Page 12 of The Savage

I fight it, dragging myself upward through the murk until my eyelids flutter open. The air tastes like metal and morphine, and the light burns like acid.

But, hey, surprise. I’m alive and I intend to keep it that way.

There’s someone in the chair beside the bed.

‘About fucking time,’ Dante mutters.

I blink, my throat dry as sandpaper. ‘You look like shit,’ I rasp.

His mouth twitches with half amusement, half relief. ‘You should see yourself.’

Then another voice. Older. Harder. ‘Agreed.’

Orazio.

Shit.

The old man fills the doorway like a storm cloud in an Armani suit, his silver hair slicked back, his black cane tapping once against the floor. Even at eighty-three, my grandfather looks ready to gut anyone who crosses him.

‘You were reckless,’ he says flatly. ‘I told you – the British are lucky, not blessed. They build engines like they build their weather – predictable, miserable but stoic. Go at it at your peril.’

I manage a weak laugh that makes my ribs ache. ‘Nice to see you too, Nonno.’

His eyes narrow. ‘You think this is funny? You nearly died. The team could’ve lost millions. The family⁠—’

‘—would’ve survived,’ I croak.

He stares at me a long moment, then sighs through his nose. ‘It is not a theory I’m in the mood to test, stronzo. But I should’ve known better than to doubt. You’re my grandson. Too stubborn to die, too foolish to live quietly.’

That’s the closest thing to affection I’ll ever get from him.

He squeezes my shoulder once – his version of I’m glad you’re alive – then turns to leave. ‘Get well, nupito. You have debts to collect and pay.’

He narrows his eyes at Dante in a look I can’t decipher.

When the door closes behind him, the room exhales. Then one by one my siblings deliver their version of Orazio’s parting words, until only my twin remains.

Dante’s still watching me, a strange look in his eyes.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘You kept saying her name, frate.’

My pulse skips.

I don’t need to ask which name he means. I know. ‘What else did I say?’

Eyebrows so identical to mine they probably contain the exact number of strands arch upwards. ‘Saying the name of the woman who—’ He pauses, his jaw iron-tight. ‘Reciting her name like some fucking prayer, over and over, like she’s your personal saint instead of the woman who put a bullet in our mother isn’t enough? You want to have said more?’ he barks harshly, unlike the laid-back brother I know.

I swallow hard, staring at the ceiling, listening to the heart monitor click back to its steady rhythm. ‘Nah… guess not.’

‘You’re lucky you knew better than to do it when Rafa visited you. He’d be even more pissed than he already is.’

‘Why is it that I’m the one lying in a hospital bed and he’s the one pissed off?’ I croak.

Dante shrugs. ‘Cesare and Sofiya told him he wasn’t allowed to kill Sebastian for T-boning you on the track. He’s not taking it well.’

‘Fuck.’