Page 120 of Savage Saint
"Look at you," he murmurs, turning my face from side to side like examining livestock. "Healthy, well-fed. The Santoros took good care of my property before you put them down."
"I'm not your property."
The words slip out before I can stop them. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my jaw.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." I backtrack quickly, but it's too late. He's already seen the crack in my facade.
"No, please. Continue." His breath is hot on my face, reeking of cigars and cruelty. "You were saying something about not being my property?"
"I misspoke."
"Did you?" He releases my face with a shove, sending me stumbling back a step. "Because it sounded like defiance. And we both know what happens to defiant little girls in my organisation."
"I completed the mission," I say, trying to steer us back to safer ground. "The Santoros are dead."
"Yes, about that." He returns to his desk, pulling out a folder. "Nicolosi sent me some interesting photos from the scene. Would you like to see them?"
My blood runs cold. "Photos?"
"Mmm." He flips open the folder, spreading glossy prints across the desk. "He's always been thorough, our Nicolosi. Perhaps too thorough."
I force myself to step forward, to look at whatever trap he's laying. The photos show carnage. Bodies, blood, a massacre scene. But something's wrong. These aren't the Santoros. These are—
"Recognise them?" Jerzy asks pleasantly. "They should look familiar. After all, you killed them. Just not recently."
The photos are from an old mission. Years ago. A family in Chicago who'd crossed him. He's testing me.
"I don't understand," I say carefully.
"Oh, I think you do." He pulls out another stack of papers. "You see, Kasia, I have a problem. Nicolosi tells me the Santoros are very much alive. In fact, he saw young Luca just a few hours ago, driving around Blackriver like he owns the place. Which is fascinating, considering you just told me he's dead."
The game is up. I can see it in his eyes, he knew from the moment I walked in. This has all been a test, a game, and I've lost.
"Jerzy—"
"Shut up." The words crack like a whip. "You think I'm stupid? You think after all these years I can't tell when you're lying to me?" He slams his hand on the desk. "The only reason you're still breathing is because I'm curious. Why come here? Why walk into my office and lie to my face?"
I straighten my shoulders, meeting his gaze. "Because I needed to see you one last time."
"Sentimental. Unlike you." He pulls out another set of papers. "Your next mission. And before you open your mouth to lie again, know that this is not a request."
"I'm not taking another mission."
"No?" He slides the papers toward me. "Not even when it involves your new family? The Santoros you've grown so fond of?"
Against my better judgment, I glance at the papers. Mission parameters. Targets. Nicolosi and his family first, then—
"You're going to Blackriver," Jerzy continues, voice deceptively calm. "Once you get rid of Nicolosi, who has become tiresome to me, you'll go to Blackwood and complete youroriginal mission. Kill them all. Every last Santoro. And then you'll stay there, running their operations for me."
"No."
The single word hangs in the air between them. Jerzy's expression doesn't change immediately, as if he's waiting for me to laugh, to say I'm joking. When I don't, fury transforms his features.
"No?" He repeats the word like it's foreign. "That's twice now you've said that word to me."
"I'm done killing for you, Jerzy. I'm done being your weapon."
