“I don’t want to marry Mick, and you know that very well!” I pressed out and ripped away from his hold. “Now leave.”
Savio’s expression almost brought me to my knees. “You won’t marry Mick then. We both know who it is you really want to wed.”
I couldn’t believe him. “The guy I might have wanted didn’t care enough to ask for my hand, so now I’ll marry the guy who had the guts to marry me.”
“You won’t marry Mick. You will be mine.”
I blinked, stunned by the possessiveness in his voice, and momentarily worried that my mind was making this up. He’d never as much as hinted to being interested in me—at least not more than his usual interest in anything with breasts.
“It’s too late,” I said, sounding strong even as my heart broke. Why couldn’t he have shown this kind of desire for me before, when my father was looking for a husband? Now I was stuck with Mick.
He smirked. The smirk that made me want to hit him—and worse: kiss him. He leaned down. “Oh Kitty, I will own you, even if I have to shove my knife into his fucking heart.”
Own me? Even as indignation rose up in me, those words had another effect: they sent a surprising thrill through my body.
He turned and left the room. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Backing out of an engagement was bad taste, even if there hadn’t been an official engagement and I wasn’t wearing Mick’s ring yet. Even Savio was bound to our rules, wasn’t he?
I quickly changed into workout clothes, long sweatpants, and a T-shirt because Dad would throw a fit if I wore anything that showed too much skin, and headed out. My stomach was in knots as I found myself once more on the precipice of hope.
The moment I entered the gym, my eyes sought Savio. He gave me a smirk across the room, ignoring the way Diego was killing him with his gaze. I walked toward my brother and Dad.
Savio looked sure of himself, but I couldn’t see how he could possibly make this work. He glanced toward Remo who gave a small nod.
Savio cleared his throat, drawing the attention toward himself.
Dread crowded my stomach. Oh no, what was he going to do? Maybe he didn’t care about his reputation, but I did—and so did my family. What if he insinuated that I’d slept with him or stated it outright? That would force Mick to break off our bond at once, his family wouldn’t tolerate me. Everyone would believe it, no matter how traditional my upbringing. I wanted to marry Savio but not at this price, especially because this was all his fault. He should be the one to pay the price for the mess. His reputation definitely wouldn’t suffer if it made the rounds that he’d gotten me into bed. The list of his conquests was already embarrassingly long anyway.
“Daniele, it’s come to my attention that you intend to promise your daughter Gemma to Michelangelo.”
Technically, I was already promised, it wasn’t just planned, but I definitely wouldn’t voice my thoughts. Dad frowned, his worried gaze sliding from Savio to me. His eyes held questions. I knew what he was dreading: that I had ruined myself, that I’d let Savio have what my husband was supposed to be gifted. How could he even entertain the thought? He knew me.
“I hope you’ll reconsider your choice and give me the chance to fight for the right to your daughter’s hand.”
Fight for me?
Stunned silence descended on the room like a heavy drape. Heat shot into my head at the wave of attention heading my way. Mick looked as if someone had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. His face turned red, if from anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t say. His father didn’t look as angry as I would have thought, but given his expression when he’d seen our modest house, he was probably glad for the chance to get rid of me.
“Fight for my daughter’s hand?” Dad voiced my confusion.
Savio nodded. “The Camorra is strong because we value true strength over descent. We reward ambition and strength because our Capo, my brother, abides by a rule that’s held true from beginning of time: the law of the strongest and survival of the fittest.”
His voice was firm and confident, his expression fierce. No hint of doubt or insecurity reflected in any part of Savio’s appearance. A Falcone through and through, and damn him, it had an effect on me—and on the rest of the people in attendance. Savio could capture an audience like his brother Remo.
Savio only looked at my father, not once at Mick, me or anyone else. He knew who he had to convince first. “I’d like to fight Michelangelo for Gemma. The winner of the cage fight will get her as his wife.”
This was barbaric and old-fashioned, but it sent my stomach into a riot.
“This is ridiculous!” Mick said.
Dad met my gaze and leaned down. “Is there something I should know, angelo mio? I’ve put a lot of trust in you when I allowed you to learn to fight. I hope you didn’t break it.”
My eyes widened. “Of course not, Dad.”
“I was always with her anyway,” Diego added, which wasn’t exactly true. There had been moments when Savio and I had been alone, never long periods of time, but probably enough to do the deed if my research was accurate.
“My first kiss is going to happen in church on my wedding day,” I said firmly.
Diego lowered his voice another notch. “You should agree to Savio’s suggestion, Dad.”
I could have hugged him, but I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible with everyone watching.
“Haven’t we moved on from street brawls and duels?” Mick’s brother butted in, even though their father remained silent. He was the ruling Captain, so his reaction was the one we had to worry about. And he was definitely in
