Page 38 of The Savage

She doesn’t move at first. Then she rises from the chair in one stiff motion, palms flat against her skirts as though bracing for a blow.

‘This is wrong,’ she whispers.

‘What is, angel?’

Her breath feathers out a little quickly at the endearment. ‘Us. This.’

My eyes narrow and I feel the valve of fury wheeze a warning deep inside me. The renowned Salvatore temper is never far away from the surface.

It’s what’s gotten every one of Orazio’s progeny into trouble more than a few dozen times. But I do my best to throttle it now. ‘Says who?’

‘God.’

The word hangs between us like heavy incense, cloying and sanctimonious. I drag in a slow breath, fighting for patience I don’t own.

‘God,’ I echo, voice low. ‘He’s got a lot to answer for.’

Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t step back. I can see the pulse at her throat beating fast, betraying her nerves. The habit makes her look untouchable, but that pulse tells another story.

It fascinates me beyond measure and I can’t fight the way my tongue tingles, eager to stroke it. Stroke other parts of her body.

Soon, I swear to the same God she’s hiding behind.

‘Who are you, really?’ she asks suddenly. ‘And why… why don’t you want your family to know you’re awake? If I had family…’ She pauses and a wave of sadness sweeps over her perfect features. ‘I would want them to know.’

The question lands with the soft sting of censure. She’s braver than she looks.

I study her for a moment, the way her hands twist around the beads of her rosary. I remember those hands differently… longer nails painted bright fuchsia, those delicate wrists wrapped in twin Cartier bangles – a gift from me for her eighteenth birthday.

Those same hands, warm and unafraid, tracing down my naked chest, then digging in as she rode my cock, her head thrown back as she screamed through one of a handful of breathtaking orgasms.

Now they tremble in prayer instead of pleasure.

‘Family,’ I say, half-smiling, only able to take my eyes off her fingers because I can look at her face. ‘They’re a blessing until they’re not. Mine… they have a way of turning miracles into weapons. They’ll find out I’m awake soon enough. But for now, I want a little peace.’

‘Peace?’ Her brows draw together. ‘You call this peace? Threatening your doctors and kidnapping people and barking orders?’

My lips twist at the quiet censure in her voice. ‘I didn’t kidnap people, ragazza. Just you. As for the rest, I call it necessary quiet.’

She hesitates, eyes narrowing as though she’s trying to see past the scar tissue and bruises. I let her look. Let her see what’s left.

‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘If you don’t remember who you are, why haven’t you wanted to know?’

‘I do want to know,’ she says quickly. ‘Every day. But the Madre Superiora told me to be patient – that God will reveal what He chooses when He’s ready.’

I don’t hold back my snort. ‘And you believed that bullshit?’

She frowns. Then attempts to look away. I like that she doesn’t succeed for more than a second before those eyes flick back to mine. ‘Of course. I… had to.’

I tilt my head, the faintest smile curling my mouth. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

She exhales, a soft shiver of air. ‘Before the fire, she promised to show me my file. The records from when they found me. She said it contained my real name, my history. But then the fire came. She said it burned with everything else.’

‘Fucking convenient,’ I murmur.

Her eyes flick up. ‘You think she lied.’

‘I think having blind faith is the kinda bullshit cowards tell themselves so they don’t face up to the truth.’