Page 58 of Savage Saint
I set the glass down with a soft clink and move toward the door on bare feet, peering through the peephole. A delivery guy in a brown uniform shuffles impatiently on the porch, a huge, unmarked cardboard box by him. He glances at his watch, knocks once more, then shrugs and leaves a tablet on top of the box before hurrying back to his truck.
My fingers hover over the doorknob, hesitation crawling up my spine. The last time I ventured outside this house alone...
Flash of blood on concrete. The wet crunch of bone. Angelo's face, focused and terrifying at once, as he kept hitting the man who attacked me, long after he stopped moving. The rage pouring off him as he kept repeating those words.You don't touch her.
And worst of all, the way he looked at me afterwards, his hands dripping red, his eyes boring into mine like I was his everything. Like he'd rip the world apart for me, piece by piece, and enjoy every second of it.
I back away from the door, arms wrapped around myself. The package can fucking wait.
Needing a distraction from both the pounding in my head and the memory tightening my chest, I turn back to the kitchen. Absentmindedly, I rummage through cabinets, looking for something, anything, to quiet the noise in my brain. Tea, pain meds, more alcohol. My fingers brush against cool glass, and I pull out a jar of fortune cookies.
It's such an incongruous thing to find in Angelo Santoro's immaculate kitchen that I almost laugh. I wonder if they're left over from some takeout order or if the man actually keeps these around deliberately. The idea of him cracking open cookies to read little paper fortunes is so absurdly at odds with the blood-soaked monster I witnessed that I can't resist opening one myself.
The cookie snaps between my fingers, the sound sharp in the empty kitchen. I fish out the small slip of paper and smooth it flat against the counter.
"Embrace the danger that calls to you."
A cold feeling washes down my back. I stare at the words, reading them again and again as if they might change.
My phone buzzes on the counter, breaking the strange spell and making me squeak from fear of being caught. Except I'm not doing anything wrong, aren't I? Alessa's custom ringtone continues with Doja Cat telling me she's a bitch and a boss. Crumpling the fortune in my fist, I swipe to answer.
"Hello?"
"Hey, girl. How is it going? Has Angelo driven you up the wall today already?"
"Not yet…" I hesitate.
"Well, it's only morning after all." Her voice is cheery, like there's nothing better than being annoyed by Angelo Santoro. "He's got plenty of time for it still."
"Sure," I sigh.
"Are you okay?" There's concern in her voice.
I lay my head on the counter, groaning. "Yes. Noooo."
"Kasia," she says softly. "What's up? I know you don't know me very well, but you can trust me."
Can I? I'm not sure. Do I have any other options to unload the shit show of the last twenty-four hours to? No.
Here we go then.
"I don't know anything, Alessa," I moan, banging my head against the marble and making my head hurt even more. It's fine. I deserve it after last night's… whatever the hell it was.
"What do you mean? Your memory? It'll come back. You just have to be patient."
I wince, ignoring the dribs and drabs that have been coming to me in the last few days I failed to mention to anyone. It's not like they make sense anyway.
"This and—" I stop myself, lifting my head off the counter and looking around, making sure no one else is around, despite knowing I'm alone, since Angelo is loudly beating the crap out of the punching bag one floor up.
"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm a vault."
I huff a laugh. I don't even know where to start. She thinks it's something to do with my missing memory when, in fact, it's her soon-to-be brother-in-law who's got me so twisted up inside.
"What is it?" She prods once more, and this time I break.
"He isnotdifferent around me," I grumble.
She giggles.
