The Savage, page 9
When that’s done, I open the secure app with the owl logo, watch with an irritated pulse ticking at my temple as it takes its time to boot up. I’m pretty sure it used to be faster. Nightowl is fucking with me.
Once the neon-green source code has finished trickling down the screen in showy graphics, I type.
Renzo
All this time, you knew where she was?
A bubble appears almost immediately.
Nightowl
Again… you’re welcome.
I stare at the words for a long second, jaw tight.
Renzo
Why? And why now?
Nightowl
Bomb and Balls
Renzo
This is just a game to you? You know the shit storm this will start, right?
Nightowl
Why I did it. YOU. ARE. WELCOME.
My teeth grind and the pulse doubles until I hear its drumbeat in my skull.
Renzo
Thank you. But you owe me big fucking answers. We’re not done.
There’s no reply this time, just the quiet pulse of the connection closing.
Fucking cunt.
I toss the phone onto the bedside table and rub a hand over my face. Rafa’s going to lose his mind when he finds out the woman he’s been searching for, the woman last seen holding the gun that killed our mother, her hands covered in her blood, is alive and sitting next to my bed in a nun’s habit.
Cesare will probably unhinge right alongside him.
Dante – Christ, Dante will kill me for pulling the shit I’m about to pull while still half-broken. As for Orazio, who loved my mother like the daughter he never had, who, along with all of us, turned New York City into a blood and gore arena in retribution for her death, and has been waiting for answers just as eagerly. He’ll flay me so thoroughly, even my ghost will limp.
And… Pops. God, I can’t even think about my father, the man who’s been a very faint shadow of his old self since he buried the love of his life.
Jesus, it’s a motherfucker of clusterfucks.
By rights, I should place a conference call right now, hand Giada over to Salvatore justice. But fuck it, all I’ll be doing is throwing an angel to manic wolves. She won’t survive.
And even if she would…
I won’t.
Because none of that matters.
She’s mine. And I’m not letting her face what’s coming alone.
And the only way I get through what’s coming is if I’m strong enough to fight for it. For her. For the truth.
So I close my eyes.
I force my breathing to match hers.
And for the first time since the crash, I let the darkness come willingly.
When I wake again, sunlight is bleeding through the shutters in fine, gold threads. She’s already stirring beside me, blinking herself into wakefulness, her lashes catching the light. For a moment, she looks peaceful, almost ethereal. Then I see the panic flicker across her face as she remembers where she is.
Her lips part. She looks from the door to the rosary looped around our wrists, then to me.
I keep my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
It’s fascinating, watching her debate what to do.
Her brow creases as if she’s calculating how much sin is in simply watching me. Then her gaze softens. She traces the line of my jaw with her eyes, studying the bruises there, the faint scar near my temple.
When her eyes settle on my mouth and her tongue darts out to wet her lips, I nearly groan.
If this is her version of fighting temptation, I’m in deep fucking trouble.
She raises her free hand, hesitates, fingers trembling in the air as though reaching for something she doesn’t understand. The instinct to let her touch me wars with the desire to grab her wrist and make her admit she remembers.
Before either of us can act, a knock sounds at the door, and I fight a thick curse. Whoever it is is going to pay for the interruption.
She startles, snatching her hand back like she’s been burned.
‘Enter,’ I bark, eyes snapping open.
The door handle rattles but nothing happens. I sigh, hand over the key and she goes to unlock it. She’s back by my side when it opens and the doctor steps in, flanked by his junior and two nurses, clipboard already in hand.
‘Good morning, Signore,’ he says carefully. ‘How are we feeling today?’
‘Like I got run over by a British curse disguised as an engine,’ I mutter. ‘What do you want?’
‘Well, you asked me to be here at seven?’
I grunt. It feels like it was five minutes ago. I move in the bed, noting that I’m better rested. That my ribs don’t feel like they’re about to skewer me.
Rock the fuck on, little mercies.
The doctor moves to check the monitors. His tone has the polite but cautious tone of a man handling live ammunition. ‘Your pressure is much improved. With your permission, I’ll take some bloods and run a few tests?’
I catch Giada’s eyes still lingering on my mouth before they flick up to mine. I raise my brow and on cue, her face lights up with a blush. ‘Sure, take my blood.’
The nurses get to work quickly and hightail it out of the room like their asses are on fire.
‘Now, what do you need?’ the doctor asks.
‘I requested certain… personnel. Have they arrived?’
The doctor nods. ‘Sì, nine men arrived this morning. I believe they’re to be your new personal guard?’
‘Yes. I want three stationed outside that door, and three more around the grounds.’
‘Bene.’
I tear my gaze from Giada’s. ‘And let’s do something about this set up. Bring in a small desk and two chairs for your therapy sessions. And organise some food for her. Proper food. Not that monastery slop she’s used to.’
The doctor glances between us. ‘Of course.’ He scribbles a note, clears his throat. ‘And perhaps we can have a cot brought in for the sister, so she might rest. The chair isn’t the place to—’
‘No.’
