Page 4 of Savage Reckoning
“You can’t outrun me,piccola,” I murmur to the empty room. “You should know that by now.”
The sheer audacity of her flight still stings. After everything I’ve shown her, after I let her see parts of me I have shared with no one, she still believed she could escape. As if I hadn’t accounted for this.
Alessandro’s men are still combing the western quadrant. Blake is coordinating from the main house. All very thorough. And completely unnecessary. I gave them the slip an hour ago. When she stumbles out of those woods, broken and desperate, I need to be the one she sees.
My phone buzzes. A text from Alessandro.Teams report no sign. Expanding search. Your location?
I don’t respond. He has already expressed his reservations. “She knows too much, Nico,” he’d said earlier. “She’s volatile. Unpredictable.”
As if I haven’t calculated every variable. “I always contain my situations, Uncle,” I’d replied.
And I do. Lea Song is an asset, a liability, and unequivocally my possession. Her flight changes nothing. In fact, it simplifies matters. Her desperate bid for freedom will make her recapture all the more devastating, her surrender all the more complete.
Movement at the edge of the trees catches my eye. A flicker. I remain perfectly still as a figure emerges from the darkness. Even from this distance, through the rain, I recognize her.
Lea stumbles more than walks, each step an agony. Her clothing—my shirt, I note with a stab of satisfaction—hangs in tatters. But it’s the hope on her face that interests me most, the desperate relief as she fixes on the cabin’s light,mylight, believing she’s reached safety. The knowledge of how utterly wrong she is sends a cold wave of pleasure through me.
I step away from the window, positioning myself near the door. Her approach is painfully slow. Finally, she reaches the porch. I hear her collapse against the door frame, then a weak knock. Another, stronger.
“Help,” she calls. “Please… help me.”
I wait, letting her desperation build. Then, with deliberate slowness, I move to the door and pull it open.
The firelight spills out over her. I watch the exact moment recognition dawns—the instant hope drains from her face, replaced by a soul-deep terror. Her eyes widen, her breath catches. She has reached the end of her fight, and she knows it. I simply observe her, drinking in the totality of her failure, the absolute knowledge of my dominance reflected in her eyes.
“Hello, Lea,” I finally say, my voice cold. “I’ve been expecting you.”
She sways, her eyes rolling back. I step forward just as her legs give way, catching her before she hits the floor. She’s lighter than I remember, her body burning with fever. I carry her to the bed, laying her down with a gentleness that feels out of place.
Her unconsciousness is temporary—a product of exhaustion, dehydration, and shock. She will wake soon. And when she does, we will have our reckoning.
I move to the kitchenette and retrieve the medical kit. Her feet are a mess of cuts and dried blood; her hands scraped raw, splinters embedded in her palms. I clean and dress the worst of the injuries, my movements efficient and impersonal. This isn’t mercy. It’s maintenance of property.
She stirs asI’m finishing, a small whimper escaping her lips. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharpening with horrified recognition.
“No,” she says, the word heavy with despair. She tries to pull away from me, wincing as pain lances through her.
“Be still,” I command, tightening my grip on her ankle. “Unless you want these cuts to get infected.”
She freezes, trapped between physical pain and the deeper agony of capture. I release her ankle and straighten, looking down at her with detached interest.
“Running was foolish, Lea,” I say, my voice level, matter of fact. “Predictable.”
I lean in, invading her space. Fear radiates from her, but there’s something else too. The stubborn defiance that refuses to be extinguished. It’s that quality that makes her so interesting. And so dangerous.
“But your little performance in the woods has complicated things,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “It has attracted unwanted attention. Dante Moretti is no fool. He has eyes and ears everywhere, and by now he knows you fled. His men are out there, and they are not looking to rescue you. They are looking toacquire an asset. An asset they can use against me, and against your mother.”
I let the words sink in, watching the calculations play out behind her eyes. She realizes I’m not bluffing. Moretti wants her, if only to spite me, if only to leverage her against Professor Song’s operation.
“Which brings us to your only choice,” I say, my gaze pinning her to the bed, “you accept my protection. You return with me. You eat the food I provide; you sleep in the bed I give you, and you remember, unequivocally, the terms of our original arrangement. Obedience. Compliance. In return, I will be the wall that stands between you and men like Moretti. I will be your only security in a world that now wants to tear you apart.”
The threat is unspoken but unmistakable. She understands exactly what I’m saying, what I’m demanding. Absolute submission for absolute security.
“Why?” she asks, her voice barely audible. “Why not just off me right here? I’m a liability now. I know too much.”
“Yes, I agree. You do know too much. About your mother. About me.” I move closer still until I’m standing directly over her. “But there’re reasons as to why I can’t just ‘off’ you.”
She flinches at the close proximity.
