Page 7 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Vito Rosso

Half a million dollars in weapons, gone. This feels personal. There has to be a leak in the organization.

I stand at the edge of the dock, the cold wind slicing through the collar of my suit. My fingers twitch with that ever-present need for control—a constant, gnawing hunger. This wasn't random chance.

Beside me, my younger brother Rafa stands with his usual frown, posture rigid like he's physically holding something back.

Rafa's a solid underboss—good with logistics, decent enough in a fight.

But he's still too soft. He believes there's some balance in the world, some lines you don't cross.

Too much of reality's bullshit still gets to him.

In our world, that kind of softness isn't just a weakness—it's a death sentence.

Something he stubbornly refuses to understand.

"It's fucking ten in the morning and cold. Give me an update," I say, not bothering to mask my irritation.

"The shipment is gone," Rafa states, as if I might have missed that crucial detail.

"I fucking know that. I want an update."

"Someone is declaring war." Marco Conti appears by my side, his imposing 6'4" frame drawing attention even in silence.

His dark hair is styled meticulously - longer on top with the sides cut short, accentuating his sharp jawline covered with a carefully maintained scruff.

When he speaks, his striking green eyes narrow with intensity, the tanned skin around them crinkling slightly.

His presence commands respect without effort. I trust him implicitly.

A declaration of war. Someone making a statement with the balls to do it right under my nose.

I designed our operations so shit like this couldn't happen.

Information is compartmentalized—no single person knows everything.

It had to be an inside man. And I can't help wondering if The Commission itself is the traitor.

The Commission. Founded in 1923 by my grandfather, Francesco Rosso, to bring order to the families.

A ruling committee with the power to approve a new boss before he could officially take over.

Since its creation, all Chairmenanships have been Rosso Dons—my grandfather, my father, and now me.

The Chairman wields ultimate power. It's why Tommaso was planning a coup, lobbying for my position right up until the moment I put a bullet in him.

I turn to Marco, the tension in my chest tightening into something dangerous. "Who do you think is behind this? Do you think this was an inside job?"

"It had to be Tomasso before you murdered him. His followers are sending a message. They don't just want to hurt La Famiglia , Vito. They want to overthrow you and take your place as Chairman."

"It can't be. He wasn't high enough to know the details."

"Are you thinking The Commission is behind this?" Rafa asks, his voice low.

"That is a dangerous thought for all of us," Marco adds quickly.

My fists clench at my sides. I feel my anger twist inside me like a coil ready to snap.

But I keep it in check. The worst move would be rushing in blind.

If the Commission is involved, this won't be an easy takedown.

Many men who hold seats weren't happy when I took over. My father died suddenly, and before they could step in, I seized the reins. But I was young then. It took me time to gain the loyalty I have now, but it’s never secured.

Before I can speak again, my phone buzzes. I don't need to check the screen to know it's Dante. I answer without hesitation, already bracing for whatever fresh hell awaits.

"Don," Dante's voice crackles through the speaker, tight and anxious. "It's Rina. She's tearing papers on your desk. She's gone fucking mad in your office, and I can't do a damn thing about it. You said?—"

"What?" My voice drops colder than the wind, my blood beginning to boil under the fury already simmering beneath my skin. "She's doing what?"

"I can't stop her. You told me I couldn't touch her, and it's about the only thing I can do to stop her from destroying all the documents in your whole fucking office."

I run a hand through my hair, the tension in my body ratcheting higher.

This isn't the kind of problem I need right now.

It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, and she's already testing my patience.

I don't need Rina throwing a tantrum while half a million in weapons is missing.

Somehow, she knows exactly how to push my buttons and make me feel like I'm losing control.

"Get her under control, or I swear to God, you won't take another breath," I snarl, my voice low but laced with a deadly edge.

"But—" he starts.

"You have one hundred and fifty pounds on her. I don't care if you have to tie her up. Don't let her tear another fucking sheet, or it's your fucking head." I shove the phone into my suit jacket. I turn back to Rafa and Marco, who are watching me with carefully neutral expressions.

"You can't let her bait you," Marco says, his tone steady, almost too reasonable. "The docks are a bigger issue right now. We can't afford distractions."

Marco's right. I've got bigger fish to fry. I grit my teeth, staring out at the empty containers. Half a million dollars missing. I can't let Rina's defiance pull me off track.

