Page 57 of The Savage

Every time I plant a foot wrong, the pain rips through me in a frankly fucking rude reminder that I’m human – barely.

‘Language,’ she chides from the corner, without even looking up from the book she’s pretending to read, and I realise I’ve been steadily cursing since my latest attempt at fucking walking.

‘Language?’ I grunt, adjusting my balance. ‘Sister, if you heard the things I don’t say, you’d be thanking the Virgin herself.’

Giada’s mouth twitches. The smile that follows is small, serene… and lethal.

That smile has become my favourite addiction.

I’ve caught myself watching her too often these past few days. When she squats to pick up a dropped rosary bead. When she helps the nurses adjust my brace or straightens my sheet. When she murmurs prayers under her breath that sound suspiciously like she’s arguing with God.

Every time I feel the fuse of my temper spark – when the pain’s too much, or the doctors talk to me like I’m a child, or I remember how easily I could’ve died – one glance at her, and I’m disarmed.

For a guy whose mafia initiation at thirteen was getting dropped in the middle of deeply hostile Haitian territory with nothing but his twin at his back and his fists for defence, it’s fucking alarming to feel like a nun in a habit is the only thing standing between me and the version of myself who wants to burn the world.

The bastard in me resents that. The boy in me who fell beneath her spell over a decade ago doesn’t care.

‘Slow down,’ she says as I grimace, dragging myself towards the window. ‘You’re not on a racing track.’

‘Maybe that’s exactly the problem. I should be.’

She sighs, closes her book, and walks over. She smells like soap and clean cotton and something faintly floral that doesn’t belong to the convent. And it pleases me far too much that she may have spritzed on one of the many perfumes I ordered to be delivered to her room. ‘Sit before you fall.’

‘Bossy,’ I mutter, but I do as I’m told. She settles beside me, folding her hands neatly in her lap, eyes soft but steady.

‘Do you ever stop glaring at the world?’ she asks.

I hide my relief from the pain with a shrug. ‘Not until it stops glaring back.’

‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ she says, parroting my words back at me.

I stare at her stunning face, then wink. ‘Maybe I’m arming myself against that smile when it truly lets loose and blows me the fuck away.’

Her eyes widen, then gain an impish gleam. Right before her lips curve, slow and sure, and… oh, Jesus fuck, the heat that coils low in my stomach is anything but holy.

‘Then maybe we’re both doomed,’ she says softly.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’

She laughs, quiet and breathy and so damn sexy, and I swear I’d crash a thousand more times just to hear it again.

* * *

The door bursts open. Dr Conti – a name she’s insisted I remember instead of simply referring to him as Doctor – all but stumbles in, breathless and pale.

‘What is it?’ I growl, shifting my glare to the security guards who’ve allowed me to be disturbed. Whose presence has wiped the smile and laughter from her face.

‘Signore Salvatore – your brother. He’s⁠—’

‘What about him?’ I bark. I don’t even need to ask which brother he’s referring to.

‘Signore Dante. He’s on his way. The front desk just called. He’s already through security.’

Of course he is. Because he’s not a guest, he’s family. ‘Che cazzo.’

I drag a hand through my hair. Of course Dante wouldn’t listen. The doctor would’ve told him I was stable and needed rest. My twin’s idea of ‘rest’ involves starting a war just to check my pulse.

‘I tried to tell him you’re not in a position for guests but he… he did not appreciate that,’ Dr Conti says, confirming my thoughts.