Page 1 of Savage Vows

CHAPTER ONE

Matteo

February

Las Vegas

“We found her, sir.”

About fucking time.

I’ve spent months searching for my elusive intended bride—a woman who doesn’t want me anymore than I want her.

Struggling not to betray any emotion, I nod at my lieutenant, Nash Callahan. Immediately he takes a step back and exits the room.

Moments before, he broke Mafia protocol by interrupting the Four Corners Alliance meeting between the heads of the biggest families in the area.

For the last two days, the heads of four powerful families—the DeLucas, Russos, Bertonis, and Morettis—have been gathered to discuss new alliances and cement family ties. All of it had been going smoothly until Nash barged in.

Aware of all eyes on me, I take a slow breath and acknowledge the room, all of them watching with varying degrees of interest and distrust.

The power dynamics in this room are fragile, and one wrong word could shatter everything my father has attempted to build.

I glance across the table at Vittorio DeLuca, head of his family.

He meets my gaze. After all, he has as much at stake here as I do.

I offer a short nod, letting him know this is about his daughter—my future wife.

A few months ago, my father and DeLuca brokered a marriage agreement between me and Alessia.

The moment her father informed her, she refused, and the next day, she ghosted all of us. She’s refused all my attempts to communicate.

Last week, her father issued her an ultimatum: return to the United States within seventy-two hours or face the consequences.

Since that moment, she has sent every one of his calls to voicemail, and she has ignored his texts and other messages.

As her future husband, my duty is to deliver the consequences she’s earned. Of course, I have her father’s blessing.

Because of the annoyance she’s put us all through, I can guarantee she won’t like them.

Aware of the tension snapping through the room, I steeple my hands and turn my gaze to my father, Don Raffaele Moretti, who sits at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair, comfortably in control. “Pardon the interruption,” I say.

“See it doesn’t happen again.” Though my father gives a subtle nod, the tension doesn’t diminish.

Not that I expected it to.

All the families represented are accustomed to being in control, and they like it that way.

“You were saying,” my father prompts the head of the Bertoni family.

As conversation resumes, I once again look at the DeLuca boss.

His gaze is narrow, and he inhales a slow breath. The man is calculating and smart, traits my father admires.

Our family controls most of the port traffic near Houston and to the east, while the DeLucas operate around New Orleans and slightly west.

Joining forces would mean our two families would control an entire section of the Gulf Coast. Dealing with government officials is a full-time job, and pirates have become a problem. A show of strength would protect our interests well into the future.

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