"We need to deal with who took the shipment," he says.

"What do you want to do?" Rafa asks.

"That's a fucking stupid question,” I snap. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

"I know that you want to know who took the shipment," Rafa says, unfazed by my outburst. "My question is, how do you want to go about it? People are already on edge. It will be open season if they think someone could steal from us."

"Rafa is right," Marco adds. "We need a carefully crafted plan to investigate."

"Who knew about the shipment?"

"Just Rafa and me," Marco answers.

"Did The Commission know?"

"No."

"Good. Get a list of names from the sender and everyone who has worked here for the last six months. Make it a year. I want to know everyone's financials. Weapons don't just walk themselves out off the pier. I also want ears on the ground to see if anyone has purchased the weapons."

"What do you want me to do?" Rafa asks.

I face him, meeting his eyes directly. "Stay out of this one. You're not ready for what's coming next."

Rafa doesn't argue. He nods, his brow furrowed in concern. But I don't need him getting mixed up in this. He isn't ready for the darkness I'm about to unleash.

"You know, we could use him. He is good with financials," Marco says the moment Rafa leaves.

"You saw it. There was hesitation in his eyes. I know this is not the life he wants for himself. For now, I want him as far away as possible. Because if my enemies succeed, he will take my place."

"I would think that is reason enough to keep him here. He has to learn how to run the business if you are absent."

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. "I've given you my order. Rafa is to stay away until I say otherwise."

"Understood," he says.

My cell phone buzzes before I can take a step toward the warehouse. I glance at the screen. Dante again. I'm annoyed. He's my fucking enforcer. If he can't handle Rina, then what good is he to me?

"How hard could it be to fucking control her?" I mutter before I can stop myself.

"What?" Marco asks.

"Nothing."

"I guess your guest isn't the best guestbehaving," he says with a knowing smirk.

"Back to business," I snap.

He laughs. We turn and make our way into the warehouse where the guns were supposed to be.

"Chicago is expecting the shipment. What do you want to do?"

The air inside the warehouse smells of metal and dust—a complex bouquet of gunpowder and the acrid scent of uncut cocaine. It's a place of business, a place of secrets—and today, it will hold a new one.

I don't need to look closely to know what we have in stock.

The inventory is counted daily for quality assurance.

Knowing our exact supply of weapons and drugs is essential.

Typically, I keep only the minimum necessary for emergencies.

The last thing I need is a raid where law enforcement seizes the inventory.

That's a quick way to build a case. We need to move a quarter million dollars of product to fulfill Chicago's urgent order, and I'm not sure the warehouse can deliver.

I stop in front of a large crate marked with a simple number.

"If we don't move fast, they'll start questioning you. Chicago doesn't like to wait," Marco says.

I turn to the men and women working, watching them move with the fluidity of a well-oiled machine. They're all loyal. But loyalty means nothing in the face of betrayal. Marco clears his throat and takes another step closer, sensing my distraction.

"We have to find the leak. Do you have a plan?"

"First, ship everything we have to Chicago. Then, investigate to determine who is the leak. Someone had to see something."

"I'll get a list of names and begin the questioning tomorrow."

"Today. I want a list in two hours."

"I'm not a magician, Vito. Two hours isn't enough time."

"Figure it out. I'm returning to the penthouse. I want everything packed and shipped before you leave the warehouse today."

"I'll try my best."

"I don't want excuses."

"Don't get distracted by Rina. I have a feeling whatever Dante called you about is only the beginning of what she is capable of."

"I don't pay you to be my therapist," I say coldly.

"I'm your right hand. It's my job to tell you what you don't want to hear. Taking Rina wasn't your finest moment. She’s a wildcard."

I don't bother to answer and turn toward the exit.

My mind is already on the woman who has occupied my thoughts since I planned to murder Tomasso.

Taking her was impulsive, I'll admit that much to myself.

Even with the pressure from the Commission, I could have kept her at the Greenhouse with her mother and sister.

But, for some stranger reason, I invited her into my home, into my life.

As I walk out of the warehouse, the cool air hits my face again. I'm not just thinking about filling Chicago's order, or who stole the shipment, or how I'll make the traitor pay.

I'm thinking about those sapphire eyes—a dangerous distraction I can't seem to shake.