Page 43 of Savage Enemy

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

He handed me one makeshift cardboard plate with a giant slice of pizza staining the center and oozing with melted cheese and copious amounts of grease. Then he reached into a bag on the floor and pulled out a plastic fork. He stared at me for a second before handing it to me.

“Because you gotta eat, and New York pizza sucks. I don’t know what the plan is yet, but if we’re gonna deliver you to the Russians, I’m pretty sure they don’t want you starved to death.”

I considered that for a second, then shrugged.

No, I couldn’t let myself trust him, but he did have a point about New York’s inferior pizza crusts.

“From what I’ve heard,” I said, “I don’t think the Russians will care either way.”

Santo stopped chewing for a second.

“You know it hurt her, right? When you left?”

“Who?”

He looked at me like I’d somehow betrayed her by leaving.

“Nonna.”

There was no point explaining what had happened, her involvement, so I just gave him a gentle smile.

“I think she would have understood.”

He sighed. “Look, you know they know I’m in here. You know they want information, and if you wanna eat your pizza in peace, I need to be able to tell them something. Just give me enough to get the old man off my ass.”

Had they planned this? Aris played the bad cop to scare me, then Santo came in acting like the beloved little brother? Like he was the reasonable one?

“What do you want to know?”

“What made you think you could get away with it?”

I looked at my cardboard plate and stared at the vaguely triangular-shaped slice splattered with red sauce and cheese.

“I did get away with it.”

With those words, I finally gave in and took the first huge, melty, steaming bite of Chicago deep-dish pizza.

The instant explosion of flavor elicited a primal groan of enjoyment from my throat as I chewed. The hearty combination of Italian meats and cheeses, the incredible sauce heavily spicedwith herbs, and the doughy crust dusted with flour—it was what heaven tasted like.

Santo gestured at the walls of my bedroom.

“And you call this getting away with it?”

“I was gone for ten years,” I said. “I had a life. I called the shots. I had a job and a child, and if it wasn’t for Stefano forcing his way back into my life and making a stupid engagement announcement, you never would’ve known I was still alive.”

“Maybe. But he did, and we found you… living with a rival family in enemy territory. With his son.”

He raised a brow and took another bite.

“Yes, Santo. With my son.”

None of this was new information for him or Saul, so I didn’t think stating the obvious really mattered.

Santo shifted on my bed. One corner of his mouth twitched into a grimace before he let out another sigh. He’d been shot just hours beforehand, and it had to still hurt like a bitch.

I would know.

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