Savage Vows (Titans: Moretti Mafia #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Matteo

February

Las Vegas

“We found her, sir.”

About fucking time.

I’ve spent months searching for my elusive intended bride—a woman who doesn’t want me anymore than I want her.

Struggling not to betray any emotion, I nod at my lieutenant, Nash Callahan. Immediately he takes a step back and exits the room.

Moments before, he broke Mafia protocol by interrupting the Four Corners Alliance meeting between the heads of the biggest families in the area.

For the last two days, the heads of four powerful families—the DeLucas, Russos, Bertonis, and Morettis—have been gathered to discuss new alliances and cement family ties. All of it had been going smoothly until Nash barged in.

Aware of all eyes on me, I take a slow breath and acknowledge the room, all of them watching with varying degrees of interest and distrust.

The power dynamics in this room are fragile, and one wrong word could shatter everything my father has attempted to build.

I glance across the table at Vittorio DeLuca, head of his family.

He meets my gaze. After all, he has as much at stake here as I do.

I offer a short nod, letting him know this is about his daughter—my future wife.

A few months ago, my father and DeLuca brokered a marriage agreement between me and Alessia.

The moment her father informed her, she refused, and the next day, she ghosted all of us. She’s refused all my attempts to communicate.

Last week, her father issued her an ultimatum: return to the United States within seventy-two hours or face the consequences.

Since that moment, she has sent every one of his calls to voicemail, and she has ignored his texts and other messages.

As her future husband, my duty is to deliver the consequences she’s earned. Of course, I have her father’s blessing.

Because of the annoyance she’s put us all through, I can guarantee she won’t like them.

Aware of the tension snapping through the room, I steeple my hands and turn my gaze to my father, Don Raffaele Moretti, who sits at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair, comfortably in control. “Pardon the interruption,” I say.

“See it doesn’t happen again.” Though my father gives a subtle nod, the tension doesn’t diminish.

Not that I expected it to.

All the families represented are accustomed to being in control, and they like it that way.

“You were saying,” my father prompts the head of the Bertoni family.

As conversation resumes, I once again look at the DeLuca boss.

His gaze is narrow, and he inhales a slow breath. The man is calculating and smart, traits my father admires.

Our family controls most of the port traffic near Houston and to the east, while the DeLucas operate around New Orleans and slightly west.

Joining forces would mean our two families would control an entire section of the Gulf Coast. Dealing with government officials is a full-time job, and pirates have become a problem. A show of strength would protect our interests well into the future.

At the far end of the table, Don Fabrizio Russo exchanges glances with his trusted advisor, and more notably his daughter, Valentina. The Russos are always looking for an opportunity to provoke or manipulate, testing the waters for weaknesses. It’s in their blood. And recently, the family has been muscling in on our territory, pushing us in ways that I refuse to tolerate.

The previous Russo boss may have been behind the attempted hit on my father’s life. The bullets meant for him cut short the life of our consigliere.

I meet Don Russo’s gaze, and I don’t blink. The bastard knows we’re at a tipping point, and this alliance might be his last shot at playing peacekeeper before war erupts. Not that I care. The need for revenge burns hot in my veins.

I shift my focus briefly to his daughter, Valentina. She’s young but sharp—just like her father. Her loyalty to her family is unwavering, but I can see the steely resolve in her eyes. An ambition of her own. Valentina is not a pawn; she’s someone who knows how to move the pieces.

Then, there’s Giuseppe Bertoni, seated next to his oldest son, Emilio. Giuseppe’s been in the game longer than any of us, and his son isn’t quite the strategist he is. Emilio looks bored, and he taps his fingers against the table.

But Giuseppe? He’s been watching me with an intensity that tells me he’s waiting for an opportunity to exploit. The Bertonis rarely venture past the Rio Grande area, and I have no idea where their allegiances lie. We recently heard a rumor that they want an alliance with the DeLucas. That would mean they are hoping to shut down our operations on the Gulf Coast.

Which is another reason for me to marry Alessia, and quickly.

Since birth, my father has drilled my duty into me. Protect the Family.

