Oath of Sacrifice (Deviant Doms 4)

A shiver skates down my spine at the low command of authority in Santo’s voice. He isn’t the one that technically holds the most authority, but it seems when shit goes down, he takes the natural lead. And damn if that isn’t hot.

Tavi blinks as if just realizing with Romeo being locked away, he’s the one in charge. A natural-born leader himself, he’ll rule fairly and intelligently. He and Orlando will share responsibility, as will most of the made men, but Tavi’s like the Vice President. He’ll get the final call when Romeo’s unable to lead. Still, he’ll lean hard on all made men of the Rossi family.

“Glad he told you to stay, brother,” he says in a low voice to Santo. I wonder if anyone else heard him.

Elise walks up to him and laces her fingers through his. She rests a hand on his belly as Tavi’s eyes come to hers, heated and intense, and a part of me longs for someone to look at me like that. My brothers love me, but there’s a different kind of intensity between lovers. “You do not leave my side. You don’t fucking use the toilet without me next to you, you get me?”

She pales. Elise is one of the few women married into The Family that was raised in the mob. She gets it. “I do,” she whispers. She knows the danger she’s in. I’ve seen my brother personally vet every bodyguard that watches her.

“Everyone back to The Castle,” Tavi says. “We’ll close the store down for the night, Elise. Keep it closed over the weekend. We’ll have more intel and security in place so you can hopefully reopen on Monday.”

Tavi turns to Santo. “You take Rosa back to The Castle. I want my sisters safe, do you understand me?”

Santo’s jaw tightens and I watch as his hand goes to the harness on his hip by instinct. I can almost hear him whisper a silent command to make his fucking day. I swallow as surprising emotion rises in me.

I’d give anything for the simplest reassurance from him. Finger touch to mine. Knowing look. Soft whisper in my ear. But this is Santo, and he’s keeping this clean as fuck.

I remind myself, I’m Rosa Rossi. And I don’t need a man to make me feel safe.

I check my own gun in my purse, and finger it lovingly. We keep it on the down-low, but Marialena and I are skilled with gun use and take refresher self-defense classes twice a year.

Tavi accompanies Elise to the front, where she tells her staff they’re closing and helps customers finish packing. I go to help her when I feel a firm hand on my elbow. The Rossi made men may pride themselves on keeping us safe, but we pride ourselves on not needing them.

“No,” Santo says, holding me in place. “Let Elise and Tavi go. You come with me. I’m taking you back to The Castle now.”

Who knows how long it’s gonna last with Santo being my temporary bodyguard, but I have mixed feelings about this.

I hated the thought of him going to Tuscany, and a part of me’s relieved he’s here. But at the same time… it’s a lot easier not to think about him when he isn’t right in my space all day long.

And if I know him, he’ll command my every breath.

Gah-reat.

I clench my jaw and whisper a heated, sarcastic, “Yes, sir.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw while he looks straight ahead. “Watch it, woman,” he whispers back. I ignore the little zing his threat gives me.

We march together to the waiting cars.

Though we have security here, The Castle’s a veritable fortress, nearly impenetrable. We’ve been under attack before, but the few times that happened, retribution was so harsh and immediate, no one’s dared to attack on Castle grounds again.

“We should put better security in place everywhere,” I mutter, my hand trembling as I reach for my leather bag.

Santo nods. “We’ve been adding additional security measures for the past year, Rosa.”

Well. Shows what I know when I willfully try to ignore everything.

“Did you drive here tonight?”

“Of course.” Again, the twitching jaw. He looks like he wishes he had one good reason to deck someone, or, preferably, slice a throat and watch their blood run, or perhaps shoot someone between the eyes and watch them sink to the floor.

While the other guys often go places with drivers, Santo’s one of the few that doesn’t. He’s a car guy and has been since he got his license. And he’s shit at letting go of control.

“Which one?”

Before he left for Tuscany, he sold two of his six cars, but before then, he was known for trading out once a quarter or so.

He doesn’t have to ask what I mean but knows immediately.

I watch as he sweeps his eyes across the room as if to confirm everyone’s occupied, before he whispers in a low voice that makes my nipples furl, “Red Maserati, baby.” He knows that’s my favorite. My absolute favorite.