The single word snaps out, sharp as a whip.
Giada flinches, then she glares at me.
‘Then the… Signorina will be returning to her own quarters?’ the doctor asks.
‘No, she will not. But there will be no cot,’ I say again, slower. ‘She will be staying here in this room. So you will bring me a bigger bed that we can share.’
Benedetta – Giada – makes a soft sound, somewhere between outrage and disbelief. ‘Should I not have a say in this? Or are you two going to keep discussing me like I’m not present?’
I look at her. ‘My trust issues haven’t gone away overnight, angel. But I agree, spending another night in that chair is out of the question. So a bigger bed is the only solution.’
‘I disagree—’
‘Your faith requires you to be mindful of my wellbeing, doesn’t it?’
She frowns. ‘Of course, but it also—’
‘My immediate wellbeing is contingent on whether you’re comfortable or not. And since a cot or a chair isn’t viable, a bigger bed it is.’
‘That’s bare-faced manipulation,’ she accuses.
As the doctor blinks. ‘A… bigger bed.’
I ignore her and answer him. ‘You heard me.’
‘Signore,’ the doctor tries again, ‘it would be—’
I pierce him with the stare Orazio taught Dante and me to perfect on our first day of big school. It hasn’t failed me since and I watch it drill through them now. ‘Doctor, don’t mistake my physical weakness for indecision,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Do as I fucking say. Then come back after breakfast and examine her.’
He nods quickly, mutters something to the other doctor, and they retreat.
I exhale, gaze shifting back to her.
She’s staring at me like I’m the devil himself. ‘Why?’ she asks, voice trembling.
‘I told you last night. I’m not losing sight of you again.’
Not when somewhere beyond these walls, I can already feel the world stirring – the distant hum of engines, the whisper of surveillance feeds reconnecting, the faint ripple that means my family’s beginning to catch wind of something.
Let them.
By the time they do, I’ll have what I came for.
7
SISTER BENEDETTA
I shouldn’t be shocked. I’ve seen power before.
Many times in the past I’ve seen men in important robes visiting the convent, their smiles too sharp, their low-spoken commands doing nothing to hide the clear power behind their words.
Madre Superiora and the senior nuns are always in a bad mood after such visits.
But those men have nothing on him.
His injuries and pain should diminish him, but Renzo Salvatore commands every conversation as if he’s king and we’re his subjects.
The moment he speaks, people move. The nurses, the doctor, even the guards outside. Every one of them jumps to obey as if their bodies are wired to his voice.
He’s lying in a hospital bed, bandaged, bruised, half-crippled, and still the entire world bends around him.
It’s obscene.
But also… exciting?
I hate the way it stirs something deep inside me – something that feels far too much like awe.
The nurses return after the table and chair Renzo demanded are brought in and placed next to his bed, wheeling in a tray that smells of pastries, butter and espresso. Steam curls upward in delicate ribbons. My stomach betrays me with a growl, but I press my lips together, ignoring it.
He notices. Of course he does.
‘Go on. Eat,’ he says.
‘I’ll wait until you’ve been served,’ I counter automatically.
He cocks an eyebrow. ‘You planning to wait all day? I’m not hungry.’
‘Then I’ll wait until you are,’ I repeat.
He smirks, eyes glittering. ‘Fine. I’ll eat. But only if you feed me.’
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me, Sister.’ His grin widens, dangerous and amused. ‘You want me to eat? Make it worth my while.’ There’s an audible gasp from one of the nurses, but he doesn’t even glance her way. His focus stays on me, eyes gleaming and daring.
‘Besides.’ He lifts his cast-encased, partially bandaged hand, ignoring the perfectly capable one lying next to mine. The one he used to hold mine all night. ‘I’m an invalid.’
Heat climbs my throat. I should refuse. I should call his bluff. But something in me wants to show him, and me, he doesn’t unnerve me. That this fluttering inside me is nothing but a natural reaction to being kidnapped.
‘Fine,’ I say quietly.
I move to the tray, pick up the spoon. The honey-drizzled porridge steams faintly as I bring it to him. He opens his mouth obediently, lips parting around the silver. My pulse thrums so loud I barely hear the nurses whispering as they retreat.
When he swallows, his gaze doesn’t drop from mine as he licks his full lower lip. The lip I can’t seem to stop staring at. ‘Hmm, yummy.’ He nods at the bowl. ‘Again.’
The word drips like honey, but something else hums beneath it. Gratitude, maybe. Or fascination.
I feed him another spoonful. Then another. The silence grows dense and intimate.
‘Your turn,’ he says eventually.
‘I’m not—’
He nods towards the tray. ‘Eat, Giada. Don’t make me mad at you.’
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, feeling the heat of his body through the thin sheet. My knees brush his. I lift a small piece of toast, bite into it, aware of his eyes following every motion. He watches me through bite after bite, and I… Heavens, why do I not hate everything about this?
