Page 134 of Savage Saint
ANGELO
The stitches are perfect. Clean, tight, professional. I've sewn up enough wounds to know good work when I see it, and this is some of my best. The antiseptic has dried, leaving Kasia's arm properly bandaged and protected. She'll heal without scarring if she's careful.
She's sitting on the edge of my bed, her injured arm cradled against her chest, watching me clean up the medical supplies. The painkillers I gave her have taken the edge off, but I can still see tension in the set of her shoulders. Taking a bullet will do that to you, even when it's a clean through-and-through.
"How does it feel?" I ask, disposing of the bloody gauze.
"Like I got shot." She tests moving her fingers, wincing slightly. "But better than being dead."
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Don't joke about that."
Her blue eyes find mine, soft but steady. "Angelo, I'm okay. We're okay."
The memory of her throwing herself in front of that bullet hits me again like a physical blow. The way she screamed 'No!'and moved without hesitation. The sound of the gunshot. The sight of her blood.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I glance at the screen. Dante. I consider letting it go to voicemail. I've had enough family drama for one night, but something about the late hour makes me answer.
"What."
"Angelo." Dante's voice is carefully controlled, which immediately puts me on alert. My brother doesn't call this late unless something's wrong. "You need to come home. Now."
"I am home."
"To my house. It's about Massimo." A pause. "He's dead."
The words hit me like cold water. I go completely still, my hand tightening around the phone. Dead. Massimo Santoro is dead.
"Angelo?" Dante's voice cuts through the silence. "You there?"
"Yeah." I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm here. How?"
"Drowned. In the pool. Alessa found him about an hour ago."
The pool. Of course it was the fucking pool. The same pool where I've watched Dante find moments of peace with Alessa, where he's learned to be something other than the cold Don our father made him. Massimo dies in water while his sons find life in it.
"Was it...?" I let the question hang.
"Natural. His mind's been gone for months, Angelo. He probably got confused, wandered out there in the dark." Dante's voice softens slightly. "It was time."
Time. I should feel something more than this hollow relief spreading through my chest. Grief, maybe. Loss. Something appropriate for a son whose father just died.
Instead, all I feel is freedom.
"We need to talk," Dante continues. "All of us. There are arrangements to make, calls to put out. The other families need to know."
"I'll be there." The response is automatic, years of family obligation kicking in.
"Come alone. This is family business."
"No." The word surprises me with its firmness. "Kasia comes with me."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Angelo, this isn't the time—"
"She's part of this family now." I look at Kasia, who's watching me with those piercing blue eyes. "She took a bullet for me tonight, Dante. A bullet meant for my heart. You want to tell me she hasn't proven her loyalty?"
Another pause. Longer this time. "Fine. Bring her. But we need to move fast on this."
