Page 119 of Savage Saint
"I assume if you're here, they're all dead." His voice carries no inflexion, no emotion. Just a statement of fact as his hand drifts toward the phone on his desk. "I can call Nicolosi and confirm."
The lie comes easier than breathing. I nod, letting him see what he expects—his weapon returning from a successful mission. My body betrays me, spine straightening, shoulders squaring into that rigid posture beaten into me through years of conditioning. I hate how easily I fall back into it, hate how my muscles remember what my mind wants to forget.
"Cat got your tongue, Kasia?" A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "You used to be more talkative. Though I suppose that was before you learned the price of speaking out of turn."
"They're dead," I force out, each word carefully measured. "All of them. Dante, Angelo, Luca. Their father Massimo. EvenDante's fiancée, Alessa." The lie tastes like ash, but I sell it with the same cold efficiency he taught me. "Mission complete."
Jerzy's hand hovers over the phone for a moment longer before pulling back. His eyes, cold and calculating, never leave mine. "Sit."
It's not a request. Never is with him. I remain standing.
"I said sit." The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
"I prefer to stand. Long drive."
Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Amusement? It's gone before I can identify it. He leans back, the chair groaning under his weight.
"You've disappointed me, Kasia." Each word measured, deliberate. The same tone he used when I was eight and couldn't disassemble a rifle fast enough. When I was thirteen, and hesitated before pulling the trigger. When I was sixteen, and cried after my first solo mission. "The Santoros should have been eliminated weeks ago. Do you know how much your delay has cost me?"
"The situation was more complex than—"
"Complex?" He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "A bullet to the brain is not complex. A knife across the throat is not complex. You had one job. One simple job. And the casino?" His voice rises a fraction. "Twenty-three of my men. Dead. Because of your incompetence."
My hand drifts toward the gun at my back, hidden beneath my jacket. Just a few inches. That's all. "I had to maintain my cover. If the Santoros suspected—"
"Suspected what? That you weren't the broken little bird they found in a shipping container?" He laughs, the sound like grinding gears. "They suspected nothing because they're idiots. Dead idiots now, thankfully. Though it took you long enough."
"I needed to build trust," I say, slipping deeper into the familiar role of the obedient soldier reporting to hercommander. It's easier this way. Safer. For now. "Get close to them. Learn their operations. Angelo especially. He was paranoid, always watching."
"Trust." He tastes the word like spoiled wine. "Is that what you call spreading your legs for him?"
My jaw clenches. "It was necessary to—"
"To what? Maintain your cover?" He rises now, finally, unfolding from his chair with deliberate slowness. "Or did you simply enjoy playing house? Pretending you could be something other than what you are?"
"I did what was necessary to complete the mission." The words come out steady, controlled. Every inch the soldier he trained me to be.
"And yet it took you weeks to pull the trigger." He circles the desk, each step measured, calculated. The predator's stalk I've seen a thousand times before. Usually directed at someone else. Someone who wouldn't survive the night. "Tell me, how did you do it? Angelo?"
I force myself to remember the lies I've rehearsed. "Waited until he was asleep. He never saw it coming."
"Hmm." Jerzy stops just out of arm's reach. Smart. He's always been smart. "And the others?"
"Massimo was asleep. The brothers tried to protect each other." I let a hint of satisfaction creep into my voice—the kind he'd expect from his weapon. "They failed."
"The girl?"
"Alessa? She begged. Offered me money, jewellery, anything." I shrug, playing the part of the cold killer he created. "I don't leave witnesses."
"Clean?"
"As you taught me."
"Bodies?"
"All disposed of."
He moves closer, and I force myself not to step back. Not to show weakness. His fingers reach for my face, and it takes every ounce of control not to flinch as they touch my cheek.
