Page 78 of Savage Saint
Angelo's face transforms before my eyes. The man who moments ago was calculating possibilities vanishes, replaced by something darker, more primal. His jaw tightens, the scar on his knuckle goes white as he clenches his fist.
"Absolutely fucking not."
The words crash between us like thunder. Three simple words that leave no room for argument, no space for compromise. But I've never been good at backing down.
"You need someone on the inside," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I'm offering to be that person."
"You think I'm going to feed you to the wolves?" His voice drops to a deadly whisper. "To Nico? To whomever is after you? Have you lost your goddamn mind?"
I step closer, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm not asking for permission."
"Well, I'm not giving it." His control is slipping. I can see it in the way his eyes flash, and in the rigid set of his shoulders. "This isn't a negotiation, Kasia."
"You're right. It's not." I match his tone, cold for cold. "Because I'm not your prisoner, and I'm not your property."
He moves so fast I barely see it, his hand slamming against the wall beside my head. I don't flinch. Don't blink. Don't give an inch.
"You have no idea what these men do," he growls, close enough now that I can feel his breath on my face.
"I have every idea." My voice doesn't waver. "I was brought up by one just like them," I confess.
Something flickers in his eyes, a recognition, perhaps, that I'm not just some broken girl he needs to protect. I press my advantage.
"Let me prove it."
"Prove what? That you can get yourself killed?" He pushes off the wall, creating distance between us.
"That I can handle myself." I follow him, refusing to let him retreat. "Three of your best men. I can take three of your best men at the same time."
A harsh laugh escapes him. "This isn't a fucking game, Kasia."
"No, it's not. It's life and death. My life. My choice."
He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "I know you can fight, but this is different. It's not a controlled environment. These men… they'll hurt you in ways that can't be fixed."
"And you think I haven't been hurt before?" The question hangs between us.
"Not like this." His voice drops. "Not by them."
For a moment, I'm ready to fire back, to push and prod until he breaks. And then something shifts in my mind. A door unlocking, a memory flooding in.
I'm ten years old, standing in Jerzy's office. His desk is massive, dark wood polished to a shine. I'm small for my age, my strawberry blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail.
"Prosze, tato."Please, Father. "Let me help. Let me do this job."
He doesn't look up from his papers. "You're not ready."
"I am!" My voice comes out too high, too eager. "I've been practising. I'm better with the knife now. I won't mess up again."
Still, he doesn't look at me. "When you're ready, I'll know."
"But how will you know if you don't let me try?"
Finally, he meets my eyes. His are cold, assessing. "When you stop begging, you'll be ready. A weapon doesn't beg to be used, Kasia. It waits."
The shame burns through me, hot and bitter. The desperation to please him, to make him proud. The nights spent practising with knives, with garrotes, with my bare hands. Anything to prove myself worthy of his attention.
And for what? To become the very thing I'm running from now?
