Page 132 of Savage Saint
"Is she hit?" Dante's voice cuts through the moment. "How bad?"
"Through and through," Angelo says, his voice rough as gravel. He's examining my arm with gentle, yet shaking hands. "Clean shot. Could have been so much worse."
Could have been. If the bullet had been aimed two inches to the right, it would have taken Angelo's heart. The thought makes me dizzy with something that isn't blood loss.
"They're gone," Luca reports, jogging back to us. "Three cars, professional job. They knew exactly when we'd be landing."
Angelo carefully lifts me in his arms, and I bite back a whimper as the movement jars my wound. His jaw is clenched tight, every muscle in his body radiating barely contained violence.
"We need to get out of here," Dante says urgently. "Airport security will be here any minute."
But Angelo doesn't move. He just holds me, his eyes locked on mine like he's memorising my face. "You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me," he says quietly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question cracks something open inside my chest. Because you're the first person who ever made me feel human. Because you see past what I was made to be. Because somewhere between the ice cream and the gentle touches and the way you say my name, I fell completely, irrevocably in love with you.
But the words stick in my throat, too big and too terrifying to voice. So I just meet his gaze and whisper, "Because you're worth it."
Something profound shifts in his expression, but then Dante is pulling at his arm, urging him toward the car. Angelo carries me across the tarmac, his steps quick but careful not to jostle me. Blood drips steadily from my fingers, leaving a trail on the asphalt.
Inside the car, Angelo cradles me against his chest while Luca speeds through the empty streets. I can feel his heartbeat hammering against my cheek, can hear the sharp edge of his breathing. He doesn't speak, just holds me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip.
The pain in my arm throbs in time with my pulse, but it's distant compared to the ache in my chest. I made a choice tonight. Not because I was programmed to, not because someone ordered me to, but because I chose to. I chose Angelo over my own safety, chose his life over mine, and the freedom of that choice is intoxicating.
By the time we reach Angelo's house, blood has soaked through the makeshift bandage he fashioned from his shirt. Angelo carries me straight upstairs to his bedroom, setting me gently on the edge of the bed.
His hands shake as he carefully cuts away my bloody shirt, revealing the entry and exit wounds. The bullet went clean through the meat of my upper arm, missing bone and major arteries. Lucky.
"This is going to hurt," he warns, his voice barely controlled.
"I've had worse," I say, trying for lightness.
His eyes flash to mine, dark and fierce. "That's not fucking funny."
Luca enters with medical supplies, and Angelo works with steady hands despite his obvious emotional turmoil. He cleans the wound with an antiseptic that burns like hellfire, then begins stitching with the precision of someone who has done this many times before.
"I could get used to this," I joke weakly as he works, trying to break the suffocating tension in the room.
Angelo's hands still completely. When he looks up at me, his face is carved from stone, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Don't." His voice is deadly quiet. "Don't you ever step in the firing line for me. Do you understand? Never again."
The vehemence in his tone catches me off guard. "Angelo—"
"I mean it, Kasia." He sets down the needle and grips my uninjured arm, his fingers tight enough to bruise. "You don't get to sacrifice yourself for me. You don't get to throw your life away like it means nothing."
Heat flares in my chest, surprising in its intensity. "Like it means nothing? Is that what you think I did?"
"What else would you call jumping in front of a fucking bullet?"
I stare at him, seeing the fear beneath the anger, the terror he's trying to hide behind rage. Slowly, I lift both hands to frame his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palms.
"Angelo," I say softly, waiting until his furious gaze meets mine. "You're the most precious thing to me."
He goes completely still, his breathing shallow.
