Page 10 of The Savage

‘Or both,’ I mutter. But do I give a shit? Fuck. No. I tried. I really did. But I’m grasping in a really bad way that there’s a good reason Nonno calls the Mancinellis cursed.

Dante pushes off the frame, crosses the room and plants his palms on my desk. ‘You tell me this girl’s worth it, I might believe you. Otherwise, Orazio will flay you alive, and Cesare will finish the job. Rafa’ll just laugh and bet on how hard you scream before you die.’

I shrug, pretending I don’t care, even though my pulse is hammering like I’ve been caught red-handed. ‘Let them try.’

‘Frate…’ His tone shifts, quieter now, something between admiration and warning. ‘First time I’ve seen you not give a fuck about the family. So I’ll say it again – she better be worth it.’

I look away.

Out the window, Manhattan glitters like a city of sinners waiting to be saved.

‘Fuck,’ I say under my breath. ‘I hope so too.’

* * *

Three Nights Later

Her eighteenth birthday.

Fucking finally.

The city hums below us, unaware that two of its most damned souls are about to play with fire inside holy walls.

Giada’s waiting for me in white. Not the blinding white of purity, but the soft kind… the shade of candle wax melting beneath a trembling flame. Her dark hair spills down her back, her fingers nervously twisting a silver rosary.

‘Happy birthday, beautiful,’ I whisper.

Her eyes lift to mine, all that light and faith and danger trapped in a single look. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ Her mouth says the words but her body sings a different aria.

‘Story of my life.’

We’re in our place. The old cathedral downtown.

The one place our families know well but neither family would ever look because the very thought is sacrilege.

The same church where her father takes confession. The same church where my mother lights candles for forgiveness neither of our families deserve.

The same church where, years from now, everything will go to hell.

But right now it’s just ours.

She moves closer. The sound of her shoes against marble is the only thing keeping me tethered to earth. I can smell her – sun-drenched apples and holy water and something darker, headier.

‘You know what happens if anyone finds out,’ she says.

‘I know.’

‘And you don’t care?’

‘Not even a little bit.’

I touch her cheek, and she leans into it. Her lips part, soft and trembling. ‘Then show me,’ she whispers.

The world narrows to the taste of her breath, the silk of her skin beneath my palms, the quiet echo of our heartbeats. There are no saints watching. Hell, even the devil keeps his distance tonight.

There’s only us – Renzo and Giada – standing on the edge of something neither of us can take back.

The shadows stretch, and candlelight flickers, warning us that we shouldn’t be here in the tiny side chapel hidden behind the choir loft I locked us in using the key I stole and copied three months ago.