Page 22 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

ANGELO

I watch her from the doorway of my study, silhouetted against the dusk as she stands at the floor-to-ceiling window. The last remnants of sunlight frame her in a golden glow, making it seem as if she’s lit by the sun itself.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. It’s probably Dante. Another demand for our presence tonight. I sigh, exhaling, the weight pressing against my chest, and let it buzz, my attention fixed on the woman before me.

I'm stalling, and fuck if I know why. Except it's her, always her, screwing with my head.

Bringing her to dinner with everyone there is a risk. Not because I’m afraid she might overhear something or learn things she shouldn’t. I’m almost certain she already has violence in her blood. It’s not about shielding her from that side of my life. It’s about what my family might see in her.

She’s already under my skin, floating there like a goddamn leaf in a river current, drifting through my bloodstream, impossible to extract.

And if my brothers catch wind of it, they’ll be relentless.

It's not just about protecting her from them.

I'm becoming obsessive, intrigued in ways I can't afford, drawn to her with an intensity that goes beyond mere attraction.

And yet, even knowing the danger, I can't seem to stay away.

Part of me can't help but wonder, would she fit into the picture I’ve never let myself imagine? Like Alessa with Dante, could she stand by my side? Not as a burden, but as something more?

The thought of her at my side, belonging there... It's a dangerous path my mind keeps wandering down. I shake my head, trying to banish it. The weight of my responsibilities settles heavier with her in this house. An unexpected complication. One I never thought I’d have.

My gaze catches on her hand pressed against the glass.

She’s both delicate and lethal, a paradox I can’t stop trying to solve.

The light floral notes of the shampoo Alessa brought her—saying she couldn’t have her smelling like a dude —drift toward me, but underneath it is something else.

My own scent, clinging to her skin. The primal satisfaction that brings me should concern me more than it does.

I move closer, my steps deliberate, making just enough noise not to startle her.

Still, I catch the slight tension in her shoulders, the barely perceptible straightening of her spine.

I catalogue all these tells like I catalogue everything about her.

Our reflections merge in the darkened glass—me, a shadow at her back, her, a vision dressed in black, her red hair framing her delicate face.

For a moment, I wonder what she sees when she looks at us standing there together. Does her pulse pick up at the sight?

“What are you looking for out there?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

"Myself."

The raw honesty in her voice catches me off guard. Something protective and possessive stirs in my chest. I try to smother it.

"What if you don't like what you find?"

She turns, meeting my gaze with that fierce defiance that first caught my attention. "What if I already don't?"

The words land like a physical blow. I know that feeling, the self-loathing. It's an old friend, one I see in my own mirror every morning.

"I like what I see just fine, Butterfly." My voice drops lower than intended, the nickname escaping before I can catch it. She has no idea what it means to me. No idea what I'm thinking of when I call her that. Not fragile wings, and a fleeting life span, but something far more dangerous.

The air grows thick between us. I should step back, create distance. Instead, my fingers twitch, itching to touch her, to grip the nape of her neck, to taste her pulse point.

She breaks first, stepping away. Relief and frustration war in my chest as I watch her retreat. She is still here, but barely within reach.

“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil beneath.

She nods, and I lead her out to the car.

I drive with careful precision, hyperaware of Kasia beside me.

She takes in every detail of the route, studying the road just as I would, just in case she needs to remember it later.

Her sharp mind is always working, always on the lookout for potential threats.

I notice it, and a small part of me approves.

As we approach Dante's estate, I feel the familiar shift in my demeanour.

I become more guarded, more Savage, less Angelo.

My eyes scan the surroundings, noting the security measures in place.

Kasia's gaze follows mine, her eyes darting between the cameras and guards.

She's aware of the risks, aware of the world we inhabit.

Alessa greets us at the door, embracing Kasia warmly while shooting me a knowing look that irritates me. Kasia stiffens slightly before returning the hug, like she's unused to physical affection. I watch her, torn between concern and annoyance.

Dante's formal handshake with Kasia feels like an assessment, and I fight the urge to step between them. My protective instinct surprises me. I've never felt responsible for anyone outside my family.

