Page 67 of The Savage

‘With a little siphoned away in a Swiss bank account?’ I let the words drip with disdain. ‘How noble of you.’

‘So you lied to me? For years?’ Giada’s voice breaks on the question and while I would never hit or harm a woman, I come within an inch of making an exception, to teach this old hag the consequences of causing my woman pain.

Her eyes glisten but when she glances at Giada there’s a hard, definitely ungodly look of harsh reality in her eyes. ‘I am a servant of God, as you well know, child. But we needed the funds.’ She turns back to me. ‘The girl needed sanctuary. I thought, such good fortune at the opportune moment… it was His will⁠—’

‘You thought wrong. And you did wrong. Tell me, when exactly were you hoping to retire to spend the ten million euros without detection? I thought this gig was for life?’

‘You did it for your own benefit?’ Giada demands, her voice stronger now. I glance down at her and see the ignition of fire from the girl I once knew. The one who would sneak away from her home to meet me, who would stand up to me with very little thought for her safety. That girl is buried underneath there and I’ll crack her open and watch her dance in the light if it’s the last thing I do.

Silence stretches. Only the tick of an old clock and the rustle of her rosary.

I turn to Giada. ‘Wait outside for me?’

‘Why?’

I stare in silence, watch her nostrils flare in delicate stubbornness.

Then, she exits.

Madre Superiora sits there in defiance. Until I take a step closer, then I watch her squirm. ‘You’re not telling me everything. Not nearly. Here’s your chance, old woman.’

Her multiple chins tilt with something close to distaste as she looks me over.

Interesting. Because that distaste? It feels very personal. If not to me, then most definitely to my name.

It’s going to be a pleasure to pick this woman apart, piece by fucking piece.

‘Not going to confess? Fine. You will tell me what stage Giada’s at in her noviciate. And spare me the holy theatre, just the truth.’

She hesitates, searching my face for something she’s not going to find.

‘She was to begin her final discernment period in two months,’ she says finally, ‘the stage where she would live outside the convent, testing her vow in the world. But… if you wish, we can bring it forward.’

Her tone is calculating now, eyes flicking towards my sling, my guards, the doctor hovering by the door. She’s weighing survival against salvation.

‘And what will that entail, exactly?’ I ask.

When she’s done reciting a tedious formality I pay very little attention to, I nod. ‘Great. Do it,’ I snap at the older woman.

A flicker of confusion crosses her face. ‘Immediately?’

‘No, the next winter solstice. Of course immediately!’

She produces a sleek top-of-the-range laptop, opens it and starts typing. Then stops. ‘I want… assurances.’

‘Of course you do.’

She glances towards the door. ‘You will leave the money in the account alone.’

There she is. Green. The colour of greed and money.

I have no doubt she has several more colours hidden beneath her wimple.

I brace my fists on her desk and lean forward, taking satisfaction when she leans back away from my acid fury. ‘Whether I do or not depends entirely on how quickly you type, Madre. You have three minutes.’

As her fingers fly, I stroll to the door and crack it open, watching Giada – Benedetta – outside, oblivious to the deal being struck over her future. My men gesture for her to come in as the Madre clears her throat.

‘It is done,’ she says.