Page 40 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

T he gravel crunches under the tyres as Angelo winds down the mountain road, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windshield. We pass through a set of imposing iron gates that part silently as we approach, then continue along a sweeping driveway lined with ancient oaks.

Dante's mansion emerges from the landscape like something carved from the very mountain itself—a sprawling fortress of dark stone and gleaming glass that seems to stretch endlessly in both directions.

Manicured lawns roll away from the structure in perfect waves, dotted with strategically placed trees that look like they've been standing guard for centuries.

The building sits where civilisation surrenders to wilderness, the black forest looming behind it like a protective wall of secrets.

I've only seen it at night before, when the windows were lit up like yellow eyes in the dark.

But in this fading light, with shadows stretching across the perfect grounds and the forest crowding in, it looks even more intimidating.

Less like somewhere people live and more like a statement—that the Santoros don't just occupy this place, they dominate it.

Angelo cuts the engine but doesn't move. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts.

"You'll be safe here," he says, like he's trying to convince himself more than me.

"I know how to handle myself." I don't mean to sound so sharp, but being dropped off like a child at daycare grates on my nerves.

He turns to look at me, his dark eyes burning with something fierce. "That's what worries me."

Before I can ask what the hell that means, he's out of the car and opening my door. His hand finds the small of my back as we walk to the entrance, a possessive touch that sends little sparks shooting up my spine.

The massive front door swings open before we reach it. Alessa stands there, her green eyes wide with worry, hair pulled back in a messy bun. She's wearing jeans and a baggy jumper, so different from her usual polished look.

"Thank God you're here." She pulls me into a hug that catches me off guard. I stand stiffly for a moment before awkwardly patting her back. Physical affection is still new territory for me, even more so now my memories are coming back.

When she releases me, I see the fear etched on her face. "Dante's in his study," she tells Angelo.

The tension in the air is thick enough to slice. I can practically taste it, metallic and sharp like blood, on my tongue.

"Where's Marco?" Angelo asks as we step inside.

"Kitchen with Antonio." Alessa locks the door behind us, checking it twice. "They've been arguing about whether to make pasta or risotto for lunch, like that's our biggest problem right now."

The sound of raised voices drifts from somewhere down the hall, Dante's study, I'm guessing. Angelo's hand drops from my back, and I immediately miss its warmth.

"Stay with Alessa," he says, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that means business.

"Angelo—" I start to protest.

"Please." The word is so soft, I barely hear it. Then he's striding away, leaving me with Alessa in the vast foyer.

I follow the direction of his footsteps, Alessa trailing behind me. The study door is ajar, and through the gap, I can see Dante pacing, phone pressed to his ear. His face is a storm cloud about to break.

Angelo slips inside, closing the door partially, but not before I catch a glimpse of maps spread across a massive desk.

"Let's get you settled," Alessa says, tugging gently at my arm.

I ignore her, moving closer to the door, straining to hear the conversation inside.

"—pulled two more bodies from the wreckage," Dante's saying. "One of them was Joey Falcone."

"Fuck." Angelo's voice is tight. "He was supposed to be off today."

"Wrong place, wrong time. Luca's already there, keeping the Feds from trampling all over our operation."

"And the other body?"

"Female. Early twenties. Branded."

My stomach drops. Another girl. Just like me, except she didn't get lucky enough to be found by Angelo.

"They're setting us up," Angelo growls. "Making it look like we're eliminating witnesses."

"We need to move. Now. Before they pin this on us."

I push the door open wider, unable to stay silent any longer. "I'll come with you."

Both men turn to look at me, identical expressions of surprise and irritation on their faces. The family resemblance has never been more obvious.

"No," they say in unison.

Dante recovers first. "This isn't your fight."

"The hell it isn't," I snap. "Those girls are being killed because of what they know about Nico. I know things too. I could help."

"You're staying here," Angelo says, his tone brooking no argument. He turns to Dante. "The car?"

"Round back. Bulletproof. Untraceable."

Angelo nods, already moving toward a side door I hadn't noticed before. He pauses next to me, his hand brushing mine so briefly I might have imagined it.

"I'll be back," he says, his eyes holding mine for a beat too long.

