Page 110 of Unholy Union
Cato’s posture is tenser than it’s been all night long, his hands shoved in his pants pockets. He looks like he’d rather he anywhere but inside this exhibit room with his father.
“There is no we’ll see,” Don Valente growls. “This wasyourplan, Cato. We’ve worked too hard at this for months for it not to go the way we want it. You sure you have her under control? You’re going to get her to vote the way we want?”
A cold shiver coils down my spine. I blink, unsure if I’ve heard right. Am I really the topic of discussion?
But then Cato speaks again, saying myname, and my stomach lurches.
“I’ve told you. I’ll broach the subject. But Sabrina’s her own person. She’ll vote how she wants to vote.”
Tessa grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin. I glance at her, finding the same wide-eyed shock on her face that I imagine is on mine. It confirms I’m not hallucinating.
She’s heard everything I have.
This is real.
“That’s not good enough. You get her under control or I will—using my own methods, Cato. And you’re not going to like those.”
I flinch.
The silence that follows feels thick enough to drown in. Then it’s cut short by the heavy scrape of footsteps. Tessa drags me with her, pulling us back behind the pillar.
We’re out of sight as Don Valente sweeps past us, his hulking shadow gliding along the tile like a storm cloud. Pello trails behind him, silent but intimidating.
I’m frozen in place, unable to move or even think. I can barely breathe as I blink and process the fact that my husband has been plotting against me this entire time.
As I’ve finally started trusting him, opening up to the possibility our marriage could work, he’s been scheming to use me.
And just like that, as my heart beats again, I’m crossing that thin line, back to hating him.
Chapter 23
Cato
Play with Fire - Sam Tinnesz featuring Yacht Money
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl, my hands curling into fists as I stalk down the museum’s marble corridor. My voice rumbles with a level of fury that echoes far and wide throughout the museum.
My security team is everywhere—posted at the exits, combing through gallery wings, muttering updates into their earpieces. Lazaro’s commanding them as my head of security, barking orders about searching the premises. Two guards are questioning a server near the champagne tower, and another pair has already secured the roof access.
Logically, I’m aware there’s only so many access points to the building that’s already heavily surveilled. Wives don’t just disappear into fucking thin air.
And yet the dread tightening in my chest doesn’t ease.
I can’t focus, my breaths ragged. My pulse jackhammers in my veins, heat crawling up the back of my neck like a volcano about to erupt.
She hasn’t been seen in over thirty minutes.
Thirty fucking minutes.
That’s all it would take—even less than that—for someone to get in, get the job done, and get out.
The job being…
I can’t even finish the fucking thought. But I do keep replaying my father’s words, each one more venomous than the last.
Get her under control or I will… using my own methods.
My father doesn’t bluff. He doesn't threaten unless he's already decided to act. And now, Sabrina’s all but vanished.
