremony. When it comes time for the vows, Father Alessandro surprises us.
"I understand you wish to speak your own words rather than the traditional vows," he says, stepping back slightly.
Vito nods, then turns to face me fully, still holding my hands in his. The vulnerability in his expression is so unexpected, so contrary to everything I know of him, that I feel momentarily disoriented.
"Caterina," he begins, his voice low but steady. "When you came into my life, it was through violence and necessity. I claimed you as property, as a political arrangement, as a means to an end." He pauses, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of my hands. "I was wrong."
A small gasp escapes Elena—clearly not expecting such an admission from the feared Don Vittore.
"You have never been just an arrangement," Vito continues. "From the first moment you defied me, challenged me, showed me the fire that burns within you, you became something else entirely—something I never expected to find in this life."
His words flow with surprising eloquence, as if he's been composing them in his mind for longer than the brief hour since I accepted his proposal.
"I cannot promise you a peaceful life," he says with brutal honesty. "Our world is violent, dangerous, unpredictable. But I can promise you this: you will never again be treated as property. You will stand beside me as equal, as partner, as Donna in truth as well as title."
He takes a small breath, something almost like nervousness flickering across his features. "Today, when that bullet was meant for me, you acted without hesitation to protect me—a man who, by all rights, you should hate. That moment revealed more truth than any vow could ever capture."
His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I vow to be worthy of that protection. To respect your strength, to value your counsel, to honor your independence even as I keep you safe. I vow to be not just your husband in name, but your partner in all things, until death parts us."
The sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, leaves me momentarily speechless. This is not the cold, calculating Don speaking carefully crafted lines. This is Vito—the man beneath the title—offering me something I never expected: truth.
When I find my voice, the words come from somewhere deeper than conscious thought.
"Vito," I begin, surprised by the steadiness in my tone. "I came to you as a prisoner, defiant and angry, determined to hate you for what you took from me."
His expression doesn't change, accepting this harsh beginning without flinching.
"I didn't understand then what I was becoming part of—not just a political arrangement, but a new life, a new world, a new version of myself.
" I tighten my grip on his hands. "I've fought you at every turn, challenged your control, tested your limits.
And each time, you've surprised me by bending rather than breaking. "
A small smile touches his lips, acknowledgment of our many battles.
"Today, when I saw that gun aimed at you, I didn't think—I just moved.
Not out of calculation or strategy, but because in that moment, I couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt.
" The admission costs me, exposing a vulnerability I've tried desperately to deny.
"I still don't fully understand what that means, but I'm choosing to explore it, with you. "
I take a deep breath. "I vow to be honest with you, even when it's difficult.
To stand beside you, not behind you. To challenge you when needed and support you always.
I vow to be your wife, your partner, your equal—not because circumstances forced us together, but because I'm choosing this path, choosing you, with open eyes. "
Something shifts in Vito's expression—a softening around the eyes, a tension releasing in his jaw. For perhaps the first time since I've known him, the man before me is entirely present, entirely real.
"The rings," Father Alessandro prompts softly.
Marco steps forward, offering two simple platinum bands—not the ornate rings from this morning's ceremony, but something more understated, more meaningful in its simplicity.
Vito takes mine, then reaches for my left hand. The ring slides into place beside the one from the cathedral, a physical reminder of this second, truer ceremony.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he says, the traditional words carrying new weight after our personal vows.
I take the second ring and place it on his finger, repeating the same phrase. The metal is warm from being held in Marco's hand, warming further as I slide it home.
"By the power vested in me," Father Alessandro continues, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride," the priest concludes.
Vito's hands cup my face with surprising gentleness, his eyes asking a question that I answer by leaning forward.
Our lips meet—not in the perfunctory kiss of political alliance, but in something deeper, more genuine.
I feel myself softening against him, responding to the silent promise in his touch.
When we break apart, I'm startled to see something suspiciously bright in his eyes—moisture quickly blinked away, but unmistakably there. Emotion from the man who prides himself on control.
"Donna Rosso," he murmurs, the title transformed from brand to honor in his voice.
"Don Rosso," I reply, allowing a small smile to curve my lips.
He offers his arm, which I take without hesitation. As we turn to face our small gathering of witnesses, I'm struck by the expressions I see—my mother's cautious hope, Sofia's wide-eyed wonder, Elena's reluctant acknowledgment that perhaps this isn't the disaster she expected.
We walk back down the short aisle together, passing Marco's respectful nod and Dante's barely suppressed grin. At the chapel door, Vito pauses, glancing back at our family.
"Take them home safely," he instructs Marco. "We'll speak tomorrow."
"Of course, boss." Marco's formal response doesn't quite hide the warmth in his eyes.
Outside, a single car waits, no security convoy this time. Vito opens the door for me himself rather than delegating to a driver.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he slides in beside me.
"Somewhere safe," he answers, starting the engine. "Somewhere just for us."
As we drive away from the chapel, the city lights blurring into streams of gold against the night sky, I feel a strange lightness spreading through me.
Not happiness, exactly—it's too soon, too fragile for that.
But possibility, perhaps. The chance that this forced beginning might transform into something worth choosing, day after day.
I glance at Vito's profile, stern even in this moment of apparent peace. He remains dangerous, powerful, capable of terrible violence. But he is also the man who knelt before me, asking rather than demanding. The man who spoke vows that felt like truth.
My husband, by choice rather than coercion.
Whatever tomorrow brings—whatever vengeance the Irish may seek, whatever consequences await from the Commission's judgment—tonight belongs to us alone. And for now, that's enough.
The End.