Page 24 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

H e's different around you.

The words Alessa whispered in my ear play on repeat as we leave Dante's mansion.

The phone she slipped me, burning a hole in the pocket of my jacket.

Angelo's hand is at the small of my back, equally protective and possessive, as he guides me back to his car.

The gesture makes me want to lean into him, but I stop myself just as we reach the Maserati.

I reach for the door handle, but before my fingers connect with the cool metal, Angelo's hands land on the car, caging me in.

He's close, the heat of his body warming my back as I try to keep my knees from buckling.

"I know your secret." His lips are against my earlobe, my whole body tensing at his words. Does he know about Jerzy? About the twisted relationship I've only just remembered? "You can't hide things from me, Butterfly."

I bite my lip, trying to stop the torrent of excuses building up in my lungs.

"You can keep the phone. For now."

Different around me, my ass. He's still a controlling dick. I twist in his arms, my back pressing against the car, my face mere inches away from his. His chocolate eyes are dark, burning with something unspoken. Anger? Desire?

"I know your secret too, Savage."

He inhales sharply, at my statement or at my use of his nickname, I'll never know. Because in the next second, his warmth is gone, leaving me shaking against the cool metal as he opens his car door and slips inside.

Exhaling, I slide into the passenger seat, my fingers interlacing as soon as I buckle my seatbelt. I watch him, trying to figure out which part of what I said has him so on edge.

His head is straight, jaw locked tight, the Maserati's engine purring under us as he tears down the road. His hands choke the wheel at nine and three, knuckles pale from the strain, like he’s holding onto more than just the car.

The dashboard's glow carves shadows across his face, all hard lines, stubble, and a small scar below his left ear, a jagged nick I’ve never clocked before.

Angelo's all focus as he drives through town, then up the winding road to his house. The kind that could steer us through hell without flinching, and it’s pissing me off how much I want to crack it.

The road blurs past a smear of black, but I can’t stop staring at him .

His shoulders shift, just a twitch, and then his head stays forward, but I feel it, a split-second stutter in that iron grip.

He’s still locked on the asphalt, steering us through the night, but his chin tilts, barely, and I know he’s caught me.

My breath snags, not because he’s looking back, but because he isn’t .

He’s too damn stubborn to give me that. Still, the air thickens.

The Maserati veers suddenly, tyres gripping the road as Angelo takes a sharp turn off the main road. My hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard, heart jumping into my throat. The city spreads out below us as we climb higher, towards what looks like a secluded overlook.

My muscles tense instinctively. I don't need to remember my life story to know I should be wary when a man takes me to a secluded spot. But this is Angelo. The same Angelo who's been protecting me. Still, I can't help making sure to check for every possible escape route. Just in case.

The car rolls to a stop at the edge of the overlook, city lights twinkling below us like fallen stars. The engine stops, and Angelo turns to face me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"How much did you hear?" His voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my skin prickle.

I meet his gaze head-on. "Enough to know you're hiding things from me."

His jaw clenches, and I watch the internal battle play across his face. The streetlight catches the scar below his ear again, and I wonder what other marks his past has left on him.

"There are things you're better off not knowing," he says finally, each word a warning.

"Like who Massimo is?" I challenge, watching his reaction. "And why you don't want me near him?"

Angelo goes rigid at his father's name, something dark and complicated flickering in his eyes. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and for a moment, I think he might not answer.

"Massimo is... Complicated," he says carefully, like he's picking his way through a minefield.

I lean in, refusing to back down. "Complicated how? Dante said he's senile, but you still seem worried."

His knuckles whiten on the wheel. "My father's mind is unreliable. But that doesn't make him harmless."

"What do you mean?"

His jaw tightens as he swings his head toward me, voice dropping low. "Picture a man who forged an empire out of blood and lies. Now see him fraying, those secrets slipping loose, and the fury tearing him apart when he can’t claw them back."

I let that sink in, piecing together the implications. "And these secrets. They're dangerous?"

"To everyone around him," he says grimly. "My father has moments of lucidity where he's every bit the man he used to be. And that man..." He trails off, leaving the threat unspoken.

"That man is someone you're cautious of," I finish, understanding blooming in my mind like a dark flower.

His gaze snaps to mine, intense and unreadable in the darkness. "I don't fear him. I fear what he might do, what he might say. The damage he could cause without even realising it."

"Is that why you're so adamant about keeping me away from him?"

He leans in, close enough that his breath grazes my skin, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "You don’t get it, Butterfly. My father’s world, built on blood and drugs, is nothing like what my brothers and I are trying to build. And right now, he’s a lit fuse, burning everything down."

"Then help me understand," I press, leaning closer. "What makes him so dangerous to everyone around him?"

