Page 58 of One Savage Union

“I wish I could tell you I was just scared, or trying to protect you. But that would be a lie. I was an asshole. I didn’t trust you. I took you because my uncle ordered it. I married you because it made sense—for the sake of the family. For taking Leo down. You were leverage. Nothing more.”

He pauses, like the next part might choke him.

“But the second you walked into my basement, everything shifted. You mattered more than the mission, and I hated that. I hated how fast I wanted you, for more than strategy. So I tried to shut it down. Push you away. It didn’t work.”

I blink at him, stunned and silent for a beat.

“Why?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you hate that?”

He exhales slowly, eyes shadowed.

“Because when I was sixteen, I learned that wanting something that bad means watching it burn.”

There’s something haunted in his tone. I inch closer.

“What happened?”

“My father was weak,” he says. “He wasn’t a made man. Claimed he didn’t want a life in the Mafia, but he married my mother, Maria Romano. Thomasso’s youngest sister. That made escape impossible. My uncle never thought he was good enough for her, and my father resented him for it. It made him desperate for power, for approval. For any sign that he was more than what he was.”

Rocco’s jaw tightens.

“He slept around. Took comfort in whores that made him feel like a man. One of those women was the daughter of a Ricci soldier. A fucking spy. She gave Ricci the location of oursafe house. Matteo was young then, looking to make a name for himself. He had my parents killed. A message to my uncle.”

My hand covers my mouth. “Jesus, Rocco…”

“I was sixteen. I watched the fire from the sidewalk. My hands still smelled like piano keys. I never played again after that night. If my sainted mother, a gifted pianist herself, could no longer hear me-no, no one could.”

His voice dips, full of pain. “Thomasso took me in. Raised me with Leo and Luna. By seventeen, I was a made man. By twenty-one, a killer.”

“But you’re not just muscle,” I say, needing to understand more of him. “I’ve heard you talk. You’re... calculated. Educated.”

A small, bitter smile tugs at his lips.

“My uncle had a plan. He kept me off the streets. Made me finish school. Four years at Princeton. Three more at Harvard Law. While Leo beat men to prove he was tough, I was studying tax codes and zoning permits. I’ve beaten murder cases, negotiated labor contracts, and laundered millions in dirty money so clean it sparkles. I’m not just Consigliere—I’m the brain that keeps the Romano empire untouchable.”

“And yet,” I whisper, “you cook for me. You hold me when I’m scared. You play piano when no one’s watching.”

He flinches.

“I don’t play anymore.”

“But you do,” I say gently. “I heard you.”

His jaw clenches.

“It’s a weakness. And I don’t have room for weakness. Not when Leo’s building his army. Not when you’ve become the one thing I can’t afford to lose.”

I cross the room and stand in front of him, unsure what I’m doing. Uncertain what he’ll do.

“You’re not weak, Rocco. You’re just… human.”

He looks at me like no one ever dared say that to his face before.

“I buried my parents. I burned my past. I built a life on blood and fire. But you?”

He reaches out, his fingers barely brushing my cheek.

“You terrify me, Lucia. Because for the first time, I don’t want to win if it means losing something precious to me.”

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