Page 50 of Savage Saint
Dante's formal handshake with Kasia feels like an assessment, and I fight the urge to step between them. My protective instinct surprises me. I've never felt responsible for anyone outside my family.
During dinner, I observe Kasia taking in all the exits, as she does in every new space she enters. A tactical awareness I'm well acquainted with, but mine comes from years of training myself to be the scariest and most powerful person in the room. Where did hers come from? I find myself glancing at her more often than I intend, drawn to her analytical gaze.
Luca tells a lighthearted story to lighten the mood. I watch Kasia from across the table, noting the subtle shift in her expression as she listens. She's trying to understand what a family like this is supposed to feel like. For a moment, I forget about the risks, about the world we live in. I just watch her as Luca drones on.
"Anyway, Mel’s got this neighbour. Or rather, her parents do, since she had to move there because of you." Luca shakes his head at Alessa before turning to Kasia. I don't like him giving her his full attention. "She had to go and get almost kidnapped from the apartment they shared, so Mel had to move to stay safe. Anywho, the neighbour, Dennis."
Alessa perks up immediately. "Dennis? The one who thinks he's in a slow-burn romance with her?"
I barely listen to Luca, my attention fully on Kasia. She doesn't speak, doesn't interject. Just watches. The slight quirk of her brow, the way her fingers rest against the stem of her glass. She's engaged, but detached, like she's witnessing something foreign.
"First time I dropped her off, this guy was straight-up waiting by the window," Luca continues, unaware of the rapt attentionhe’s receiving. "The second I parked, boom. Disappeared. Like he just hit the floor."
Alessa snickers. "Oh, come on."
"Swear on my life. So, the next night? He tries a new strategy. Casually 'hanging out' outside, leaning against the wall like he's on a damn romance novel cover."
"And Mel?"
"Deadpan as hell. Just looks at him and goes, 'Dennis, do you need medical attention?'"
Alessa laughs, shaking her head. "I love her."
Across the table, Kasia exhales softly, the barest trace of amusement flickering across her lips. And I feel it hit somewhere deep in my chest. It's small. But it's real.
Luca smirks. "Guy swore he was 'getting fresh air'. In the rain. With a book. Upside down."
Alessa groans. "Tell me he gave up."
"Doubt it," Luca says, grinning, his eyes momentarily landing on Kasia. My back stiffens. "He's in it for the long haul."
Kasia doesn't comment. She just watches him as he continues the story.
And me?
I watch her.
I watch a smile bloom on her face. Watch it light up the entire room. Oblivious to the effect she has on me, she keeps her attention on the conversation.
And for reasons I refuse to name, I don't look away. Not until her eyes find mine for the briefest of seconds. As intently as I was watching her, I look away, pretending I never was.
Alessa brings out dessert, a lopsided chocolate cake that looks like it might collapse at any moment. I catch Kasia's confused expression as Alessa proudly places it on the table.
"It looks terrible, I know," Alessa laughs, "but Marco said it was delicious."
Dante's fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes becoming two stormy pools. "You gave him a slice to try before me?"
I suppress a rare smile at my brother's genuine dismay over something as trivial as cake.
"He was helping me in the kitchen," Alessa explains, sliding closer to Dante and placing a hand on his cheek. "Besides, I saved the best piece for you," she adds with a kiss to his temple.
Dante's stern expression softens as his eyes close briefly. His whole body relaxes as he melts against her. She's the only person who can defuse my brother so easily.
I glance at Kasia. She is watching them with fascination, her wide eyes locked onto the quiet exchange. There is something almost wary about the way she takes in the moment, as if trying to make sense of something that doesn't quite fit. Her brows knit, her lips part slightly, as if she is grasping at a meaning just out of reach.
For a split second, I wonder what is going through her mind. If she has ever seen love like this before. Or if, like me, this is her only example of affection, something observed rather than felt. Has she had anyone who cared for her, and would she even remember them now?
There is no recognition in her expression, no softening, like I see in Alessa when she looks at Dante. Only curiosity laced with something sharper. Not fear, but distance. Like she is witnessing something foreign, something that does not belong in the world she knows.
