Page 100 of Savage Saint
He's close enough now that I can smell his cologne mixing with the metallic scent of blood. Close enough that I could kill him in six different ways before he even realised what was happening. The thought makes me want to vomit.
The truth burns in my throat. About who I am, what I was sent here to do. But the words stick. I can't lose him. Not yet. Not now that I'm starting to remember who I really am. Not when I'm finally feeling something beyond the cold emptiness Jerzy cultivated in me for years.
"I know I broke your trust," I whisper, tears threatening. "But I had to try to help them." It's not a lie, just not the whole truth. I did want to help those girls. I just didn't expect to find proof of my past there, to have my worst fears confirmed by their terrified faces when they recognised me.
Thunder crashes outside as Angelo stares at me, his expression unreadable. I've never felt more torn between past and present, between duty and desire, between the weapon I was and the woman I want to be.
His eyes never leave mine as lightning illuminates the room, casting harsh shadows across his face. For a moment, he looks like an avenging angel, beautiful and terrible. What would he look like if he knew the truth? That I was sent here to destroy everything he loves? That I was never a victim, but the weapon itself?
The storm outside mirrors the one raging inside me. In the spaces between thunder, I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The Red Widow wouldn't be afraid. The Red Widow would have a plan, an escape route, a weapon hidden away. But I'm not just her anymore. I'm something else. Something more. Something terrifyingly human.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?" Angelo finally speaks, his voice rough with emotion. "What Nicolosi would do if he got his hands on you again?"
I almost laugh at the irony. Nicolosi was never my captor. He was my employer. My co-conspirator. The man who helped Jerzy plant me in the Santoro family like a time bomb waiting to explode.
"I can take care of myself," I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
"Clearly." The sarcasm in his voice is cutting. "That's why you dragged my future sister-in-law into a death trap."
Shame burns through me. Alessa. Sweet, kind Alessa, who still believes I'm worth saving. Who looked at me with bloodstained hands and chose to see something more than a killer.
"I didn't mean for her to come," I say weakly. "She insisted."
"And you couldn't say no? You couldn't think for one fucking second about the consequences?" His voice rises, the control he's been maintaining slipping. "Do you have any idea what Dante would do if something happened to her? WhatIwould do to anyone who hurt her?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. What would he do to me if he knew the truth? If he knew I was sent here to hurt not just Alessa, but all of them?
"I'm sorry," I repeat, the words feeling inadequate. "I really am."
Angelo runs a hand through his hair, leaving a smear of blood across his forehead. He looks exhausted suddenly, the anger giving way to something more complex. Disappointment? Concern? I can't read him.
"Sorry doesn't fix this, Kasia." He turns away, moving to the sink to finally rinse the blood from his hand. "Sorry doesn't erase the fact that you put yourself in danger. That you put Alessa in danger. That you went behind my back after promising—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
I watch as he meticulously cleans the blood away, his movements precise despite the obvious pain. Even in this, he's controlled. Methodical. So different from the chaotic storm of emotions inside me.
"What if I'd lost you?" he asks suddenly, his back still to me. The question is so quiet I almost miss it.
The words hit me like a physical blow. What is he saying? That he cares? That I matter to him beyond the physical attraction between us? The possibility terrifies me more than his anger ever could.
"You'd be better off," I whisper, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.
Angelo turns, his eyes finding mine across the room. There's something dangerous in his gaze now, something predatory and possessive that makes my breath catch.
"That's not for you to decide," he says, each word deliberate and weighted. He crosses the room in three long strides, stopping just inches from me. "You don't get to decide what I need, what I want."
His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. The gentleness of the touch contrasts sharply with the intensity in his eyes. I should pull away. I should run. I should tell him everything and let him decide if I'm worth saving or if I deserve a bullet between the eyes.
Instead, I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed. "Angelo..."
"Look at me," he commands, and my eyes snap open. "I know you're hiding something from me. I know there's more to your story than you're telling me."
My heart stops. Does he know? Is this a test?
"What do you mean?" I manage to ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"I mean that I'm not a fool, Butterfly." His nickname for me feels like a knife to the heart. "I know when someone is keeping secrets. And I know you're keeping a big one."
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. This is it. The moment of truth. Tell him everything and risk losing him forever, or keep lying and risk him finding out from someone else.
