Page 58 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

I can feel Dante and Luca's eyes on us, but I don't give a shit about their knowing looks. All that matters is cleaning this cut, making sure it doesn't get infected, making sure she's okay.

Because the thought of her in pain, even from something this minor, makes me want to burn down whatever's left of that fucking compound.

"First aid kit's in the back," I tell her, already moving. "Come on."

The jet's small bathroom doubles as a medical station, equipped with everything from bandages to surgical supplies. I guide Kasia to sit on the closed toilet seat while I gather what I need. Antiseptic, gauze, medical tape.

"This might sting a bit," I warn, dabbing the cut with antiseptic.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't even seem to notice the pain. Her eyes are fixed on my hands as I work, watching the careful way I clean the wound.

"You're so good at this," she observes.

"Thank you," I grumble, making sure the wound is thoroughly cleaned.

"Your bedside manner needs work."

I can't help but chuckle. "I'll try harder," I say, fully smiling now.

Her blue eyes are fixed on mine, intense and searching. There's colour in her cheeks again, the first I've seen since she walked out of that burning building.

"I need to tell you something," she continues, her voice so quiet I almost miss her speaking altogether.

My hands still on the bandage. "What is it?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. I can see her internal struggle, the way she's fighting against years of conditioning that taught her vulnerability was weakness.

"I..." She takes a shaky breath. "When I was in there, facing him, I realised..."

I wait, not pushing, letting her find her words in her own time.

"I realised that I was stronger than I thought," she finishes, but there's something hollow in the words. Like they're not what she really wanted to say.

Disappointment flickers through me, but I push it aside. She's not ready. After everything she's been through, I can't expect her to bare her soul just because I want her to.

"You are strong," I tell her, securing the bandage with gentle touches. "Stronger than anyone should have to be."

She watches as I smooth the edges of the medical tape, her breathing shallow. When I'm finished, she doesn't immediately pull her arm away. Instead, she lets it rest in my hands, my thumbs unconsciously stroking the unmarked skin above the bandage.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

"For coming with me. For not trying to stop me. For..." She swallows hard. "For seeing me. Not the weapon, not the broken thing, just... me."

Something fierce and protective rises in my chest. I lift my hand to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear I didn't realise had fallen.

"Butterfly," I say, my voice rough with emotion I can barely contain, "you are the furthest thing from broken I've ever seen. You're fucking magnificent."

She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. For a moment, we're suspended in this tiny space, the world reduced to just us and the quiet hum of the jet engines.

Then she pulls back, the moment shattered like glass.

"We should get back," she says, standing abruptly. "Your brothers will wonder what's taking so long."

I want to pull her back, want to finish what we started, but I let her go. She needs time, needs space to figure out who she is now that she's free.

Back in the main cabin, Kasia settles into her seat with her arms wrapped around herself again. But she's not as closed off as before. When Luca makes a joke about the flight attendant service, she actually cracks a smile.

She reaches for the canvas bag she's kept close throughout the flight, her fingers careful as she opens it. Inside, I catch glimpses of official papers. Documents that were probably locked away in Jerzy's safe, pieces of an identity he tried to steal from her.

"I've never seen my birth certificate," she says quietly, pulling out a folded paper. "He kept everything locked away. Said I didn't deserve to know who I was before he found me."

I move to sit beside her, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give her space. "You want to look at it together?"

She nods, unfolding the document with shaking hands. Standard government issue, the kind of bureaucratic paperwork that makes a life official. But as she smooths it flat on her lap, my eyes scan the details and my breath catches.

There, in neat black type: Date of Birth: 12th December, 1999.

12.12.

The same date. The exact same fucking date.

My hand flies to my breast pocket before I can stop myself, fingers finding the worn paper with desperate urgency. I don't pull it out, can't risk her seeing it yet, but I know what's written there. Know it by heart.

Flames can burn. Flames can heal. Her red flames will make you kneel.

And then the numbers: 12.12

The date I thought marked my mother's death. The day I lost everything that mattered.

But it wasn't about death at all.

It was about birth. About the woman who would be born on the same day my mother died, destined to bring fire into my world and make me fall to my knees—not in defeat, but in something far more dangerous.

In love.

My mother always believed in fortune cookies, in the mystical power of those little slips of paper.

Even when she was dying, even when the doctors had given up hope, she'd crack open those cookies and read the fortunes with absolute faith.

"The universe speaks to us in whispers," she used to say. "We just have to learn how to listen."

I thought it was just the morphine talking. The desperate hope of a dying woman clinging to magic because medicine had failed her.

But looking at Kasia's birth certificate now, seeing that date staring back at me like a fucking neon sign, I can almost hear my mother's voice echoing through time.

Her weak smile as she pressed that last fortune into my palm.

"This one's all for you, Angelo mio ," she'd whispered.

"Keep it close. One day you'll understand it. "

The time has come.

The universe didn't just whisper. It fucking screamed.

"Angelo?" Kasia's voice pulls me back from the edge of revelation. "You've gone pale. What's wrong?"

I force myself to focus on her face, on the concern clouding her blue eyes. She has no idea what this means, no idea that her existence was written in the stars. That fate would bring us together on this exact path, at this exact moment.

"Nothing's wrong," I manage to say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Everything's... everything's exactly as it should be."

She frowns, clearly not buying my deflection, but doesn't push. Instead, she carefully folds her birth certificate and tucks it back into the bag with the reverence of someone handling something precious.

"Strange to finally have proof," she murmurs. "Proof that I existed before him. That I was someone's daughter before I was his weapon."

You were always meant to be more than that, I think, the fortune burning against my chest like a brand. You were meant to be my salvation.

"So," Dante says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "what's the plan when we land?"

"Home," I say immediately. "She needs rest."

"Angelo—" Dante starts, but I cut him off.

"She's been through enough. Whatever business needs handling can wait until tomorrow."

Kasia looks up at me, something soft and grateful in her expression. "Home sounds good," she says quietly.

And for the first time since she walked out of those flames, she sounds like she might actually believe it.

The rest of the flight passes in comfortable quiet. Kasia dozes fitfully against the window while Dante and Luca discuss business in low voices. I alternate between watching the landscape below and watching her, noting every small sign that she's starting to come back to herself.

When we begin our descent into Blackwood, she stirs, blinking slowly as she comes back to awareness.

"We're almost there," I tell her.

She nods, straightening in her seat. Through the window, the lights of our city spread out below us like fallen stars. Home. Safety. A chance to start over.

"Angelo?" she says as the wheels touch down.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad it's over. But I'm also glad you were there with me."

I reach across the aisle and take her hand, squeezing gently. "Always, Butterfly. I'll always be there."

She squeezes back, and in that simple gesture, I feel a shift between us. Not complete, not yet, but a beginning. A foundation we can build on when she's ready.

The jet rolls to a stop, and we prepare to disembark.

And when the stairs lower, I take Kasia's hand and walk with her side by side.

I don't expect the bullets to start flying.

I don't expect her to shout "No!" then push me out of the way and take one for me.

I don't expect any of it.