Page 93 of Savage Saint
They freeze, wide-eyed, like deer caught in headlights.
"I can get you out," I continue in Polish, the language flowing naturally from my lips. "No one will hurt you again."
One of the girls, blonde, with a scar cutting through her left eyebrow, stares at me, recognition dawning on her face.
"Czerwona Wdowa!" she whispers, the name a prayer on her lips. Red Widow. "Did you come to kill us?"
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KASIA
Czerwona Wdowa..
The name hits me like a physical blow. Red Widow. I know it. I've heard it before. Many times.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm here to save you. Come on!"
Gunfire erupts from the main floor, cutting through the throbbing bass of the music. Shouts and screams follow. The girls shrink back, terror making them immobile.
"Fuck," I mutter. I need to get back to Alessa, make sure she's safe. The girls aren't moving though, backing away from me even further. I take a step towards them.
"He'll find us and kill us," one whispers, tears brimming in her eyes. Fuck. Fuckety. Fuck.
"He won't. Come on!" I growl. "Let's go."
"We can't," the blonde says, shaking her head frantically. "He has our families. If we leave, they die."
The oldest trick in the book. And the most effective. Also, most likely a lie.
"Fuck it. I'll be back." I turn and run. If anything happens to Alessa, I'll kill every single motherfucker in this place. I'll dragthese girls out next time. When I don't have to worry about Dante's fiancée.
My body moves on autopilot as I navigate back through the corridors. Two men with guns appear around the corner, heading for the dressing rooms. Without hesitation, I launch myself at them.
The first goes down with a knife-hand strike to the throat. As he drops, choking, I grab his gun and shoot the second man between the eyes. The recoil feels familiar in my hand. The spray of blood across the wall looks like artwork I've created a hundred times before.
I don't feel anything as I step over their bodies. The blood on my hands might as well be paint for all it bothers me.
I make it back to the car in record time, sliding into the passenger seat with my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Go, go, go!" I tell Alessa, who doesn't waste time asking questions. She starts the car and peels out of the alley, tyres screeching as we flee the scene.
We're halfway back to Dante's mansion when Alessa finally breaks the silence. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
I stare straight ahead, watching the fog swallow the road in front of us. "No," I say slowly. "But I found something else..."
Memory fragments start to surface, each one more devastating than the last. They hit like bullets, precise and deadly.
A red dress, slit high up the thigh, concealing a garrote wire. A high-profile target in Vienna. A perfect execution.
Clean kills. No witnesses. A reputation growing in whispered conversations throughout the criminal underworld.
The fear in men's eyes when they whispered my name: "Red Widow."
Pride in Jerzy's voice as he strokes my hair: "My perfect weapon."
The brand on my hip—not torture, but a mission marker. I let them do it. Part of the job. Nicolosi was there, watching from the corner, cigar smoke curling around his face. "Make it look real," he instructed the man with the iron.
The whole thing was orchestrated. Get captured, get rescued by the Santoros. Gain their trust. Learn their weaknesses.
