Page 26 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

M y head is killing me. Every step I take against the hard floor of Angelo's kitchen as I pace around sounds too loud, intensifying the throbbing in my skull.

I press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the relentless pounding, but it's no use.

The early morning light streaming through the windows feels like needles in my eyes.

My entire body hums with a restless energy that has nothing to do with the hangover and everything to do with him .

The memory of last night by the pool refuses to fade.

The heat of Angelo's body so close to mine, the intoxicating mix of chlorine and his cologne, the way his eyes had darkened just before he'd leaned in.

My lips still tingle with the phantom sensation of his breath, and I have to consciously stop myself from touching them.

My hands tremble as I reach up to grab a glass from the cabinet, nearly dropping it onto the marble countertop.

I stare at the options before me. The tap with its promise of cool, hangover-soothing water, or the half-empty bottle of whiskey that might help silence the war raging in my head between what my body wants and self-preservation.

Between staying and running. Running should be my go-to solution, but something makes me hesitate.

He's dangerous. Staying is dangerous. It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, and I can't tell if I want to step back or let myself fall.

A sharp knock at the door cuts through the empty kitchen, making me jump and slosh water over my hand. I freeze, glass suspended midair, my heartbeat drumming a warning in my ears. The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

I set the glass down with a soft clink and move toward the door on bare feet, peering through the peephole.

A delivery guy in a brown uniform shuffles impatiently on the porch, a huge, unmarked cardboard box by him.

He glances at his watch, knocks once more, then shrugs and leaves a tablet on top of the box before hurrying back to his truck.

My fingers hover over the doorknob, hesitation crawling up my spine. The last time I ventured outside this house alone...

Flash of blood on concrete. The wet crunch of bone. Angelo's face, focused and terrifying at once, as he kept hitting the man who attacked me, long after he stopped moving. The rage pouring off him as he kept repeating those words. You don't touch her.

And worst of all, the way he looked at me afterwards, his hands dripping red, his eyes boring into mine like I was his everything. Like he'd rip the world apart for me, piece by piece, and enjoy every second of it.

I back away from the door, arms wrapped around myself. The package can fucking wait.

Needing a distraction from both the pounding in my head and the memory tightening my chest, I turn back to the kitchen.

Absentmindedly, I rummage through cabinets, looking for something, anything, to quiet the noise in my brain.

Tea, pain meds, more alcohol. My fingers brush against cool glass, and I pull out a jar of fortune cookies.

It's such an incongruous thing to find in Angelo Santoro's immaculate kitchen that I almost laugh.

I wonder if they're left over from some takeout order or if the man actually keeps these around deliberately.

The idea of him cracking open cookies to read little paper fortunes is so absurdly at odds with the blood-soaked monster I witnessed that I can't resist opening one myself.

The cookie snaps between my fingers, the sound sharp in the empty kitchen. I fish out the small slip of paper and smooth it flat against the counter.

" Embrace the danger that calls to you. "

A cold feeling washes down my back. I stare at the words, reading them again and again as if they might change.

My phone buzzes on the counter, breaking the strange spell and making me squeak from fear of being caught. Except I'm not doing anything wrong, aren't I? Alessa's custom ringtone continues with Doja Cat telling me she's a bitch and a boss. Crumpling the fortune in my fist, I swipe to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, girl. How is it going? Has Angelo driven you up the wall today already?"

"Not yet…" I hesitate.

"Well, it's only morning after all." Her voice is cheery, like there's nothing better than being annoyed by Angelo Santoro. "He's got plenty of time for it still."

"Sure," I sigh.

"Are you okay?" There's concern in her voice.

I lay my head on the counter, groaning. "Yes. Noooo."

"Kasia," she says softly. "What's up? I know you don't know me very well, but you can trust me."

Can I? I'm not sure. Do I have any other options to unload the shit show of the last twenty-four hours to? No.

Here we go then.

"I don't know anything, Alessa," I moan, banging my head against the marble and making my head hurt even more. It's fine. I deserve it after last night's… whatever the hell it was.

"What do you mean? Your memory? It'll come back. You just have to be patient."

I wince, ignoring the dribs and drabs that have been coming to me in the last few days I failed to mention to anyone. It's not like they make sense anyway.

