Page 57 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)
ANGELO
S he emerges from the flames like something from a fever dream.
An angel of death silhouetted against the burning wreckage of her past. The fire has turned the night sky orange, casting everything in hellish light, and Kasia walks through it all untouched.
Her strawberry blonde hair catches the glow, making it look like she's crowned with flames, and for a moment I can't breathe.
My hand moves instinctively to my breast pocket, fingers finding the worn paper I've carried for so many years. The fortune my mother pressed into my palm with shaking hands, her last gift wrapped in cryptic words I never understood.
Flames can burn. Flames can heal. Her red flames will make you kneel.
Looking at Kasia now, wreathed in fire and smoke like some ancient goddess of vengeance, something clicks into place with devastating clarity.
This moment right here. Not some abstract prophecy about love or death, but this exact moment.
This woman who burns away everything false and leaves only truth in her wake.
Her red flames. The fire that's been missing from my life.
I slip the fortune back into my pocket, my heart hammering with the weight of understanding. Whatever else that paper holds, whatever other secrets it might reveal, can wait. Right now, all that matters is getting her home safely.
"Well," Luca drawls from beside the black SUV, his voice cutting through my revelation, "that's one way to clear the neighbourhood." He surveys the burning compound with something approaching admiration. "Think we'll get complaints about the property values?"
Dante steps forward, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. "Would've been cleaner without the bonfire, but what's done is done." His dark eyes assess Kasia, taking in her soot-stained clothes and the hollow look in her eyes. "Question is, what comes next?"
"Next?" Kasia's voice sounds distant, disconnected. She stares back at the flames consuming her childhood home, her prison, her hell. "I don't know. I've never had a 'next' before."
I study her face in the orange glow, noting the way her shoulders have drawn inward, how she holds herself like she's afraid she might shatter. The fierce warrior who walked out of that inferno is fracturing before my eyes, reality setting in now that the adrenaline is fading.
"Every two-bit crew in the tri-state area is going to be scrambling for Jerzy's territory by morning," Dante continues, ever the strategist. "His network, his contacts, his operations. It's all up for grabs now."
"Good," I growl, finally finding my voice. "Let them fight over scraps. They can tear each other apart for all I care."
Luca chuckles, the sound dark in the night air. "Always the optimist, our Angelo. Though I have to say, Kasia…" He turns to her with that reckless grin that's got him in trouble since childhood. "You've got style. Most people use bullets or bombs. You went for the full Inferno approach."
She doesn't respond to his attempt at levity. If anything, she seems to fold further into herself.
"We need to move," Dante says, checking his watch. "Fire department will be here soon, and I'd rather not explain why we were in the neighbourhood."
I move towards Kasia, noting how she flinches slightly when I reach for her. Not from fear, from exhaustion. From the bone-deep weariness that comes after a lifetime of carrying too much weight finally ends.
"You okay?" I ask softly.
She nods slowly. "I think so," she whispers, and her voice sounds so young, so lost. "I just... I thought I'd feel different. Thought I'd feel... free."
I understand. Death doesn't bring the closure people expect. Doesn't erase the pain or heal the scars overnight. The chains are gone, but she still feels their weight. That's trauma for you. It lingers like smoke long after the fire's out.
"Freedom isn't a feeling," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her temple. Her skin tastes of gunpowder and bonfire. "It's a choice. And you just chose it."
She looks back at the burning house one last time, taking in the scene. The life she's leaving behind. Then she straightens her shoulders and takes my hand. Her fingers intertwine with mine, warm and alive and free.
"Can we stop for ice cream on the way back?"
I bark out a laugh, surprised. "Ice cream? You just killed your uncle and burnt his whole operation to the ground and you want ice cream?"
"Strawberry," she says firmly. "With chocolate chips. I never got to choose my own ice cream flavour before. Seems like a good place to start."
Fuck, I love this woman.
"Come on," I say, my hand squeezing hers. "Let's go home."
She nods mechanically and lets me guide her to the SUV.
As we drive away from the burning compound, she retreats back into her shell.
I catch glimpses of her face in the rearview mirror.
She's staring out the window, watching her past turn to ash and smoke, but there's no satisfaction in her expression. No relief.