Angelo's expression shifts, a crack appearing in his usually impenetrable facade. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of whatever he's holding back visible in the tension of his jaw.

Before he can respond, his phone buzzes sharply against his thigh. Then again. And again. His hand moves instantly to retrieve it, body snapping to attention as he reads the screen.

"We need to go. Now."

The Maserati roars to life, tyres squealing as Angelo executes a perfect three-point turn. His phone keeps buzzing incessantly as we speed back toward the house, each notification making his brow furrow deeper.

"What is it?" I ask, gripping the door handle as we take another sharp turn.

He lets out a long breath that sounds suspiciously like defeat. "It's Arrow's new AI security system. Apparently it's gone a bit... overzealous."

He passes me his phone, and I nearly choke on my laugh as I read the stream of alerts.

ALERT: Suspicious rodent activity detected in sector 4

ALERT: Possible squirrel infiltration near the east perimeter

ALERT: Multiple bushy-tailed operatives gathering acorns—potential ammunition stockpile

"Is this for real?" I look at him, trying to contain my grin.

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Welcome to life with Arrow. Brilliant, but sometimes too clever for their own good."

His phone rings, the sound filling the car through the speakers. Angelo hits accept on the steering wheel.

"I swear, it wasn't supposed to do this." Arrow's frantic voice fills the car.

"Just... fix it," Angelo cuts them off, his voice tight with exasperation.

A new alert pops up: ALERT: Acorn-shaped listening device detected in oak tree. Threat level: Nutty

I lose it completely, doubling over with laughter. The tension from our earlier conversation dissolves as tears spring to my eyes.

Angelo pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is what happens when they mix too much caffeine with not enough sleep," he mutters, but I catch the smile he's trying to hide. "Just turn it off, Arrow. We're home now."

The house stands silent, its glass walls offering no answers.

I step out of the car, my breath steady, measured. Angelo moves beside me, close enough that the heat of his body cuts through the night air. Neither of us speaks, but something hums between us, restless. Unresolved.

Inside, the stillness presses in, amplifying every shift, every inhale. Angelo stands by the door, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hand, but he doesn't check it. His tension is electric, radiating off him in waves.

"Why do you insist on keeping me here?" My voice is quiet but firm. "I thought you wanted me gone."

His head tilts slightly, but he doesn't look at me. The pause stretches long enough to make my stomach tighten.

"Things change." The rasp of his voice is almost an admission. Almost.

I step closer. I don't mean to. But my body has already decided, drawn to something I don't have a name for yet.

"What changed?"

His grip tightens around the phone, knuckles paling. I watch the flicker of hesitation in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his side. Like he wants to reach for something. Like he wants to reach for me.

"Butterfly..."

The word settles in my bones, deeper than it should. Not a warning. Not a tease. Something heavier. Thick and sweet.

I swallow hard. The space between us is small. Too small. And neither of us moves away.

"What do you want from me, Angelo?"

This time, he turns.

Our gazes collide, the air between us charged, pulsing. He isn't unreadable now. He's undone. Tension ripples beneath his skin, muscles wound tight, breath shallow.

His hand lifts before he seems to realise it, fingertips grazing my arm, the touch barely there, but devastating all the same.

I exhale sharply, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The touch lingers, neither of us willing to break the connection.

"Nothing I should want." His voice is rough, like the truth costs him.

The words should push me back. They don't.

The phone vibrates in Angelo's hand again. This time a metallic voice comes through the speaker.

"Beware of acorn artillery! Squirrels mobilising!"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Angelo exhales sharply, fingers dragging through his hair, but his hand doesn't leave my skin immediately.

I don't dare move. The moment should be gone. It should be ridiculous. But the air is thick, charged with something neither of us is willing to name.

His thumb brushes absently over my wrist before he steps away, the absence of contact sharp.

"We both want things we shouldn't," I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His breath is uneven. So is mine.

Angelo's eyes flick to my mouth. Just once. Then he looks away.

"Get some sleep." His voice is steady. But his hands are in fists at his sides. He turns before I can challenge him again. "I'll be out tonight."

My frustration spikes. My fingers curl at my sides. Coward.

"Are you afraid to be alone with me?"

He stops.

Not hesitation. Not uncertainty. Something far more dangerous.

His exhale is slow. Controlled. But his restraint is stretched too thin.

"No, Butterfly," he murmurs, voice lower now. "I'm afraid of what I might do if I stay."

The words drag over my skin, leaving something behind. Something undeniable. My whole body is on fire, and I don't think I want to put it out.

Before I can respond, he turns, walking deeper into the house.

I stay where I am, frustration burning beneath my ribs, watching the space he left behind.