"This and—" I stop myself, lifting my head off the counter and looking around, making sure no one else is around, despite knowing I'm alone, since Angelo is loudly beating the crap out of the punching bag one floor up.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm a vault."

I huff a laugh. I don't even know where to start. She thinks it's something to do with my missing memory when, in fact, it's her soon-to-be brother-in-law who's got me so twisted up inside.

"What is it?" She prods once more, and this time I break.

"He is not different around me," I grumble.

She giggles.

"Don't laugh at me." I pout, not that she can see.

"I'm not. I'm sorry. Tell me what happened."

What the hell. I've got to talk to someone about this, and the squirrels are not in a listening mood today.

"He's so hot and cold it's giving me a headache.

" The hangover should be to blame, but let's be honest. If there was no Angelo, there wouldn't have been any need for alcohol.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

"As is the Santoro way."

"Honestly, it's confusing. And then, last night in the pool—"

Alessa bursts out laughing.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." She barely manages to get the words out through her laughing fit.

"It's just—It's just, I swear there's something about the Santoros and their pools.

Remind me to tell you about my own pool adventure with Dante sometime.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for interrupting. Please tell me, what happened in the pool? "

"I'd rather hear your story?" I try to change the subject.

"Not today. Today we're discussing what happened in Angelo's pool and why it has you so wired."

Jesus, she's relentless.

"I don't quite know what happened. I was drinking his whiskey, and he caught me. So I jumped into the pool because I was already buzzed, and it felt like a good idea. He was so wound up, so rigid… I guess, I just—Fuck."

"Wanted to poke the bear?" Alessa asks enthusiastically.

"Kind of. I just wanted to tease him."

"Literally my favourite pastime."

"To tease Angelo?"

"To tease a Santoro. You should see Dante go red in the face when I wind him up. Kid you not, he's as red as Terence, the bird from Angry Birds. Anyway, I interrupted again. Please continue."

"I don't quite remember what I said. My lips were loose from all the alcohol in my system, but next thing I know, he steps off the ledge, still wearing his suit, shoes and all. Then he's next to me, backing me against the side of the pool, crowding me in."

"Did he… Did he force himself on you?"

"God, no!" I reply instantly. "I wanted more. So much more, but he just—he leaned to kiss me and then he stopped himself, being all like: Go inside, Butterfly. You don't want to find out what happens if you don't ," I mock his voice.

"Tell me you stayed."

I sigh. "I didn't. I don't know what I'm doing, Alessa. I want him. God help me, I want him. But I don't even remember who I am. What if I'm…" I swallow hard. "What if I'm too broken?" What if he breaks me even more?

The silence stretches between us before Alessa speaks, her voice soft."Kasia, you're not—"

The phone is wrenched from my hand so suddenly I gasp. Angelo's huge frame blocks the sunlight, his face hard as granite as he lifts the phone to his ear.

"She'll call you back, Alessa," he rumbles, his voice deep and rough like he's been gargling gravel. He ends the call with a decisive tap, his eyes never leaving my face.

"What the fuck?" I sputter, pushing myself off the counter. "You can't just—"

His hands shoot out, gripping my waist with a finality that steals my breath.

In one fluid motion, he lifts me up and plants my ass on the marble countertop, stepping between my thighs like he belongs there.

His body radiates heat, the scent of his sweat and whatever expensive shower gel he uses making my head spin worse than any hangover.

"Talking about me behind my back, Butterfly?" he asks, voice dangerously quiet.

I open my mouth to lie, to deny it all, but nothing comes out. Those dark eyes see right through me, pinning me in place more effectively than his hands on my thighs. His grip isn't painful, but it screams of possession, of dominance.

"I heard you. From upstairs." His thumbs start moving in slow circles over the bare skin where my shorts have ridden up. "Every. Fucking. Word."

My stomach drops. "How long were you listening?"

"Long enough." His jaw ticks with tension, a muscle jumping under the skin. "So you want me? That what you were telling her?"

I try to look away, but his hand moves to my face, calloused thumb brushing my cheek. The gentle touch is such a stark contrast to the hard man before me that I feel something break inside. To my horror, tears begin welling in my eyes.