Just emptiness.
The private airfield is quiet when we arrive, our jet waiting on the tarmac like a promise of escape. But as we climb the steps, I notice Kasia stumble slightly, her hand gripping the rail tighter than necessary.
"You alright?" I ask, steadying her with a hand on her elbow.
"Fine," she says automatically. "Just tired."
But I know tired, and this isn't it. This is the crash that comes after running on pure determination for too long. The moment when your body and mind finally admit they can't carry you any further.
Inside the jet, she settles into one of the leather seats and immediately curls into herself, arms wrapped around her knees like armour. Dante and Luca take seats near the front, giving us space, but I can feel their concern radiating across the cabin.
"She needs time to process," Dante says quietly when I join them. "What she just did, killing the man who controlled her entire life, that's not something you bounce back from immediately."
"Even if he deserved it," Luca adds, his usual humour tempered with rare seriousness. "Taking a life changes you. Especially when it's personal."
I know they're right, but watching her sit there so small and broken makes something savage claw at my chest. I want to fix it, want to take her pain and make it disappear, but this isn't something I can solve with violence or money or power.
This is something she has to work through herself.
But that doesn't mean I have to let her do it alone.
"I'll be right back," I tell my brothers, moving towards the jet's small galley.
I make a quick call to our contact at the airfield. Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the jet door, and a young guy in a delivery uniform hands over a bag full of ice cream containers, every flavour they had at the convenience store.
"Special delivery for the lady," I announce, setting the bag down beside Kasia's seat.
She looks up at me with confusion clouding her blue eyes. "What's this?"
"Strawberry with chocolate chips," I say, pulling out the container. "And vanilla, and chocolate, and mint choc chip, and—" I keep pulling out containers. "—basically everything they had. Figured you might want options for your first real choice."
Something flickers across her face. Surprise, maybe, or the ghost of pleasure. She takes the strawberry ice cream with careful hands, like it might disappear if she's not gentle enough.
"You did this for me?" she whispers.
"I'd do anything for you, Butterfly."
The endearment slips out without thought, and I see her shoulders relax slightly. She opens the container and takes a small spoonful, her eyes closing as she tastes it.
"It's good," she says, and there's wonder in her voice. "I can taste the strawberries. Real ones."
"Unlike whatever synthetic shit they fed you before," Luca says, appearing with his own spoon. "Mind if I try?"
For the first time since leaving the compound, Kasia almost smiles. "It's strawberry ice cream, not plutonium."
"You never know with convenience store food," he jokes, taking a taste. "Mmm, yeah, that's the real deal. Though I'm more of a chocolate man myself."
As the jet takes off, the conversation drifts to business, the power vacuum Jerzy's death has created, which crews might make moves, and how to protect our interests. But I keep watching Kasia, noting how she eats her ice cream in tiny spoonfuls, like she's trying to make it last forever.
"The Kozlov brothers will probably make a play for the gun trafficking operations," Dante says. "They've been sniffing around for months."
"Let them," I reply, not really paying attention. "We've got bigger concerns than some Russian wannabes."
My focus is entirely on Kasia, who's now staring out the window at the city lights below. She's finished her ice cream, but she's still holding the empty container like a talisman.
Sighing, she reaches for the lightweight jacket she'd thrown over her shoulders before we left the compound.
As she starts to pull it off, I catch a glimpse of something dark staining the fabric near her left arm. My eyes zero in on it immediately, a rusty brown smear that makes my blood run cold.
"Stop," I say sharply, moving towards her before she can fully remove the jacket.
She freezes, confusion flickering across her face. "What's wrong?"
I'm already kneeling beside her seat, my hands gentle but insistent as I help slide the jacket off her arm. There, on her pale skin, is a thin line of dried blood running from just below her elbow to her wrist.
"Fuck," I breathe, my fingers hovering over the cut without touching it. It's not deep, but seeing her blood, her hurt, makes something primal and violent claw at my chest.
"Angelo, it's nothing," she starts, but I'm already on my feet, moving towards the jet's medical supplies.
"It's not nothing," I growl over my shoulder. "You're bleeding. That's never nothing."