Page 80 of The Savage

Silence. I can hear Rafa exhale, Cesare recalibrate, the sound of a lighter and a swear as someone – Sofiya? – steals the cigarette before Rafa can ruin his lungs with it.

Nostalgia seeps through me, but it pales in comparison to the sweet angel sleeping upstairs. The answers I need.

‘No.’

‘No?’ Cesare repeats flat as a dead snitch.

‘I want time,’ I say. ‘Alone.’

‘Bullshit,’ Rafa says immediately. ‘You’ve never wanted time alone. You want an audience when you set the room on fire.’

‘I want a room that doesn’t burn when she walks into it,’ I say, and the words are out before I can decide whether they’re wise.

‘She?’ Cesare’s voice goes soft. ‘Who the fuck is she?’

Jesus. You’re a fucking idiot.

‘Benedetta,’ I toss out, because part of me is perverse enough to play this stupid game with my own brother. There’ll be hell to pay when he finds out.

Or not.

None of us have forgotten he was the first to openly claim a Mancinelli, nearly got himself torched, pitch-forked and ex-communicated from the family for it. I was a lead pitch-fork holder. Now I love Maddie like a sister.

Go figure.

‘And who the fuck is this Benedetta?’ comes a new voice, older, heavier, threaded with the weight of decades. Orazio doesn’t shout. He wraps the line around your throat and waits for you to pull it tight. ‘A prayer?’

‘You’ve never had use for those, Nonno.’

‘Don’t test me, boy. You’re not the first Salvatore to fall in love with a woman who will cost him blood.’

There’s a shock of silence at that.

We don’t say the word ‘love’ in this family unless it’s followed by a show of power, of victory, or of God.

I choose not to answer. He takes my quiet for confirmation. Of course he does.

‘You will come home,’ he says, final. ‘Or I will bring you home.’

‘Two problems with that,’ I say softly. ‘One: you don’t know where I am.’

Rafa snorts. ‘You left a trail of expensive footprints. Only a matter of time, stronzo.’

‘Two,’ I continue as if he hasn’t spoken, ‘I won’t be alone when I come.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Orazio says, voice flint. ‘This family⁠—’

‘This family,’ I cut in, ‘has already made room at its tables for two of our enemies’ daughters because my brothers decided they’d rather be happy than right. Don’t torch your own hypocrisy because my mess looks different.’

‘Mind your fucking tongue—’ he begins.

Rafa laughs once, sharp. ‘He’s got you there, old man.’

‘Shut up, Rafaelle,’ Orazio says without heat, which is how I know he’s rattled. ‘Renzo.’

‘Sì?’

‘Did you take vows on my behalf? On your father’s? On your mother’s grave?’