Page 16 of One Savage Union

He lifts his hand, and I flinch away, prepared for his hit. Instead, he grabs a lock of my hair and rubs the curl between his fingers as he speaks.

The gentle gesture throws me off balance.

"I see the need to explain the rules so that you won't dig yourself into deeper debt with my belt."

His belt. What the hell?

“Rule number one,” he says, his tone clipped and cold. “There will be no more cursing. It is disrespectful and unladylike. I will not tolerate it.”

I throw my head back and laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “How would you know anything about being a lady? You’re nothing but a monster in a suit.”

His hand moves in a blur, wrapping around my neck. The pressure isn’t enough to cut off my air, but it reminds me of his strength and control. His thumb brushes against my pulse, and I’m horrified to realize it’s racing.

“You think I’m a monster,” he murmurs, his gaze locking onto mine. “And perhaps I am. But you’ll find I’m not the worst in your orbit.”

His rough calluses scrape my delicate skin, contradicting his impeccably dressed and wealthy appearance. I recognize the $2,000 shoes on his feet—lessons from my time working in Neiman Marcus’s shoe department aren’t wasted.

Hard labor doesn’t buy that kind of luxury.

His grip on my neck is a warning, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me it could change at any moment. When my tears finally spill over, he drags a finger along my cheek, catching one. To my horror, he licks it off his fingertip, his eyes never leaving mine.

Then he leans in, close enough to kiss.

My breath quickens, adrenaline surging through me.

Two thoughts hit like bricks: This man is dangerous, and my panties are soaking wet.

“Lucia,” he says softly, his voice like velvet over steel, “you are indeed abambina cattiva, mypalla di fuoco. But disobedience will not be tolerated—a lesson you’ll learn tonight.”

He releases my neck, and I cough, sucking in air. The reprieve is short-lived. He clasps both sides of my jaw, forcing my focus onto him.

“You’re mine,” he states. “You became my possession the moment you were captured and brought here. Everything you thought you knew about your life is irrelevant now. Who youwere no longer exists. You’ll either accept your place by my side or die—not by my hands, but by the hands of the man who tried to take you first. Your obedience is the only thing keeping that precious Ricci blood flowing through your veins.”

What the hell is he talking about? Isn’t he the one who took me? Isn’t he the one who sent the note? Confusion knots my thoughts, and I decide to play along, for now.

I nod, and he lets go of my jaw.

I fall back, landing on my butt but never breaking eye contact. I’m owed an explanation, and he’s prepared to give it. Rising to his feet, he walks to the far corner, hands slipping into his pockets. Quietly, he studies me like a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“You, Lucia Ricci, are the only daughter of Don Matteo Ricci, head of the New York Mafia syndicate.”

I snort. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Don’t interrupt. I’d hate to add to your punishment.”

Punishment?

He steeples his fingers, his glare setting my skin ablaze. “Your father is rich and powerful—my family’s natural enemy. He rules New York and the East Coast. We control Chicago and the West Coast. Of course, both families dream of ruling it all.”

He tilts his head. “Are you following me,palla di fuoco?”

“Yes, I’m following. What ispalla…dee…fuck-oh? Are you cursing me? You know what? Fuck you! Let me out of here.”

Rocco throws his head back and laughs, the sound hoarse and throaty at first, then deep and rich. His entire face transforms, eyes crinkling as he holds his stomach. It’s unnerving how gorgeous he looks, how captivating he becomes in that moment. My thighs clench involuntarily.

But he’s still a ruthless kidnapper—a common criminal in fancy clothes. My mother may have been foolish enough to sleep with one, but I never will.

The laughter fades, and he focuses on me again. “No, Lucia. I don’t let such filth fall from my lips as you do. I would never curse you.Palla di fuocomeans ‘fireball.’”

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