Page 57 of Savage Vows

I sit forward, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. The alliance—a delicate balance of power between the Morettis, DeLucas, Russos, and Bertonis—is precarious. Any sign of weakness invites exploitation.

“What’s their endgame?” I ask, my voice calm despite the heat building in my chest.

“They’re probing for opportunities,” Nico replies. “If we let this slide, it sets a dangerous precedent.”

My father’s lips press into a thin line. “Nico, make it clear we see what they’re doing. Subtle, but firm. Matteo, I want you to monitor the situation closely. If they take another step over the line, you’ll handle it. Quietly.”

I nod. “Understood.”

“Good.” My father’s gaze settles on me, weighted with expectation. “And Matteo, a measured hand serves us better than an impulsive one.”

Is his caution about business? Or is he including my personal life in his warning?

Our discussion complete, I take my leave.

The Moretti holdings are vast, and as CEO of our businesses, I like to be in the office early. But I never leave my parents’ house without seeing my mother, and I find her in the kitchen.

Ever since I can remember, mornings are filled with the aroma of fresh espresso that she makes on the stovetop, the old fashioned way. As always, there’s also a carafe of regular coffee.

She looks up as I enter, a knowing smile crossing her face. “Morning, Matteo.” Without asking if I want an espresso, she fills a demitasse cup and offers it to me.

Though we’ve always had housekeepers and a chef, my mother enjoys her time in the kitchen.

There’s a spread of food, including fruits, bacon, fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and pastries for my father’s sweet tooth. His eating habits are a source of friction between the two of them. She wants him to live a very long time, and she insists he’d be around much longer if he’d stay out of the treats.

After a health scare, she stopped buying junk food, so my father sent one of his soldiers to a local bakery. The man had all-but bought out the place.

Since she’s a realist, she knew it was a battle she couldn’t win, so she began to stock his favorites again, though she does her best to ensure he has them on occasion, instead of for every meal.

I look at the platter full of bacon. After the disagreement with Alessia, I left home without eating breakfast. I use a pair of tongs to transfer a cornetto onto a plate, aware that my mother is studying me.

“You’re troubled.”

“It’s business.” The lie feels hollow even to me. “The Russos.” My mother is very much aware of my father’s business dealings. She’s as much his advisor as myself or Nico.

She arches an eyebrow, so like my own expression that I almost smile. “Business doesn’t make you skip breakfast, my son.”

I sink onto one of the barstools, surrendering to her perception. “Alessia …” I begin, then stop, unsure how to continue. Our private business is just that. Ours.

“Is struggling,” she finishes for me. “As any woman would, having her life turned upside down.” She pauses. “You know my marriage to your father was arranged.”

Though I knew this, we’ve never discussed it.

“I wasn’t happy about it. I had grand plans for my life.” For a moment, she’s quiet, maybe lost in a memory. “But your father…” She breaks off and sighs softly, then she smiles. “He was patient. He courted me properly. Beneath all his power, he showed me genuine care.”

“This is different,” I protest. “It’s my duty?—”

“No, Matteo,” she cuts me off, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s so much more. I saw how you looked at her yesterday. And how she responds to you, even when she thinks she’s hiding it.”

Heat rises in my chest. I think of earlier—Alessia’s defiance melting into something else entirely when I touched her. “Love is a weakness I can’t afford.” The words taste bitter, memories of past pain threatening to surface.

“Then affection,” my mother suggests. “A genuine caring and partnership. She can be none of those things you desire—wife, mother, partner—if she’s not happy.”

No doubt she’s right.

I press my palms against the cool countertop, grounding myself. “She may never accept me or our life.” The same as Clara.

“Give her time.” My mother reaches across the counter and momentarily places her warm hand on mine, like she’s done to soothe me my entire life. “Talk to her. Find out what her reservations are about. There are things you may not know.”

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