Page 54 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

T he leather chair creaks as Jerzy shifts, but he doesn't rise. Doesn't even straighten. He remains seated like a king on his throne, fingers steepled beneath his chin, studying me with the same clinical detachment he used when I was twelve and bleeding on his training room floor.

"I assume if you're here, they're all dead." His voice carries no inflexion, no emotion. Just a statement of fact as his hand drifts toward the phone on his desk. "I can call Nicolosi and confirm."

The lie comes easier than breathing. I nod, letting him see what he expects—his weapon returning from a successful mission.

My body betrays me, spine straightening, shoulders squaring into that rigid posture beaten into me through years of conditioning.

I hate how easily I fall back into it, hate how my muscles remember what my mind wants to forget.

"Cat got your tongue, Kasia?" A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "You used to be more talkative. Though I suppose that was before you learned the price of speaking out of turn."

"They're dead," I force out, each word carefully measured. "All of them. Dante, Angelo, Luca. Their father Massimo. Even Dante's fiancée, Alessa." The lie tastes like ash, but I sell it with the same cold efficiency he taught me. "Mission complete."

Jerzy's hand hovers over the phone for a moment longer before pulling back. His eyes, cold and calculating, never leave mine. "Sit."

It's not a request. Never is with him. I remain standing.

"I said sit." The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.

"I prefer to stand. Long drive."

Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Amusement? It's gone before I can identify it. He leans back, the chair groaning under his weight.

"You've disappointed me, Kasia." Each word measured, deliberate.

The same tone he used when I was eight and couldn't disassemble a rifle fast enough.

When I was thirteen, and hesitated before pulling the trigger.

When I was sixteen, and cried after my first solo mission.

"The Santoros should have been eliminated weeks ago.

Do you know how much your delay has cost me? "

"The situation was more complex than—"

"Complex?" He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "A bullet to the brain is not complex. A knife across the throat is not complex. You had one job. One simple job. And the casino?" His voice rises a fraction. "Twenty-three of my men. Dead. Because of your incompetence."

My hand drifts toward the gun at my back, hidden beneath my jacket. Just a few inches. That's all. "I had to maintain my cover. If the Santoros suspected—"

"Suspected what? That you weren't the broken little bird they found in a shipping container?" He laughs, the sound like grinding gears. "They suspected nothing because they're idiots. Dead idiots now, thankfully. Though it took you long enough."

"I needed to build trust," I say, slipping deeper into the familiar role of the obedient soldier reporting to her commander. It's easier this way. Safer. For now. "Get close to them. Learn their operations. Angelo especially. He was paranoid, always watching."

"Trust." He tastes the word like spoiled wine. "Is that what you call spreading your legs for him?"

My jaw clenches. "It was necessary to—"

"To what? Maintain your cover?" He rises now, finally, unfolding from his chair with deliberate slowness. "Or did you simply enjoy playing house? Pretending you could be something other than what you are?"

"I did what was necessary to complete the mission." The words come out steady, controlled. Every inch the soldier he trained me to be.

"And yet it took you weeks to pull the trigger." He circles the desk, each step measured, calculated. The predator's stalk I've seen a thousand times before. Usually directed at someone else. Someone who wouldn't survive the night. "Tell me, how did you do it? Angelo?"

I force myself to remember the lies I've rehearsed. "Waited until he was asleep. He never saw it coming."

"Hmm." Jerzy stops just out of arm's reach. Smart. He's always been smart. "And the others?"

"Massimo was asleep. The brothers tried to protect each other." I let a hint of satisfaction creep into my voice—the kind he'd expect from his weapon. "They failed."

"The girl?"

"Alessa? She begged. Offered me money, jewellery, anything." I shrug, playing the part of the cold killer he created. "I don't leave witnesses."

"Clean?"

"As you taught me."

"Bodies?"

"All disposed of."

He moves closer, and I force myself not to step back. Not to show weakness. His fingers reach for my face, and it takes every ounce of control not to flinch as they touch my cheek.

"Look at you," he murmurs, turning my face from side to side like examining livestock. "Healthy, well-fed. The Santoros took good care of my property before you put them down."

"I'm not your property."

