Page 8 of Savage Union (Rosso Mafia #1)

Rina

The afternoon stretches into evening as I sprawl on the living room sofa, flipping through channels on Vito's ridiculously large television.

After my little adventure in his office, I'd carefully closed the door and returned to more visible areas of the penthouse, acting as if nothing had happened.

Dante had given me suspicious looks all day, but he hadn't said anything.

I settle on some mindless reality show, my feet tucked under me, feigning relaxation while my mind races. Part of me expects sirens, security guards, some immediate consequence for my rebellion. But hours have passed in unsettling quiet.

"Hungry?" Dante asks, appearing from the kitchen with a sandwich.

"Not really."

He shrugs, taking a bite. "Suit yourself."

The elevator dings unexpectedly, and we both freeze.

Dante's face confirms my suspicion before the doors even open. He knew. The bastard called Vito.

"You traitor," I hiss, just as Vito emerges from the elevator, his expression carved from ice.

Dante ignores me, setting down his sandwich and straightening to attention. "Boss. Didn't expect you back so soon."

Vito doesn't look at him, his eyes locked on me with the intensity of a predator. "Plans changed." His voice is flat, controlled, betraying nothing of the rage I'm sure simmers beneath.

Vito finally breaks his stare, glancing at Dante. "My office. Is it as you described?"

Dante shifts uncomfortably. "Yes, sir."

Vito nods once, then returns his attention to me. "Come."

It's not a request. It's not even really a command. It's simply an expectation of absolute obedience. I consider refusing, just to see what he'll do, but something in his eyes tells me I've already pushed my luck beyond its breaking point.

I rise slowly, deliberately casual, and follow him down the hallway. Dante trails behind us, his footsteps nearly silent on the marble floor.

When we reach Vito's office door, he pauses, hand on the knob. "Open it," he tells me.

I reach past him, our arms brushing momentarily, and turn the handle. The door swings open to reveal the chaos I created hours earlier.

Shredded papers litter the floor like confetti, the empty bin knocked on its side.

Desk drawers remain partially open, their contents disturbed.

Documents that escaped the shredder are scattered across surfaces, their careful organization destroyed.

It looks like a particularly destructive party bomb went off in the middle of Vito's meticulously ordered world.

Seeing the aftermath in the harsh light of evening, with Vito standing beside me, the childishness of my rebellion hits me full force. Still, I lift my chin, refusing to show remorse.

"Explanation," Vito says, the single word falling between us like a gauntlet.

"I got bored." I shrug, aiming for nonchalance.

"Dante," Vito says without taking his eyes off me, "tell me exactly what happened."

Dante clears his throat. "I received a call around 4:20. When I finished, I noticed she wasn't in her room. I found the office door unlocked and her...in the process."

"I see." Vito's eyes never leave my face. "Dante, you're dismissed. I'll deal with this situation myself."

Dante hesitates, glancing between us. "Boss, I should have?—"

"We'll discuss your failure later," Vito cuts him off. "For now, leave us."

Dante nods stiffly. "Yes, boss." He turns to go, then pauses, looking back at me. "Good luck, princess," he says quietly before slipping out.

The door closes with a soft click that echoes in the tense silence. Vito steps fully into the office, circling the destruction with measured steps, taking in the extent of my defiance.

"You've been busy," he finally says, his voice deceptively calm.

"Needed a project." I remain in the doorway, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. "Your penthouse is a bit lacking in entertainment options."

"So you decided to entertain yourself by breaking into my private office and destroying my property." He picks up a shredded document, examining the thin strips. "Did you have fun, Caterina?"

The use of my full name sends a warning shiver down my spine. "It passed the time."

He moves with startling speed, crossing the space between us before I can blink. He doesn't touch me, but his presence alone is enough to back me against the door.

"You think this is a game?" His voice drops lower. "These weren't just papers. They were legal documents, financial records, confidential information that keeps my business—and the people who work for me—protected."

"Maybe you should have better security," I counter, forcing bravado I don't feel.

"The only reason you got in is because I didn't think I needed protection from you." His eyes narrow. "A mistake I won't make again."

"You can't trust anyone in your world, can you, Vito?" I push back, literally and figuratively, moving away from the door. "Not even your forced bride."

