Page 22 of Brutal Union
“I do not misplace things,” I say, tightening my grip on her shoulder.
"Well, maybe you have mice." She takes another sip, still avoiding my gaze. "Very educated mice."
"Mice," I repeat, amused despite myself. The slight flush creeping up her neck tells me everything. My little principessa has been studying my strategies, reading my thoughts in the margins.
"Or maybe someone borrowed them," she suggests, finally meeting my eyes with practiced innocence. “Sofia, perhaps?”
"Sofia doesn't read military history." I let my fingers play with a strand of her hair. "But someone in my penthouse apparently does."
She lifts her chin in that defiant way that makes my blood heat. "Then I hope you find them."
The challenge in her voice is unmistakable. She's baiting me, and we both know it.
Antonio Salvatore approaches our booth without invitation, and I feel Valentina tense beside me.
The Salvatore lieutenant moves with the arrogance of a man who thinks his family name means something in my territory. His eyes lock on Valentina, traveling her body with an appreciation that makes my jaw clench. Behind him, two of his soldiers hover, trying to look casual.
"Don Rosetti," he says, but his attention stays on my wife. "And the beautiful Mrs.Rosetti. Though I hear the marriage was… unconventional."
"All the best things are," I reply, my voice even while rage builds in my chest.
Antonio slides into the booth without permission, positioning himself on Valentina's other side. Too close. The disrespect is deliberate, calculated. A test of my claim in front of the entire club.
"I heard the Irish are planning retaliation," Antonio says, still eyeing Valentina. "Perhaps the principessa would be safer under Salvatore protection."
The threat is subtle but clear. Question my ability to protect what's mine. Suggest she needs someone else.
"The Irish know better," I say, my voice dropping to a warning. "And so should you."
"You look exquisite," he tells her, ignoring my warning, and then does something that signs his death warrant.
He touches her arm.
His fingers trail down her bare skin, possessive and presumptuous, while he speaks. "Beautiful women shouldn't be kept caged, Rosetti. Maybe she'd prefer some… freedom."
I go deadly still. The kind of stillness that makes smart men run.
The entire VIP section seems to hold its breath. Conversations stop. The music continues but feels distant, muffled under the roar of blood in my ears. This piece of shit is touching my wife. Testing my authority. Challenging my claim.
Valentina doesn't pull away, frozen between us, but I feel her pulse racing where my fingers rest against her throat. She recognizes the danger, feels my rage like electricity crackling through the air.
"Take your hand off my wife," I say, each word precise and lethal, "before I remove it permanently."
Antonio smiles, the stupid fuck actually smiles, his hand still on her skin. "Perhaps you should ask what she wants."
"I want," Valentina says, and we both turn to her. "I want you to stop touching me."
But Antonio doesn't move his hand. Instead, he squeezes her arm, proprietary and insulting. "Come now, bella. Surely you'd prefer a man who won you properly, not one who stole you like a thief."
The disrespect echoes through the VIP section. People are openly staring now, waiting to see how Chicago's Don handles this challenge. How I protect what's mine.
"Last chance," I say softly.
He laughs.
My hand shoots out, grabbing Antonio's wrist before he can react.
The first bone breaks with a subtle pop, his eyes widening in shock. Then I twist, applying pressure methodically, and the sound of breaking bones echoes over the music. His radius snaps. Then his ulna. Each break deliberate, designed for maximum damage.