The words slip out before I can stop them. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my jaw.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." I backtrack quickly, but it's too late. He's already seen the crack in my facade.

"No, please. Continue." His breath is hot on my face, reeking of cigars and cruelty. "You were saying something about not being my property?"

"I misspoke."

"Did you?" He releases my face with a shove, sending me stumbling back a step. "Because it sounded like defiance. And we both know what happens to defiant little girls in my organisation."

"I completed the mission," I say, trying to steer us back to safer ground. "The Santoros are dead."

"Yes, about that." He returns to his desk, pulling out a folder. "Nicolosi sent me some interesting photos from the scene. Would you like to see them?"

My blood runs cold. "Photos?"

"Mmm." He flips open the folder, spreading glossy prints across the desk. "He's always been thorough, our Nicolosi. Perhaps too thorough."

I force myself to step forward, to look at whatever trap he's laying. The photos show carnage. Bodies, blood, a massacre scene. But something's wrong. These aren't the Santoros. These are—

"Recognise them?" Jerzy asks pleasantly. "They should look familiar. After all, you killed them. Just not recently."

The photos are from an old mission. Years ago. A family in Chicago who'd crossed him. He's testing me.

"I don't understand," I say carefully.

"Oh, I think you do." He pulls out another stack of papers.

"You see, Kasia, I have a problem. Nicolosi tells me the Santoros are very much alive.

In fact, he saw young Luca just a few hours ago, driving around Blackriver like he owns the place.

Which is fascinating, considering you just told me he's dead. "

The game is up. I can see it in his eyes, he knew from the moment I walked in. This has all been a test, a game, and I've lost.

"Jerzy—"

"Shut up." The words crack like a whip. "You think I'm stupid? You think after all these years I can't tell when you're lying to me?" He slams his hand on the desk. "The only reason you're still breathing is because I'm curious. Why come here? Why walk into my office and lie to my face?"

I straighten my shoulders, meeting his gaze. "Because I needed to see you one last time."

"Sentimental. Unlike you." He pulls out another set of papers. "Your next mission. And before you open your mouth to lie again, know that this is not a request."

"I'm not taking another mission."

"No?" He slides the papers toward me. "Not even when it involves your new family? The Santoros you've grown so fond of?"

Against my better judgment, I glance at the papers. Mission parameters. Targets. Nicolosi and his family first, then—

"You're going to Blackriver," Jerzy continues, voice deceptively calm. "Once you get rid of Nicolosi, who has become tiresome to me, you'll go to Blackwood and complete your original mission. Kill them all. Every last Santoro. And then you'll stay there, running their operations for me."

"No."

The single word hangs in the air between them. Jerzy's expression doesn't change immediately, as if he's waiting for me to laugh, to say I'm joking. When I don't, fury transforms his features.

"No?" He repeats the word like it's foreign. "That's twice now you've said that word to me."

"I'm done killing for you, Jerzy. I'm done being your weapon."

"Done?" He laughs, but there's nothing human in the sound. "You're done when I say you're done. When you're dead and in the ground, that's when you're done."

"Then kill me." I spread my arms wide. "Go ahead. Put a bullet in me right now. Because I'm not going back. I'm not killing the Santoros. I'm not killing anyone else for you."

"Posluchaj ma?a zdziro, jak ci mówi? ?e masz now? misj? to masz now? misj?!" The Polish explodes from him like venom.

The familiar words cut deep. Listen, you little whore, when I tell you you have a new mission, you have a new mission . But this time, instead of cowering, I stand taller.

"Nie," I respond in kind. "Ju? nie jestem twoj? zabawk?." No. I'm not your toy anymore.

"You dare?" His voice drops to a whisper, more terrifying than any shout. "You dare defy me and use my words against me?"

"They're my words now. Like my life is my life."

"Your life?" He circles the desk again, a wolf scenting blood. "You have no life without me. Everything you are, I created. Every breath you take is because I allow it."

"Not anymore."

"Because of them? Because of the Santoros?" He stops directly in front of me. "You think they care about you? You're a curiosity to them. A broken bird they can nurse back to health. The moment they learn what you really are—"

"They already know," I interrupt. "I told them everything. Every mission. Every kill. Every horrible thing you made me do."

