Page 44 of One Savage Union

Every sensual flick of her wrist. Every swell of emotion in her face as she played Verdi like shemeantit. Like she was translating everything I made her feel into music. Lust, defiance, surrender—woven into sound.

And now, while Ricci threatens war, all I can think about is how she looked—barefoot, wrecked, radiant—making music like it was her weapon and her offering all at once.

I should be buried between her thighs right now. I should be dragging her through a hike up the Path of the Gods, feeding her fresh figs and fucking her in a shepherd’s cabin I had cleared out for the sole purpose of wrecking her soul.

Instead, I’m in Rome, babysitting a bastard who abandoned his daughter for twenty-four years and now has the nerve to pretend he's coming to save her.

He’s too late.

Lucia belongs to me now.

She doesn’t know where I am. I didn’t leave a note. Didn’t say goodbye.

She thinks I disappeared to clear my head.

What she doesn’t know is I came here to remind her father—and the rest of the goddamn world—that she’s no longer his to lose.

“She’s not yours to take,” I say flatly, finally cutting him off. “And she sure as fuck isn’t yours to rescue.”

Matteo lunges forward, slamming his fists on the desk between us. I don’t flinch.

Four of his soldiers, packing concealed but heavy artillery, are at his back. I have the same protection. His soldiers are bigger, but mine are more vicious. I could cut the tension in the room with the Sebenza 25 blade strapped to my ankle. I know that one wrong move from any side will incite a bloodbath, so I must handle Matteo’s anger and bruised ego with care.

After all, we’re family now.

I exhale as he calls me one type of motherfucker after another. I regret that my current environment is a far cry from the comfort and peace of my coastal home.

That’s why I don’t have time for this shit. Matteo Ricci’s rant has lasted five minutes too long, and I’m tired of the old man. He’s so amped up that I haven’t said a word, even though my patience wears thin.

Ricci is ruffled because he has no control over his situation, not because he’s worried about Lucia.

He’s a man known for his unwavering control, calm commands, and cool demeanor. Matteo Ricci orders a kill with the nod of his head.

His enemies often receive bullets with their names on them twenty-four hours before he kills them.

He’s a monster who sat and enjoyed an entire Christmas meal, drinks included, with eight men he knew betrayed him without blinking an eye. When Matteo gave the last toast:Alla salute, which literally means to health, he immediately began to methodically kill every single man at the table with his infamous platinum handled AK-47, namedgiustiziaor justice.

As the story goes, he cackled after the bloodshed, poured himself a drink, and mutteredto my continued health.

His emotions rarely, if ever, come to the surface, and the most common way people describe him is that he is ice cold.

Tonight, I need to get him in line. We’re in the office of my Rome penthouse in the center of Prati. It was built at the start of the 19th century, and it’s one of the most affluent places in Rome. It’s beautiful and the streets house some of my favorite luxuries, such as Brugnoli shoes. I may bring Lucia here one day if she’s a good girl, but the truth is I’m rarely here. The home is more than just an essential real estate investment. It’s perfect for a meeting like this.

The bastard hasn’t taken one step towards Lucia in her entire life. Before the kidnapping of his daughter, he could pretend she wasn’t valuable.

I knew better.

Men like Ricci and my uncle only care about two things: money and family. When Enzo discovered he had been placing money in her account since the day she was born, I knew I had Ricci by the balls. He always intended to collect on his investment. Beautiful women from our bloodlines can be bought for a hefty price and an invaluable alliance.

Now that he knows she could be in real danger, he’s prepared to move heaven and earth.

Or kill me…

That’s right where I want him.

If he kills me, he will have no way of getting to his daughter. Lucia and I’ve been in Amalfi for a little over a week, but I’ve scrambled every cell phone signal, and I’ve concealed my location from most maps. The only people who know my whereabouts are my pilot, my uncle, Enzo, and Mario. Ricci is up shit’s creek, and he knows it.

That’s why I don’t mind waiting a few moments longer while he accepts the inevitability of his situation.

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