Page 11 of One Savage Union

This isn’t random.

This was planned.

That’s my last conscious thought before I feel a prick behind my ear, and darkness drowns me again.

3

ROCCO

Lucia Asare Ricci is in my home.

Bound and safe in my basement.

I’ve never slept better.

She doesn’t know me—not yet.

But I know enough to unravel her. Enough to manipulate the fragile edges of her identity and twist them until she has no choice but to lean on me for truth.

That’s the power of information—and I hold the most explosive piece of all. I know what her father is capable of, and she doesn’t.

When I saw the blood-redRstamped on the envelope that hit the floor when she was taken, my heart damn near stopped.

I didn’t send that note. Which means Leo did.

He found her.

I arrived just in time.

Now she’s under my roof, and the game has changed. She might suspect who she is. But she has no idea what that truly means. And I know what her blood is worth down to the penny.

In my world, blood isn’t just thicker than water. It’s a weapon. A debt. A declaration of war.

Lucia Ricci is no longer an innocent bystander. She’s a pawn in a centuries-old vendetta.

Her blood will either soak the floor beneath her or sanctify the sheets of our matrimonial bed.

The choice is hers.

But the victory will be mine.

She’s my recompense. My revenge. My reward. And when the time is right, I’ll destroy the man who ruined my family… by claiming the one thing he never thought he’d lose.

His daughter.

When my trusted enforcer Mario carried her into the basement, cradled in his arms, I growled in frustration. I sent him to New York to retrieve her; it was too dangerous for me to chance being seen in Ricci’s city again so soon.

But he should have called me to the car to retrieve her myself. I may not want a wife, but she’s still mine.

No one else—not even Mario—touches what belongs to me from this day forward.

I snatched her from him, staring down at my prize. Her soft skin and shallow breaths stirred something primal. She was utterly at my mercy. From then on, I knew no one else could be trusted near her.

Lucia Ricci will depend on me for everything: food, safety, information, and—eventually—pleasure. Ours will be the kind of marriage I can tolerate: one I control completely.

One that will keep her safe.

I’m sitting at my desk, watching her through the live feed installed in the basement. The cameras were Enzo’s idea—high resolution, night vision, the works. I’ve never needed a live feed for that part of my house; my basement isn’t a prison. It’s whereI dole out punishments of the pleasurable kind, where women beg for what I can give them.

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