Page 53 of Savage Saint
His head is straight, jaw locked tight, the Maserati's engine purring under us as he tears down the road. His hands choke the wheel at nine and three, knuckles pale from the strain, like he’s holding onto more than just the car. The dashboard's glow carves shadows across his face, all hard lines, stubble, and a small scar below his left ear, a jagged nick I’ve never clocked before.
Angelo's all focus as he drives through town, then up the winding road to his house. The kind that could steer us through hell without flinching, and it’s pissing me off how much I want to crack it.
The road blurs past a smear of black, but I can’t stop staring athim. His shoulders shift, just a twitch, and then his head stays forward, but I feel it, a split-second stutter in that iron grip. He’s still locked on the asphalt, steering us through the night, but his chin tilts, barely, and I know he’s caught me. My breath snags, not because he’s looking back, but because heisn’t. He’s too damn stubborn to give me that. Still, the air thickens.
The Maserati veers suddenly, tyres gripping the road as Angelo takes a sharp turn off the main road. My hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard, heart jumping into my throat. The city spreads out below us as we climb higher, towards what looks like a secluded overlook.
My muscles tense instinctively. I don't need to remember my life story to know I should be wary when a man takes me to a secluded spot. But this is Angelo. The same Angelo who's been protecting me. Still, I can't help making sure to check for every possible escape route. Just in case.
The car rolls to a stop at the edge of the overlook, city lights twinkling below us like fallen stars. The engine stops, and Angelo turns to face me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"How much did you hear?" His voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my skin prickle.
I meet his gaze head-on. "Enough to know you're hiding things from me."
His jaw clenches, and I watch the internal battle play across his face. The streetlight catches the scar below his ear again, and I wonder what other marks his past has left on him.
"There are things you're better off not knowing," he says finally, each word a warning.
"Like who Massimo is?" I challenge, watching his reaction. "And why you don't want me near him?"
Angelo goes rigid at his father's name, something dark and complicated flickering in his eyes. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and for a moment, I think he might not answer.
"Massimo is... Complicated," he says carefully, like he's picking his way through a minefield.
I lean in, refusing to back down. "Complicated how? Dante said he's senile, but you still seem worried."
His knuckles whiten on the wheel. "My father's mind is unreliable. But that doesn't make him harmless."
"What do you mean?"
His jaw tightens as he swings his head toward me, voice dropping low. "Picture a man who forged an empire out of bloodand lies. Now see him fraying, those secrets slipping loose, and the fury tearing him apart when he can’t claw them back."
I let that sink in, piecing together the implications. "And these secrets. They're dangerous?"
"To everyone around him," he says grimly. "My father has moments of lucidity where he's every bit the man he used to be. And that man..." He trails off, leaving the threat unspoken.
"That man is someone you're cautious of," I finish, understanding blooming in my mind like a dark flower.
His gaze snaps to mine, intense and unreadable in the darkness. "I don't fear him. I fear what he might do, what he might say. The damage he could cause without even realising it."
"Is that why you're so adamant about keeping me away from him?"
He leans in, close enough that his breath grazes my skin, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "You don’t get it, Butterfly. My father’s world, built on blood and drugs, is nothing like what my brothers and I are trying to build. And right now, he’s a lit fuse, burning everything down."
"Then help me understand," I press, leaning closer. "What makes him so dangerous to everyone around him?"
Angelo's expression shifts, a crack appearing in his usually impenetrable facade. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of whatever he's holding back visible in the tension of his jaw.
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes sharply against his thigh. Then again. And again. His hand moves instantly to retrieve it, body snapping to attention as he reads the screen.
"We need to go. Now."
The Maserati roars to life, tyres squealing as Angelo executes a perfect three-point turn. His phone keeps buzzing incessantly as we speed back toward the house, each notification making his brow furrow deeper.
"What is it?" I ask, gripping the door handle as we take another sharp turn.
He lets out a long breath that sounds suspiciously like defeat. "It's Arrow's new AI security system. Apparently it's gone a bit... overzealous."