I will die before I fail in that mission.

Motion catches my eye. Emilio shifts his hand to his waistband, searching for a gun that’s not there. A reflex, perhaps, or a calculated move to test the waters. None of us are armed. And cell phones are strictly prohibited. But the interruption has ratcheted the tension enough to make everyone feel like they need a weapon.

“Shall we continue?” Raffaele asks, his voice steady.

“Please,” I say, grateful for my father’s presence of mind in defusing the tension—at least for the moment.

The eight of us have been at this oval table in this small, windowless conference room for three hours. There has been a lot of arguing and posturing, and nothing has been agreed to. We cannot end this meeting until we agree to respect each other’s boundaries and business operations.

If we achieve my father’s objectives, by the end of tomorrow we will have appointed a conflict resolution board to mitigate disagreements and enforce the rules.

I snatch up my pen and walk it through my fingers, leaning back in a false show of relaxation. I have to do something to hold back the beast that’s demanding action—immediate action.

Despite my best efforts, my attention is fractured.

Now that I know Alessia’s been found, I want more details, and I need a plan to bring her home.

I walk my pen faster and faster.

My father clears his throat. “Perhaps this is a good time to take our lunch break.”

Thank Jesus.

Everyone agrees on two hours.

As soon as my father heads for the door, I follow.

Flanked by our lieutenants and Nico—my cousin and the Moretti family consigliere—we head to an upper floor where there’s a private room tucked into the back corner of the hotel’s high-end restaurant.

Nash and I continue on to a private alcove. “Where is she?” Impatiently I accept my phone from him.

From what I’d ascertained, she’d jetted off to Europe. As if to show she was untouchable, she posted pictures on social media, looking happy.

A recent photo of her, cozied up with a blond artist, sent me over the edge.

Enough was enough, and I’d deployed a team to Europe to find her and track her.

Nash is standing a little too stiffly, avoiding my gaze for a beat longer than usual. He doesn’t do hesitation. He’s a man who gets the job done, no questions asked.

“She’s in England, Matteo.”

Frustration gathers. “Be more specific.”

“The Cotswolds.”

I frown, trying to place it. If I recall, the Cotswolds are scenic, rolling hills in the southwestern part of the country. Beautiful, I’m told. A great place to vacation and filled with artists and writers. “At a house?”

He clears his throat. “It’s a place called Elysian Hall.”

That gives me pause. A hotel, perhaps? The name doesn’t sound familiar, and Nash’s discomfort tells me something’s off. I narrow my eyes, waiting for the rest.

“It’s an artists’ colony,” Nash continues, but there’s a note of unease in his voice. “A secure, gated …commune type of place.”

What in the actual fuck ? “A commune?” I echo, disbelief seeping into my voice. “She’s staying there?”

Nash meets my eyes. “She’s not a guest, Matteo. She’s been working there. Living there. Growing food. Shopping for the entire community. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. She’s …one of them.”

I ball my fists at my sides, the words igniting an even deeper fury within me. She’s a Mafia daughter, soon to be the wife of an underboss. And she’d rather fucking scrub toilets than marry me?

I won’t stand for it.

“Your plane is on standby, sir.”

His practicality lasers my anger into action.

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging accommodations at the usual place.”

Which means the Hollings House, a historic, luxurious townhome in the Mayfair area of London, complete with a discreet staff. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to roll out.”

Silently he leads the way to the room where my father is.

Once we’re there, Nash stands with his back to the door, alongside Nico and my father’s bodyguards.

Steepling his hands, my father says, “You have news.”

“Alessia has been found.”

He remains silent, and I fill the air. “In England.” I keep the rest of the information to myself.

Getting there won’t be easy, and since the estate she’s on is gated, I’m guessing that getting her out will be challenging.

“This needs to be resolved, Matteo.”

At least no one beyond our family and the DeLucas are aware there’s a problem.

“Your wedding will happen no later than summer.”

“It will be done.” I set my jaw.

This may be the first battle between my future bride and me, but I’m going to win it.

She will be my wife and behave like she should.

Are you ready to reap the consequences of your actions, my little rebel?