Page 99 of Savage Saint
As I speed away from the burning port, a cold clarity settles over me. The Santoro family has been patient. We've been strategic. We've played by certain rules.
No more.
"Call our men," I tell Luca, my voice deadly calm. "All of them. Tell them to suit up and be ready. We're hitting every Nicolosi property tonight. Every warehouse, every front business, every safe house. I want them crippled by morning."
Luca's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, already making calls.
"And, Luca," I add, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "spread the word. Anyone we find trafficking girls gets no mercy. Not tonight."
The time for half measures is over. Nicolosi thought he could use my Butterfly against me? He's about to learn what happens when you try to cage a savage.
31
KASIA
Angelo paces around his living room like a caged animal. There's shattered glass on the hardwood floor, the shards of it crunching beneath his boots as blood slowly drips from his palm. It's my fault. All my fault.
I keep my distance, my knuckles pale around the back of the sofa.
He hasn't spoken a word to me since he came back to Dante's. Not when he looked at me and Alessa, not when he motioned to his car. Not when Alessa hugged me goodbye, whispering that everything would be okay. Not during the tense drive back to his house.
It won't be okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.
The memory of Eclipse haunts me. The girls' terrified faces when they recognised me, the way they whispered my name like a curse.Czerwona Wdowa. I put Alessa in danger. Sweet, innocent Alessa, who has shown me nothing but kindness. I dragged her into my nightmare, and for what? To confirm what I already knew deep down?
I close my eyes, but that only makes the memories stronger. The drive back from the club was when it all slotted into place.Every missing piece of my identity returning in brutal flashes. My throat had closed up as I told Alessa everything, how I was sent to infiltrate, to destroy the Santoro family from within. How I was never a victim, buttheweapon. It's only a matter of time before she tells Dante and then… He'll have me killed.
Maybe it's for the better. I've taken enough lives. It's time somebody put a stop to it. To me.
More memories flood back as I watch Angelo. Missions, targets, perfect kills. The name echoes in my head: Czerwona Wdowa. Red Widow. My name. My legacy. I remember the weight of guns in my hands, the exact pressure needed on a garrotte wire, the dozens of ways to kill a man without leaving evidence. I remember being proud of these skills.
Angelo stops pacing suddenly, his back to me as he stares out the window. His shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath. I can see the effort it takes for him to stay in control.
Then I remember Angelo's face. The sheer disappointment. The sadness.
The silence in the car had been deafening. No accusations, no questions, just silence so thick I could barely breathe through it. And now this. The crystal glass shattered in his hand when he tried to keep himself composed after we arrived home. The blood dripping onto his expensive floor. The storm brewing inside him that I can feel from across the room.
"I'm sorry about putting Alessa in danger," I start, my voice smaller than I intend. "I shouldn't have—"
Angelo cuts me off with a raised hand. "You promised to stay put. You gave me your word." His voice is deadly quiet.
The silence that follows weighs more than any shouted accusation could. I watch as he paces, blood still dripping from his clenched fist onto the hardwood floor. Each drop feels like an accusation. Each crunch of glass beneath his boots is a reminder of the trust I've shattered.
The assassin in me calculates exits, weapons, angles of attack with practised precision. Two steps to the kitchen knife block, where three blades would be sufficient for what I'd need. Four seconds to the front door, accounting for the slight resistance in the handle. The heavy crystal lamp on my right could become an easy weapon if needed. My body tenses instinctively, muscles coiling in preparation as my eyes catalogue each potential escape route and defensive position in the room.
I force those thoughts down, horrified at how easily they surface. This is Angelo. Not a threat. Not a target. Not one of the countless faceless men I've been trained to eliminate without hesitation or remorse.
The woman in me, the one who has begun to care for him, moves almost unbidden. I reach for the first aid kit from the kitchen counter, my fingers trembling slightly as I cross the distance between us. The small box feels impossibly heavy in my hands as I approach him cautiously, like one might a wounded predator.
"Let me see," I murmur, gently taking his bloodied hand in mine. His skin is warm despite everything, and I can feel the tension radiating through his entire frame as I carefully begin to clean away the blood, picking out tiny fragments of crystal with steady fingers. The silence stretches between us, thick and oppressive, broken only by his controlled breathing and the soft sound of gauze against skin.
Just as I'm almost done wrapping his wound, another memory hits. Jerzy's voice:"Trust is a weapon, little wolf. Use it wisely."I feel sick, remembering how many times I've done exactly that. How many people looked at me with the same trust Angelo did, right before I used it against them? The businessman in Lisbon who offered me a drink. The politician in Madrid who invited me into his home. The diplomat fromBudapest who believed I was just a pretty face at the embassy party until I slid a wire around his throat.
I shake my head, clearing the images away.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, the words feeling inadequate as they leave my lips. My eyes remain fixed on his wounded hand, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't just leave them there," I argue, even as guilt churns in my stomach. Not just for endangering Alessa, but for every lie I'm still telling. "Those girls... they're trapped. They're being used and abused and—"
"You put everyone at risk," Angelo growls, stalking closer. "Including yourself." His proximity makes my heart race with fear or desire, I'm not sure anymore. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something. The truth, maybe. The truth I'm too afraid to give him.
