Page 13 of One Savage Union

“It’s more than that,” he says, his tone low and dangerous. “I can see it in your eyes. She’s already starting to get under your skin.”

“That’s not true,” I snap, sharper than intended.

Thomasso tilts slightly, and the faintest grin pulls at the corner of his mouth—not out of amusement, but a warning. “Lying to me, Rocco, is a mistake. I taught you better.”

I give my uncle a tight yes, sir, while Mario tries to contain his laughter.

My uncle doesn't seem to notice anything Mario is doing because his attention is laser-focused on me. "This is why you should fuck more whores Rocco. All you do is work. When I need you on your "A" game, some unconscious woman is already leading you around by your cock. Be careful."

Mario's large 6'5 “frame shakes in amusement. He is a big guy, even bigger than me. My 6’3” frame intimidated everyone when I arrived in the States, but not Mario. My uncle’s favorite soldier, Michael “Mickey” Bianchi, and his wife, Beth, adoptedhim as an infant. They wanted more children, and Beth couldn't have any more after Enzo. They didn't care that Mario was Black.

When I arrived in Chicago, he took me under his wing. He knew what it felt like to be an orphan. He never knew his biological parents, but in his mind, they may as well be dead. No one in the organization gives him shit about his roots because Mickey and Enzo would blow their heads off before my uncle and I burned the body.

Mario is one of the few people not afraid to tell me when I'm full of shit. He knows I'll lay his ass out if he goes too far, so he never does...especially not in front of others. No matter how much I love him, I outrank him. In our world, that shit matters. After a quiet fit of laughter, he gathers himself and walks over to slap me on the back.

"Uncle Thomasso, don't worry. Rocco is the ultimate bachelor. He never stays with any woman long enough for her to come twice, let alone spend the night. So much so that I wondered how he had arrived at the idea of marriage with a woman he barely knew. "

My uncle chuckles while helping himself to a glass of whiskey at my bar. “He didn’t come up with the idea; I did.”

He steps closer, leaning over my desk, his hands pressing into the wood. The room feels smaller under his scrutiny, his presence like a noose tightening around my neck.

“She is the key to bringing Matteo Ricci to his knees,” he says, calm but laced with steel. “Nothing more. Don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s special.”

“I won’t,” I say firmly, my tone clipped.

He studies me for a long, tense moment, his dark eyes probing, searching for cracks in my resolve. I don’t flinch. he knocks back the rest of his drink before removing his gaze.

“Good,” he finally says, straightening and adjusting the cuff of his tailored jacket. “Because love clouds judgment. And your judgment, Rocco, needs to be flawless.”

He turns toward the door but stops halfway, his gaze returning to the monitor. Lucia is rubbing her throat, her face is pale, and her movements are cautious. Thomasso watches her for a beat longer than necessary before speaking again.

“She’s pretty; I’ll give her that,” he says quietly. “But pretty things have a way of becoming dangerous distractions. Don’t let her be yours.”

Without another word, he strides out, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the room heavy with his presence.

I lean back in my chair, his warning echoing in my mind—dangerous distractions. Pretty things. My eyes drift back to the monitor, to Lucia’s full but fragile frame as she lies back down, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Mario slouches into the leather couch, shaking his head. “Why her? She’s Ricci’s daughter. Why not strengthen alliances with a friendly family?”

“Because we don’t leave enemies standing,” I say simply. “Matteo Ricci cares about her. That makes her valuable. Leonardo saw it, too. He planned to marry her to control Ricci.”

Mario exhales sharply, finally grasping the stakes. “And Leo wants to kill Thomasso. He would have undoubtedly used Ricci to do it.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Leo’s ambitions know no bounds. But I beat him to her, and now she’s mine.”

Mario leans back, his expression grim. “And what will you tell her when you finally meet your soon-to-be wife face to face?”

“Whatever I need to,” I reply, grabbing the red Cartier box from my desk—the pear-cut solitaire gleams in the light. It’s perfect, just like her.

Mario shakes his head, smirking. “Good luck, Roc. You’ll need it.”

I straighten my tie, ignoring him, and head for the door.

Time to meet my bride.

4

LUCIA

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