Page 66 of Savage Saint
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes meeting mine. "He found me." Her voice breaks on the last word, and for the first time since she woke up in that hospital bed, I see genuine fear in her eyes.
The sight hits me harder than any bullet could. My Butterfly, who faced down armed men without flinching, who killed with the precision of a trained assassin, now looks like a cornered animal. Whoever this Jerzy is, he's managed to do what Nico's men couldn't. Terrify her.
Dante approaches, his suit somehow still immaculate despite the chaos. Blood spatters his white shirt cuffs, the only evidence he was ever involved in the fight. He starts talking strategy, something about Nico's territories and retaliation plans.
"We need to hit them back immediately. Tonight. Arrow's already tracking—"
"Go home to your fiancée," I cut him off sharply. "Make sure she's okay."
Dante stops mid-sentence, surprised. But he doesn't protest. His priorities have shifted since Alessa came into his life. A month ago, he would have stayed to plan our counterattack, regardless of who was waiting for him. Now, he simply nods and turns away.
I recognise something has changed in me too, as my hold on Kasia tightens, my lips touching the top of her head. My focus has narrowed to the woman in my arms rather than the bodies at my feet. But I dismiss the thought. This isn't the time for self-reflection.
I take Kasia's hand in mine, my grip both possessive and protective. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she laces her fingers through mine, her palm warm against my skin.
"They want war?" My voice drops to a growl as I look down at her. "I'll give them a fucking war. They're not getting you, Butterfly. Not on my fucking watch."
The savage in me roars for blood, for vengeance, not just for the attack on our casino, but for putting Kasia in danger. For putting that look in her eyes. I don't care if it's Nicolosi, the Jerzy she spoke of or both of them together.
They. Will. Pay.
Kasia squeezes my hand and tucks herself closer into my body, her trust in me both terrifying and exhilarating.
Without hesitation, I scoop her up into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, her face pressing against my shoulder as I carry her towards the exit, leaving the destruction behind us.
23
KASIA
Stepping into Angelo's bathroom, I hesitate at the threshold, my fingers brushing the edge of the doorway like they’re expecting a door that isn’t there. There’s nothing to close. No barrier. Just space. Open and exposed.
Still, I linger, pretending. Pretending I have privacy. I stare at my hands. They're covered in blood, not all of it mine.
The shower starts running before I even remember turning it on. Water beats against the tiled floor, steam rising in lazy curls, but I can't make myself move toward it. My limbs feel disconnected, like they belong to someone else.
He found me.
I strip mechanically, dropping the ruined clothes on the floor. My reflection catches my eye in the massive mirror that spans the wall. For a split second, I don't recognise the woman staring back. Her eyes too empty. Her body too still.
Then I blink, and she's gone. In her place stands a girl, small and skinny, with bruised knees and hollow eyes. My younger self. Blood on her hands too.
"Zle," a voice snaps in my memory, harsh and cold. "Postawa jest wszystkim."Wrong. Posture is everything.
I gasp, gripping the edge of the sink as the bathroom falls away.
I'm nine years old again, standing in a bare concrete room. The gun feels heavy in my hands. Too big for my child-sized fingers, but I know better than to complain.
"Lokcie!"Elbows.
Jerzy barks, circling me like a shark. His boots click against the floor as he moves. Click, click, click. "Shoulders down."
When I don't adjust quickly enough, his hand cracks across my face. The sting brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them back. Tears mean weakness. Weakness means punishment.
"Again," he says, this time in English. He always switches between languages mid-lesson, expecting me to keep up.
I reset my stance, gun aimed at the paper target. A human silhouette, head and heart marked in red.
His large hand grips my shoulder, forcing it down. "Like this."