During dinner, I observe Kasia taking in all the exits, as she does in every new space she enters.

A tactical awareness I'm well acquainted with, but mine comes from years of training myself to be the scariest and most powerful person in the room.

Where did hers come from? I find myself glancing at her more often than I intend, drawn to her analytical gaze.

Luca tells a lighthearted story to lighten the mood.

I watch Kasia from across the table, noting the subtle shift in her expression as she listens.

She's trying to understand what a family like this is supposed to feel like.

For a moment, I forget about the risks, about the world we live in. I just watch her as Luca drones on.

"Anyway, Mel’s got this neighbour. Or rather, her parents do, since she had to move there because of you.

" Luca shakes his head at Alessa before turning to Kasia.

I don't like him giving her his full attention.

"She had to go and get almost kidnapped from the apartment they shared, so Mel had to move to stay safe. Anywho, the neighbour, Dennis."

Alessa perks up immediately. "Dennis? The one who thinks he's in a slow-burn romance with her?"

I barely listen to Luca, my attention fully on Kasia. She doesn't speak, doesn't interject. Just watches. The slight quirk of her brow, the way her fingers rest against the stem of her glass. She's engaged, but detached, like she's witnessing something foreign.

"First time I dropped her off, this guy was straight-up waiting by the window," Luca continues, unaware of the rapt attention he’s receiving. "The second I parked, boom. Disappeared. Like he just hit the floor."

Alessa snickers. "Oh, come on."

"Swear on my life. So, the next night? He tries a new strategy. Casually 'hanging out' outside, leaning against the wall like he's on a damn romance novel cover."

"And Mel?"

"Deadpan as hell. Just looks at him and goes, 'Dennis, do you need medical attention?'"

Alessa laughs, shaking her head. "I love her."

Across the table, Kasia exhales softly, the barest trace of amusement flickering across her lips. And I feel it hit somewhere deep in my chest. It's small. But it's real.

Luca smirks. "Guy swore he was 'getting fresh air'. In the rain. With a book. Upside down."

Alessa groans. "Tell me he gave up."

"Doubt it," Luca says, grinning, his eyes momentarily landing on Kasia. My back stiffens. "He's in it for the long haul."

Kasia doesn't comment. She just watches him as he continues the story.

And me?

I watch her.

I watch a smile bloom on her face. Watch it light up the entire room. Oblivious to the effect she has on me, she keeps her attention on the conversation.

And for reasons I refuse to name, I don't look away. Not until her eyes find mine for the briefest of seconds. As intently as I was watching her, I look away, pretending I never was.

Alessa brings out dessert, a lopsided chocolate cake that looks like it might collapse at any moment. I catch Kasia's confused expression as Alessa proudly places it on the table.

"It looks terrible, I know," Alessa laughs, "but Marco said it was delicious."

Dante's fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes becoming two stormy pools. "You gave him a slice to try before me?"

I suppress a rare smile at my brother's genuine dismay over something as trivial as cake.

"He was helping me in the kitchen," Alessa explains, sliding closer to Dante and placing a hand on his cheek. "Besides, I saved the best piece for you," she adds with a kiss to his temple.

Dante's stern expression softens as his eyes close briefly. His whole body relaxes as he melts against her. She's the only person who can defuse my brother so easily.

I glance at Kasia. She is watching them with fascination, her wide eyes locked onto the quiet exchange.

There is something almost wary about the way she takes in the moment, as if trying to make sense of something that doesn't quite fit.

Her brows knit, her lips part slightly, as if she is grasping at a meaning just out of reach.

For a split second, I wonder what is going through her mind. If she has ever seen love like this before. Or if, like me, this is her only example of affection, something observed rather than felt. Has she had anyone who cared for her, and would she even remember them now?

There is no recognition in her expression, no softening, like I see in Alessa when she looks at Dante. Only curiosity laced with something sharper. Not fear, but distance. Like she is witnessing something foreign, something that does not belong in the world she knows.