His face contorts with rage. "You told them about Berlin? About the ambassador's daughter?"

"Everything," I repeat, though my stomach churns at the memory. "And they still—"

"Still what? Love you?" He spits the word like a curse. "No one loves a monster, Kasia. They might pity you, might find you useful, but love?" He shakes his head. "You're more na?ve than I thought."

"Maybe. But I'd rather be na?ve and free than wise and chained."

"Chained?" Something dangerous flickers in his eyes. He moves back to his desk, and I tense, ready for him to go for a weapon. But his hand goes to a different drawer. One I've never seen him open before.

"You want to talk about chains?" His voice has gone deadly quiet. "Let me tell you about chains, little girl. Your mother—do you even remember her? No? Let me refresh your memory."

He pulls out a photograph, yellowed with age. A woman, gaunt and hollow-eyed, standing next to a younger Jerzy. There's a little girl at her feet. Me.

"Katarina Volkov. Whore. Addict. Mother of the year." He tosses the photo at me. "Sold you to me for ten thousand dollars and a fix. Didn't even haggle. Said you were too smart, too willful. Her exact words were, 'Take the little bitch before she gets me killed.'"

"You're lying." But my voice shakes. The woman in the photo is not the woman I saw in my memories. Of that, I'm sure.

"Am I? I keep all my receipts." Another document lands at my feet. "Bill of sale. Signed and dated. She even threw in your birth certificate for free."

I don't look. Can't look. But I can't not look either. The signature at the bottom is shaky but clear. Katarina Volkov. The document looks legitimate. But anything can be forged these days.

"She died three months later," Jerzy continues conversationally. "Overdose. I had to identify the body. Want to know the funny part? She had my money still on her. Every penny. Never even bought the drugs. Just wanted you gone that badly."

"Stop." The word comes out broken, but it's the rage that has me shaking. The rage at his lies. He killed my parents in front of me. Made me watch. And when he realised I repressed the memories, he must have created all this just to have another thing he could torture me with.

What he doesn't know is—I remember everything now. When my memories came back, they all did.

"Stop? But I thought you wanted the truth. Thought you were done with lies." He pulls out another paper. "Your first kill. Remember? You were seven. The man who touched you during training. You slit his throat while he slept."

"He was—"

"A pedophile, yes. Also, my dear friend." Jerzy shrugs. "But you did it so beautifully. So cleanly. I knew then what you could become."

"A monster."

"A masterpiece." He pulls out something else. Not a photo or document this time. A small device. Black metal, red button, the wolf symbol etched into its surface.

My blood turns to ice.

"Did you really think I'd let my greatest creation walk free?" He holds it up, letting the light catch on the metal. "The chip in your brain. My insurance policy. One press of this button, and you're mine again. Body and mind."

"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "Please, no."

"Ah, there she is." His smile is cruel. "There's my scared little girl. You remember what this does, don't you? The electricity, the loss of control. Your body moving without your permission. Your mind screaming while you watch yourself kill."

"Jerzy, please—"

"You have two choices, Kasia. Take the mission.

Go back to Blackriver. Kill the Santoros.

Serve me as you always have." He waves the device.

"Or I press this button and make you do it anyway.

Only this time, you'll be awake for all of it.

Watching from inside as your body murders the people you claim to care about. "

"You wouldn't—"

"I killed my own flesh and blood. I've burned entire families for less than what you've done." His eyes are dead, empty. "What makes you think I'd hesitate now?"

"Because you need me," I try desperately. "You said it yourself. I'm your best—"

"Were. You were my best. But broken tools get replaced." His thumb moves to the button. "Last chance, Kasia. Yes or no?"

I think of Angelo. Of Dante and Luca, who welcomed me despite everything. Of Alessa, who's become my first real friend.

"No," I say firmly. "My answer is no."

"So be it."

He presses the button.

"NO!" The scream tears from my throat, raw and terrified, echoing off the walls as I close my eyes, bracing for the agony I know is coming.

The electricity that will course through my body, seizing my muscles, stealing my control.

The chip in my brain activating, turning me into a passenger in my own body while I watch myself destroy everything I've come to love.