Page 58 of Savage Vows

She’s right. Alessia and I haven’t had a lot of personal conversations. Maybe I should discover the secrets my wife-to-be is keeping.

Then wryly, my mother adds, “Not a lot of women like to be told what to do.”

Because I’ve done exactly that, I wince.

“She’s talented, intelligent,” my mother continues, picking up her cup. “She’ll find her place here, but only if you let her discover it for herself.”

The weight of her words settles over me. I think of Alessia in her studio, the passion in her eyes when she trailed her fingers over the supplies that Artemis told me to purchase.

And fuck…

The way she responded to me when I spanked her, fucked her, made love to her.

“Talk to her, Matteo. And listen. Truly listen. You’re like your father, thinking you know best.”

In this case, I see a bigger picture than Alessia does, everything that’s at stake.

My mother shakes her head, as if knowing what I’m thinking.

I reach for a knife and slice my pastry in half, adding some bacon and eggs to the inside. At least it’s healthier that way.

“Be patient,” she adds softly as I eat. “Let her know you care for her.”

My mother’s words are still echoing in my head long after I reach my office.

Later that day, I stand in the sleek confines of my office on the top floor of the Moretti-owned high-rise. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Houston, and the city sprawls beneath me like a living, breathing beast.

And much of its revenue belongs to us. If we have our way, we will make even greater inroads this year. The Four Corners Alliance agreement will protect the sources we already have, while the marriage to Alessia will cement our power along the coast.

A knock on the door makes me pivot.

Without waiting for a response, Nash enters.

I’ve been expecting him.

No one can get into my inner sanctum without an invitation.

“Boss.”

“The Russos have gotten too bold,” I say, my voice sharp as I move to my desk to review a dossier spread out there. Taking my seat, I ask, “What’s the latest on their movements?”

“They’ve pulled back from the ports temporarily,” Nash replies. “But it’s a smoke screen. They’re setting up a new supply chain farther south.”

My jaw ticks. Corpus Christi, maybe? They’re getting close to the Bertoni action. Bold move, one I should have anticipated. “Cut it off before it’s operational. Coordinate with Nico. I want eyes on every shipment.”

Nash inclines his head. “Understood.”

As soon as Nash leaves, my phone buzzes. I answer, my voice clipped. “Moretti.”

The man on the other end, a capo stationed in New Orleans, details a shipment delay that threatens our distribution timelines. My response is swift, precise, and uncompromising. By the time I hang up, the capo has his orders, and I’ve quelled another potential issue.

In the momentary quiet, thoughts of Alessia intrude again, unbidden and unwelcome.

I need to shove them aside.

But I don’t.Can’t.

I’m fucking becoming obsessed.

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