Page 59 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

T he jet wheels touch down with a soft thud, and my chest loosens for the first time since we left the burning compound behind.

Home. The word feels foreign in my mouth, but when I look at Angelo's profile in the dim cabin light, something warm unfurls in my stomach.

Perhaps this is what home feels like. Not a place, but a person.

I stretch in the leather seat, my muscles protesting from the tension I've been carrying.

The strawberry ice cream container sits empty in my lap, a small symbol of the freedom I'm still learning to claim.

Such a simple thing, choosing my own flavour, but it felt monumental.

The first real choice I've made in years that was purely mine.

Angelo rises from his seat, and I watch the way he moves—controlled, predatory, beautiful. My stomach flutters with the memory of his hands on my skin, the way he whispered my name like a prayer. Whatever happens next, whatever comes after this, I want more of that. More of him.

"Ready to go home, Butterfly?" he asks, extending his hand to me.

The nickname makes my heart skip. I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. "Ready."

Dante and Luca are already moving toward the exit, their easy banter a welcome sound after the violence of the night. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. The kind of sounds that make me believe, for just a moment, that maybe I can have something close to an ordinary life.

Angelo's thumb traces across my knuckles as we walk toward the stairs. Such a small touch, but it grounds me, reminds me that I'm not alone anymore. That someone chose to stand beside me while I watched my past burn.

The night air hits my face as we emerge from the jet, cool and clean after the smoke and ash. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with freedom. No more running. No more hiding. No more—

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

The voice cuts through the night like a blade, and my blood turns to ice. I know that voice. Nico's lieutenant, Marcus, steps out from behind a maintenance vehicle, his ugly smile visible even in the dim airport lighting. He was the one who tattooed me.

Angelo goes rigid beside me, his hand tightening on mine. "Get behind me," he murmurs, but there's no time.

"Miss me, Princess?" Marcus calls out, raising his gun. The barrel glints in the light, aimed directly at Angelo's chest.

Everything slows. The world narrows to just that gun, that finger on the trigger, Angelo's body beside me. In this suspended moment, I see it all clearly. Marcus's satisfied smirk, the way Angelo starts to move to shield me, Dante and Luca scrambling for their weapons.

But most clearly, I see Angelo. Angelo, who held me while I cried. Angelo, who brought me strawberry ice cream at thirty thousand feet. Angelo, who looked at all my broken pieces and called me beautiful. Angelo, who might die because of me, because of what I brought into his life.

No.

The thought explodes through me with crystal clarity. Not him. Anyone but him.

"No!" I scream, throwing myself forward just as Marcus's finger tightens on the trigger.

The gunshot cracks through the night like thunder, but I'm already moving, already placing my body between the bullet and Angelo.

The impact hits my left arm like a sledgehammer, spinning me around.

Fire races from my shoulder to my fingertips, and I can feel the wet heat of blood immediately soaking my shirt.

But I'm alive. And more importantly, Angelo is alive.

Strong arms catch me before I can hit the ground, and then Angelo's face is above mine, his expression twisted with fury and terror. "Kasia! Fuck, no, no, no—"

"I'm okay," I gasp, though the pain is making spots dance across my vision. "I'm okay. You're okay."

His hands hover over my arm, afraid to touch but desperate to help. "You stupid, beautiful, insane woman. What the fuck did you do?"

More gunshots ring out. Dante and Luca returning fire. I hear shouting, running footsteps, car doors slamming. But all of that feels distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears and the way Angelo is looking at me.

"I couldn't let him take you from me," I whisper, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. The admission hangs between us, raw and honest and terrifying.

Something breaks across Angelo's face, his dark eyes going bright with unshed tears. "Kasia—"

"Is she hit?" Dante's voice cuts through the moment. "How bad?"

"Through and through," Angelo says, his voice rough as gravel. He's examining my arm with gentle, yet shaking hands. "Clean shot. Could have been so much worse."

Could have been. If the bullet had been aimed two inches to the right, it would have taken Angelo's heart. The thought makes me dizzy with something that isn't blood loss.

"They're gone," Luca reports, jogging back to us. "Three cars, professional job. They knew exactly when we'd be landing."

Angelo carefully lifts me in his arms, and I bite back a whimper as the movement jars my wound. His jaw is clenched tight, every muscle in his body radiating barely contained violence.

