Page 39 of One Savage Union

Lucia is my wife, but she’s just a means to an end. I can’t afford to fall in love or have any distractions from my family’s ascension. She’s only a pawn—hopefully, an obedient one.

It’s time for another lesson in submission.

Her total surrender is the only way we both survive.

13

LUCIA

Am I Rocco’s wife… or hostage?

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two.

I should be plotting my escape and making plans. Resisting the pull of the man who drugged me, spanked me, and ripped me away from everything I’ve ever known.

But here I am—wrapped in luxury, breathing in his cologne, and wondering how it’s possible to hate someone so much and still want them every time they walk into the room.

Rocco Fieri is not a hero.

He’s a captor with a code.

A savage wrapped in silk, and I hate how safe I feel near him.

Yes, he’s kept me alive. Yes, he’s given me a taste of what it’s like to be truly claimed—body and soul—and I can’t forget that one devastating orgasm that nearly rewired my entire nervous system. But that’s not reason enough to surrender. Right?

And yet… if I run, where the hell would I go?

Leo’s still out there, hunting me like I’m his favorite toy that got stolen. And now, thanks to some twisted Mafia inheritanceI never asked for, I’m the viral sensation of the criminal underworld. According to what I overheard from Rocco’s phone calls—yes, I was awake—my name is bouncing across the dark web like a damn bidding war. I’m not just Ricci’s daughter anymore. I’m currency. Leverage. A trophy with a price tag in blood.

So, no. I’m not safe.

Not in this house.

Not in my skin.

Not even in my head.

Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend my father will show up, guns blazing, to rescue me. It’s a nice fantasy. Matteo Ricci is powerful enough. Respected enough. But the truth? He’s known about me for twenty-four years and did precisely nothing.

No birthday calls.

No secret meetings.

Not even a single, fucking postcard.

When I was eight, there was a father-daughter dance at school. I asked my mom why I didn’t have a dad. She smiled, as if her heart was breaking, and told me he was lost to the wind. I thought that meant he was dead.

He isn’t. He’s just… absent. By choice.

My mom, on the other hand? Sheshowed up. She found a kind doctor, Dr. Norris, who escorted me to that dance. And everyone after. He held my hand like it mattered. Like I mattered.

He died of a heart attack eight years ago, and I haven’t thought about a father figure since.

So no, I don’t believe Matteo Ricci is coming for me.

Not now. Not ever.

And that leaves me with exactly one option:

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