Page 28 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

"You're going to pass out if you don't breathe," Izzy says as she tightens the belt on her robe and raises a perfectly arched brow at me in the mirror.

I laugh, but it's dry and cracked at the edges. "I'm trying."

"Try harder." She tosses a brush toward the bed where I'm sitting, legs crossed, palms damp, and stomach churning. "This isn't a trial. It's an interview."

"It's not Edoardo I'm worried about."

Her expression softens instantly. "Roberto."

I nod, curling my fingers tighter into the borrowed robe. The material is thick, soft, and luxurious, like everything else in this house. Izzy walks over, pulls a chair in front of me, and sits. She's all legs and confidence, a contradiction in motion, equal parts fire and poise.

"You're safe here," she says, and somehow it doesn't sound like a platitude. "He won't touch you."

I hug myself, her words are reassuring, but I've lived in fear for so long, that it's hard.

She must see the struggle on my expression, because she continues.

"My parents, me, and my brothers. We're here to protect you.

" She leans in, elbows to knees. "Enrico would tear Roberto or anybody apart if he so much as looked at you wrong. You know that, don't you?"

"I shouldn't need him to," I whisper.

Izzy exhales. "No. You shouldn't."

We sit in silence for a beat. Shadow is asleep at my feet, belly full and legs twitching in some dream where he's probably king of the world.

"Did they hurt you?" she asks quietly. "The Giordanos?"

My hands knot into the belt again. "Not the way you're thinking."

She waits, and I appreciate the way she doesn't rush me.

"They didn't lock me in a basement or chain me to a wall.

" I shiver at the memory of the one time that happened, but I'm not ready to talk about that.

"But I was still a prisoner with them. I was five when they took me.

" I look at her, pleading with my eyes for her to understand the fear of a little girl after being taken away from the only world she ever knew.

It's funny how people say they can't remember much from when they were younger.

I remember everything. I remember having a home and being loved and then… just being.

"I often thought about the Cinderella story," I meet her eyes again, "I pretended to be her, pretended that a fairy Godmother was out there somewhere and would appear one day."

I see the pity in her eyes and straighten a bit.

"It wasn't all bad. I joined Camilla and her private tutors.

She hated me for being smarter than her, getting better grades.

" Here I grinned, because I did like that feeling.

Even though she paid me back in spades with the ugliest hand-me-downs she could think of and belittled me when her friends were around.

But she would have done that either way.

"I had internet access; they screened what I did, but I had it. I had a tablet and a computer. I was allowed to talk to my family."

"Still," Izzy sighs and then a small smile glints in her eyes, "I never liked Camilla; she's always been a brat."

We both giggle a bit in commiseration. Izzy sobers. She takes my hand and holds it up, looking pointedly at the missing finger. I sigh. I suppose I owe her an explanation. "Giovanni did this a long time ago, to remind my father to stay in line."

Izzy shakes her head. "Oh, Cat. I'm so sorry for what you went through."

"It's okay." I smile at her. "It's all good now. And it doesn't even hurt anymore."

At that, Izzy let out a small giggle, shaking her head. "When you're ready, I'm ready to listen."

I nod. "When I'm ready, I promise to tell you everything."

"Okay," Izzy nods and changes the subject. "You miss your family."

"I barely know them anymore," I reply honestly.

Because for the first time in my life, I feel like I don't need to watch what and how I say things.

I don't think I would be able to hold back much anyway, as bitterness rises in me.

"I know the versions of them I could see in video calls.

The filtered smiles. The careful words. But I haven't had a real conversation with my family in fourteen years. "

Izzy's brow furrows. "That's... cruel."

I shrug, but it's stiff. "Yeah." What else is there to say?

"But now you're free." Izzy points out with a dazzling smile.

I want to believe that. I do. But freedom still feels like borrowed space. Like something I'll have to give back the second I breathe too loud.

A knock on the door startles us. "Ten minutes," Enrico's voice calls from the other side. "You ready?"

Izzy rises and answers before I can. "She will be."

When the footsteps move off down the hall, she turns to me and says, "We're going to get you dressed. You're going to walk in there like a queen. And if Roberto so much as breathes wrong in your direction, I'll shoot him or tell Enrico to."

I laugh, truly, this time, because, God help me, I believe her. "You're not carrying a gun."

"You think I'm not?"

She tosses me an encouraging smile. "You got this, Cat."

I take one last deep breath and whisper, "Let's hope so."

The stairs feel longer than they should. My legs are steady, but my stomach twists tighter with every step. I left Shadow with Izzy, but now I wish I'd brought him with me. His presence would be soothing.

Enrico waits at the bottom of the stairs.

Dark suit matches his dark expression. He doesn't smile when he sees me, but he does offer his arm, and without hesitation, I take it.

