Page 31 of The Savage

The phantom puppeteer with a god complex not only gave me Giada’s location, but helped me extract her as efficiently as possible.

Of course this reeks of them. Their invisible hand. Their penchant for chaos disguised as aid. I would’ve thought they’d disappear into the night after that though.

Yet somehow they’ve managed to keep their men guarding me, guarding us, without alerting my brothers.

I’m torn down the centre between fury and gratitude. Between wanting to tear them several new assholes to offering them my first born – the very one I intend to have with the angel still staring at me like I’m an exorcism patient she’s gearing up to pray for – on a platter.

And when I can stand without swaying, there’s going to be a reckoning. Just as I’m certain whatever their endgame is, it doesn’t stop here.

But none of that matters.

Not when she’s standing there, alive.

My gaze locks on hers. There’s fear in her eyes, yes, but something else, too. A pulse of heightened… unclean, possibly ungodly, emotion she’s fighting hard to bury. She takes a hesitant step back, fingers white and still clutching her rosary.

The machines react first.

Alarms spike as the heart monitor wails in protest.

A volcanic roar builds in my chest next. It’s enough to send furtive glances from the doctors.

‘Signore, you need to calm down,’ one of them says, his voice trembling. ‘Your blood pressure⁠—’

‘Don’t fucking tell me what to do,’ I growl, never looking away from her. ‘Stop,’ I snarl.

Giada… Benedetta… stops mid-step, startled by the sound. Her mouth opens, maybe to apologise, maybe to run.

And then one of the soldiers makes a mistake.

He reaches for her arm.

The world goes red.

Before the thought even finishes forming, I’m moving – ripping out IVs, monitors, tubes. Pain ignites down my side like someone’s taking a blowtorch to my ribs, but I don’t care. My hand slams against the bed rail, metal screaming, and I’m upright. ‘Take your fucking hands off her!’

The roar tears through the room like Vesuvius erupting. The soldier freezes, eyes wide. Every other man in the room tightens his grip on his weapon, waiting for a command.

She jerks away and her knees hit the chair. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes huge, terrified, and God help me, still so fucking beautiful. She could at this very second snatch the last breath from my lungs and I would happily allow her.

Hell, didn’t I summon her, pray that she would be the last thing I see before the devil took me? Looks like my prayers were answered.

But fuck it, now I want more. I’m staying. Maiming and tearing out throats of anyone who intends otherwise, even God Himself.

Now I can see she’s alive, breathing, I’m greedy for life, too.

I want to reassure her. To explain. But all that comes out is a rasp. ‘Come here.’

She shakes her head. ‘You’re not well, Signore. Please, listen to your doctors and lie down,’ she says softly. But her eyes are still wide.

‘I will. If you come closer.’

Her fear flares again, and she takes another step back instead. ‘Why?’ she demands, and it’s another beautiful sign of the stubborn girl I knew. The one with a thousand questions for one request. I would grin if I wasn’t in agony. If I wasn’t poised to chase her the fuck down if she dares one more step. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispers. ‘You think I’m someone I’m not.’

‘I’m not sure what game you’re playing but my patience is wearing thin, sweetheart.’

‘I’m not⁠—’

‘You fucking are,’ I say, forcing breath past my lungs. ‘You’re Giada Mancinelli. And you need to get your sweet ass over here, right fucking now.’