Then he's gone, Dante following after giving Alessa a quick kiss on the cheek.

The front door slams, and the sound of an engine roars to life, then fades into the distance.

"They always do this," Alessa sighs, leading me toward the kitchen. "Rush off to danger without a second thought."

The kitchen is massive and gleaming, all stainless steel and marble. Antonio and Marco look up from their bickering when we enter. Antonio's eyes widen slightly when he sees me, probably remembering how easily I took him down the last time we met.

"Ladies," Marco greets us with forced cheerfulness. "Risotto or pasta?"

"Neither," I mutter, moving to the window to watch Angelo's car disappear down the winding driveway.

"Both, then," Antonio decides, turning back to the stove. "We've got time."

That's the problem. They've got all the time in the world to play house, while Angelo and Dante are heading into what could be a trap. And I'm stuck here, treated like I need protection instead of being allowed to protect.

My fingers itch for a weapon. My muscles tense with the need to move, to fight, to do something useful.

"Wine?" Alessa offers, already pulling out glasses.

I turn to look at her, at Marco and Antonio bustling around the kitchen like this is just another day. The fury builds inside me, hot and sharp, a familiar friend.

I've spent my entire life being told where to go, what to do, who to kill. I escaped one prison only to find myself in another, gilded and comfortable, but a cage nonetheless.

Not anymore. I'm done being a pawn in someone else's game.

"Sure," I say, forcing a smile. "Wine would be great."

I accept the glass she hands me, my mind already calculating exits, security systems, and how long it will take me to slip away unnoticed.

After dinner, Alessa leads me to a small room tucked away in the east wing of the mansion. It's windowless and cold, the air smelling faintly of metal and electronics.

"Security hub," she explains, flipping on a series of monitors that bathe the room in a bluish glow. "Dante thought you might feel better seeing that we're completely locked down."

The screens flicker to life, showing different angles of the property: the front gates, the perimeter fence, the back garden, the driveway. I lean forward, my eyes instantly cataloguing every detail, every potential weakness.

"There are twenty-seven cameras in total," Alessa says, pointing to a digital map on one of the screens. "Plus motion sensors here, here, and along the entire fence line."

I nod, but I'm barely listening. My focus narrows to the guards patrolling the grounds, their movements, their timing. Marco passes the east gate every eight minutes. Antonio circles the pool area every twelve. Two guards I don't recognise alternate shifts at the front entrance.

"The blind spot between cameras four and seven is only three seconds long," Alessa continues, "but no one's ever managed to exploit it."

My fingers twitch at my sides as I mentally mark the location. Three seconds is plenty of time if you know what you're doing.

"And this is the garage," she says, switching to another feed. "Six cars, all bulletproof, all with reinforced tyres."

This is too easy. Doesn't she know she's giving me everything I need on a silver platter?

The sleek black Maserati catches my eye immediately. I recognise it from the day Angelo brought me here. It sits in the corner like a sleeping panther, powerful and dangerous.

I realise I've been silent too long when Alessa clears her throat.

"Feel better?" she asks.

"Much," I lie, flashing her a grateful smile. "Thanks for showing me."

But my mind is already plotting escape routes, calculating timing, assessing risks. It's like riding a bike, the skills Jerzy drilled into me for years have never really left. They've just been dormant, waiting for the right moment to surface.

I can slip out through the service corridor, avoiding cameras four, seven, and twelve.

The lock on the east door is a simple pin tumbler that I could pick in seconds.

Then across the garden during Marco's loop to the north side, timing it perfectly with the shift change at the garage.

The Maserati's ignition system would be child's play.

"Kasia?"

I blink, pulled from my mental planning. Alessa is studying me, her green eyes sharp with understanding.

"Whatever you're thinking," she says quietly, "I'm in."

For a split second, I consider telling her everything. But that would make her complicit. If something goes wrong—when something goes wrong—it's better if she can honestly say she had no idea.

I force a yawn, stretching my arms above my head. "I think I'll have a nap. It's been a long day."

She doesn't believe me. I can see it in the slight narrowing of her eyes, the way her head tilts just a fraction to the left. But she nods anyway.

"Sure. I'll show you to your room."