I try to leech off his strength as every breath seems to become harder to take.

We walk together toward the drawing room, where the meeting will happen, where he will be.

The door opens, and the first face I see is Roberto's.

I nearly stop breathing. He sits there, utterly at ease, as if he didn't spend the last fourteen years treating me like an object, something to command, to cage, and never even tried to understand .

Enrico's grip tightens on my hand. Just enough.

Just to remind me: I'm not alone this time.

The next face I don't recognize, but it catches me off guard. This has to be Don Edoardo.

He's younger than I expected. Mid-twenties, maybe. Handsome in a polished, aristocratic way, wearing a light gray suit. He appears impeccably groomed, but there is a weakness about him that is hard to miss.

Rizio stands to the side. His posture looks deferential, like a soldier waiting for orders. He doesn't meet my gaze, but I catch the flicker of a smile for me on his face.

The air is tense and too quiet, as if we interrupted a heated discussion when we entered.

"Signorina Costa," Edoardo says, rising smoothly. His voice is pleasant. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

"I didn't realize it was optional," I reply before I can stop myself.

Looks like Izzy is rubbing off on me. I like it.

Before, the Giordanos turned me into this shadow version of myself—sorry, Shadow.

Now, I feel like I'm becoming myself. A beat of stunned silence follows.

Enrico gives the faintest grunt of approval.

Edoardo composes himself with a smile. "I like your sense of humor."

I force myself to return it, but it feels fragile, like porcelain. "I'm not sure that's what I'd call it."

Ignoring my words this time, he gestures to a seat. "Please. Sit."

I settle into the chair Enrico pulls out for me. He stays standing behind me, close enough to let me know he's there, ready to interfere. Roberto sits across the table, watching me through narrowed eyes that try to hide… surprise? His gaze moves up and down, as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

Edoardo returns to his chair and folds his hands on the table. "I understand you were five when the Giordanos took you in?"

"Yes."

"And you lived in the house with them until a few days ago?"

"Yes."

His questions are smooth and non-threatening, carefully crafted to disarm me, to put me at ease.

But there's something predatory behind the charm; he's not like Enrico.

Enrico doesn't sneak. He doesn't soften his edge.

He comes at you with full force, no warning, no mercy.

If he's coming for you, you won't walk away.

This man? He's slower. Sharper in a different way.

He slithers beneath the surface, waits for the moment you're exposed, then sinks his fangs in.

One strikes from the front. The other from the sidelines.

"What was your role there?" he asks.

I glance at Roberto—briefly, unwillingly—and look back at Edoardo. "A hostage to make my father do whatever they wanted."

Edoardo leans back. "Can you tell me what happened the night of the fire?"

My throat tightens. This is it. "They were going to kill Izzy. They were arguing?—"

"They?" Edoardo interrupts sharply.

"Giovanni and Roberto," I explain.

"Okay, good. What were they arguing about?"

I hate going back to that space, standing there by the door, listening, afraid of my own shadow. "They—" I interrupt myself, "Giovanni and Roberto were arguing about who brought Izzy there, and?—"

Edoardo raises his hand. "They didn't know how she got there?"

"No," I say, careful to keep my voice steady. "Giovanni thought Roberto brought her. Roberto thought it was Giovanni."

Edoardo's brows pull together, just slightly. "Interesting."

That one word carries too much weight. A ripple of unease moves through the room, even if no one else flinches.

Behind me, Enrico is still. Too still. The kind of stillness I've come to recognize as dangerous.

I feel it in the shift of his energy, the way his presence sharpens like a blade just before it strikes.

He hasn't spoken, but I know he's already filed that detail away like a weapon he intends to use.

Because if Giovanni and Roberto didn't bring Izzy to that basement… then who did?

I glance briefly at Edoardo, but his expression is unreadable.

Impossibly calm, like this is all just theory to him.

Like he hasn't already started threading it into a larger scheme that I can't see.

My heart starts to pound harder, not from fear this time, but from the realization that I've just said something important.

Something unintended . And it changed something in the air between these men.

"Someone planted her," Enrico says finally, his voice low and measured. "And they wanted us to notice."

It's not a question. It's a statement.

Edoardo tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming. "That's quite an assumption."

"Observation," Enrico corrects. His voice hasn't risen, but I feel the ice in it. "And if it's true, then this was never about family politics. This was about manipulation and distraction."

Edoardo offers a small, tight smile. "You believe someone from outside orchestrated this?"

Enrico doesn't answer immediately. I can feel the tension in him, the coil of thought winding tighter. When he does speak, it's almost too quiet to catch. "From outside or within."

A chill slides down my spine at the calm certainty in his tone. Enrico already has someone in mind.