"Especially not my forced bride, it seems." He doesn't step back, maintaining the uncomfortable proximity. "You can't hurt me, you know. Not like this. You're only creating problems for yourself."

"You can't hurt me either," I say, grasping at my only leverage. "I know why you need this marriage. The retired Don—Giuseppe—his capos demanded it to quell an uprising from those still loyal to the Gallos. You need me alive and compliant."

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, that I've figured this out. "Who told you that?"

"No one had to tell me. I'm not stupid." I take a calculated risk. "I overheard things at my father's restaurant."

Vito's lips curve into a cold smile. "You're partially right. The marriage is political—a way to unite factions and prevent bloodshed." He steps even closer, his breath warm against my face. "But you're wrong about one crucial detail."

"Which is?"

"I can't kill you, true." His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my upper arm. "But there are many, many ways to punish disobedience that don't involve death."

The threat hangs between us, clear as crystal. My pulse races, but I refuse to show fear. "Do your worst."

His laugh is soft and without humor. "Oh, bambola . You have no idea what my worst looks like." He releases me with a small push. "Clean this up."

I blink, confused by the sudden command. "What?"

He gestures to the shredded papers. "You made this mess. You'll clean it up."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then your punishment will be... creative." The word carries layers of meaning, none of them pleasant.

I consider my options, which are limited. "Fine."

I move to the center of the room, kneeling to begin gathering the scattered strips of paper. The task feels impossible and humiliating, made worse by Vito's unwavering gaze as he settles into his desk chair to watch me.

"All of it," he says. "Every strip."

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, my knees aching against the hard floor as I sort through the chaos I created.

"Why did you really do it?" he asks suddenly.

I look up, surprised by the question. "What?"

"This act of rebellion. Was it just to defy me? Or something more?"

The unexpected insight in the question catches me off guard. "I wanted..."

"Control," he finishes for me. "You wanted to take back some control in a situation where you have none."

I return to sorting paper, uncomfortable with his accuracy. "Don't psychoanalyze me."

"I understand the impulse better than you think." His voice carries no anger now, just cool assessment. "But there are consequences for crossing lines."

"Like being forced to marry a monster?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

In an instant, he's on his feet, towering over me. "You think I'm a monster? You have no idea what real monsters look like, bambola ." He crouches down, bringing his face level with mine. "Your father was selling girls barely older than your sister to traffickers. Did you know that?"

The accusation hits like a physical blow. "You're lying."

"Am I?" His eyes bore into mine. "Ask your mother when you see her again. Ask her why she was so afraid of him, why she never left despite the beatings."

My throat tightens. "Stop it."

"The great Tomasso Gallo—wife beater, child trafficker, and would-be usurper." Vito's voice is soft but relentless. "The man was planning to kill me and take control of operations he couldn't possibly maintain, which would have started a war that would have killed hundreds, including innocents."

"I don't believe you." But a treacherous part of me does. I'd seen the bruises on my mother, heard the cruel things my father said to her. Was it really such a stretch to believe he was capable of worse?

"Believe what you want." Vito stands, straightening his cuffs. "But don't ever call me a monster when you don't know the truth."

I continue sorting paper, mind racing with this new information. Could it be true? I'd been planning my own escape. I just didn't know how low my father would sink.

After another twenty minutes of silent, backbreaking work, Vito speaks again. "That's enough. Stand up."

I rise slowly, wincing as my knees protest. "I'm not finished."

"No, you're not. But this punishment isn't sufficient." His expression is unreadable. "Come here."

Fear trickles down my spine, but I force myself to move toward him. "What are you going to do?"

"What needs to be done." He turns and walks to the large desk, then points to its edge. "Bend over."

My eyes widen. "What? No!"

"Bend over the desk, Caterina." His voice is quiet but carries an unmistakable threat. "Or I make a call, and your sister becomes a ward of the state. Your mother too."

"You can't do that."

"I can do anything I want." He says it as simple fact, not boasting. "Your choice."

Fury and humiliation burn through me, but I think of Sofia—so young, so vulnerable. I take a shaky breath and move to the desk.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter, placing my hands on the cool mahogany surface.