Why do I want… breathlessly… more of it?
He shifts in the bed. And when I glance up, I see it – him. The unmistakable evidence of his desire beneath the sheet.
My breath catches. I look away too fast, cheeks burning. My hand trembles as the last piece of toast falls from my nerveless fingers.
‘A decent man would apologise. But I’m not a decent man, angel. Besides, I can’t help it,’ he says softly. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful. Over the years, I’ve driven myself crazy wondering how you would turn out. How you would’ve changed. I should curse God for making you even more breathtaking. But how can I when He gave me something to worship again?’
I shake my head, mortified, though my pulse is singing wild and oh so reckless. ‘That’s blasphemy.’
‘Maybe,’ he murmurs. ‘But it’s also true.’
‘Do you always say things like that to women?’
‘Only the ones who stop my heart.’
I glare at him, though it’s weaker than I intended. ‘You’re impossible. And incorrigible.’
‘Good,’ he says, mouth curving. ‘Way better than being boring and predictable.’
Staring at his mouth is sinful. Staring at his mouth is sinful.
I repeat the words over and over until it sticks. Until I feel stable enough to pick up the porridge bowl. ‘Would you like some more?’
He shakes his head, his head sagging against the pillows even as his eyes pierce me, moving over my face with rabid intensity I can’t dismiss. ‘Food isn’t what I crave now, angel.’
I stand abruptly, brushing crumbs from my lap. ‘I need to… I need to shower.’
He opens his mouth, already smirking. I cut him off.
‘I’m not showering in your room. I would rather stink.’
His grin is feral. ‘You’d still smell better than holy water.’
I stare, lips parted, caught between outrage and something uncomfortably close to laughter. ‘Signore, I’m beginning to think you’re pazzo.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m Sicilian, pazzo is our middle names,’ he says, as if that explains everything. ‘And you should drop to your knees right now and pray for forgiveness for calling God’s child crazy.’
‘Have no doubt, I will be praying for your soul. But I’m still not showering in this room.’ While you lie mere feet away. The very thought of it sends shivers all over my spine.
When I don’t move, his amusement fades. His expression hardens to something colder, more deliberate.
‘Fine.’ He picks up the phone on the table and presses a button. ‘Doctor.’
It takes less than a minute for the man to appear, clearly out of breath.
‘I want her escorted to the nearest empty room,’ Renzo says, his tone suddenly pure command. ‘She wants a shower. Bring two nurses and two of the security men with you.’
The doctor blinks. ‘Of course, Signore.’
Renzo fixes him with a look that could carve marble. ‘And make sure she comes back soon and in one piece… or else… Do I need to go on?’
The silence that follows is heavy, absolute. Even the machines seem to hesitate.
The doctor nods so quickly it’s almost a bow. ‘Subito, Signore.’
He hurries out.
I swallow hard, torn between fury and disbelief. ‘You can’t keep threatening people like that.’
He leans back against the pillow, studying me through hooded lashes. ‘Sister, I’ve spent my entire life doing exactly that. If there’s a heaven and a hell, I know which one I’m destined for.’
The worst part is, I believe him.
I fold my arms, wishing I could fold the world back to the way it was this time yesterday, instead. ‘And you mean to keep me prisoner while you throw your weight about?’
‘I mean to treat you like the most precious thing in my life. Even more precious than my Furia racing car. And that machine is a sexy thing of sublime beauty.’
‘You’re a terrible man.’
He smiles lazily. ‘And yet, you haven’t plastered yourself into the corner of the room or shrieked like a banshee. Or even tried to kill me in my sleep. I take all that as a sign of extreme progress.’
I don’t answer, because I don’t know how.
When the door opens again, and the doctor returns with two guards and the nurses, I let them usher me away, the weight of his gaze following me like a brand and his ‘hurry back, baby’ beating a pulse in my ears and in… other parts of my body I’m deeply ashamed to acknowledge.
Renzo
The moment the door shuts behind her, I grab my phone again and open the encrypted line.
Renzo
Madre Superiora. I want everything you have on her. I want her questioned. Hard.
A few seconds later, the reply pings in.
Nightowl
Hard questioning? Sounds like blasphemy, racer boy. You sure you’re not confusing your vengeance with your foreplay?
I grit my teeth.
Renzo
You’re in a chatty mood. I’m not. I want answers, not commentary.
Nightowl
Oh, come on. She raised your little angel, didn’t she? Gave her a new name, taught her how to pray, how to forget? Maybe she did you a favour. I mean, you didn’t really want a killer in your bed, did you?
I stare at the message until my jaw aches from clenching.
Renzo
Help me. Or don’t. I’m not into edging.
A few dots blink, vanish, blink again.
Nightowl
Tempted to test that theory. But I’ve got a soft spot for lost causes. Nun’s keeper incoming. Just remember… wrong threads pulled brings the whole damn tapestry down.