"We need to get out of here," Dante says urgently. "Airport security will be here any minute."

But Angelo doesn't move. He just holds me, his eyes locked on mine like he's memorising my face. "You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me," he says quietly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

The question cracks something open inside my chest. Because you're the first person who ever made me feel human. Because you see past what I was made to be. Because somewhere between the ice cream and the gentle touches and the way you say my name, I fell completely, irrevocably in love with you.

But the words stick in my throat, too big and too terrifying to voice. So I just meet his gaze and whisper, "Because you're worth it."

Something profound shifts in his expression, but then Dante is pulling at his arm, urging him toward the car. Angelo carries me across the tarmac, his steps quick but careful not to jostle me. Blood drips steadily from my fingers, leaving a trail on the asphalt.

Inside the car, Angelo cradles me against his chest while Luca speeds through the empty streets. I can feel his heartbeat hammering against my cheek, can hear the sharp edge of his breathing. He doesn't speak, just holds me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip.

The pain in my arm throbs in time with my pulse, but it's distant compared to the ache in my chest. I made a choice tonight.

Not because I was programmed to, not because someone ordered me to, but because I chose to.

I chose Angelo over my own safety, chose his life over mine, and the freedom of that choice is intoxicating.

By the time we reach Angelo's house, blood has soaked through the makeshift bandage he fashioned from his shirt. Angelo carries me straight upstairs to his bedroom, setting me gently on the edge of the bed.

His hands shake as he carefully cuts away my bloody shirt, revealing the entry and exit wounds. The bullet went clean through the meat of my upper arm, missing bone and major arteries. Lucky.

"This is going to hurt," he warns, his voice barely controlled.

"I've had worse," I say, trying for lightness.

His eyes flash to mine, dark and fierce. "That's not fucking funny."

Luca enters with medical supplies, and Angelo works with steady hands despite his obvious emotional turmoil. He cleans the wound with an antiseptic that burns like hellfire, then begins stitching with the precision of someone who has done this many times before.

"I could get used to this," I joke weakly as he works, trying to break the suffocating tension in the room.

Angelo's hands still completely. When he looks up at me, his face is carved from stone, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't." His voice is deadly quiet. "Don't you ever step in the firing line for me. Do you understand? Never again."

The vehemence in his tone catches me off guard. "Angelo—"

"I mean it, Kasia." He sets down the needle and grips my uninjured arm, his fingers tight enough to bruise. "You don't get to sacrifice yourself for me. You don't get to throw your life away like it means nothing."

Heat flares in my chest, surprising in its intensity. "Like it means nothing? Is that what you think I did?"

"What else would you call jumping in front of a fucking bullet?"

I stare at him, seeing the fear beneath the anger, the terror he's trying to hide behind rage. Slowly, I lift both hands to frame his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palms.

"Angelo," I say softly, waiting until his furious gaze meets mine. "You're the most precious thing to me."

He goes completely still, his breathing shallow.

"That bullet wasn't going to hit me by accident," I continue, my voice steady despite the emotion clawing at my throat. "It was meant for you. And I couldn't... I won't live in a world where you're not in it."

"Kasia—" His voice breaks on my name.

"I love you." The words spill out of me, simple and true and terrifying. "I love you, Angelo Santoro. And I'd take a thousand bullets before I'd let someone take you away from me."

The silence that follows is deafening. Angelo stares at me like I've just told him the sky is falling, his hands frozen on my arms.

"You don't know what you're saying," he whispers finally.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." I lean closer, my forehead almost touching his. "For the first time in my life, I made a choice that was completely mine. Not because I was trained to, not because someone ordered me to, but because I chose to. I chose you, Angelo. I chose us."

A shudder runs through his powerful frame, and when he speaks, his voice is raw. "You can't love me. I'm not good enough. You don't know what I am, what I've done—"

"I know you're the man who held me when I had nightmares. The man who brought me ice cream because I'd never chosen my own flavour. The man who looked at all my scars and called me beautiful." I stroke my thumbs across his cheekbones, feeling moisture there. "I know you're a man worth dying for."

"Don't say that." His hands tighten on me, almost desperate. "Your life is worth more than mine. Don't you understand? You're light and hope and everything I've never deserved."

"Then deserve me now." The words come out fierce, demanding. "Stop deciding what I'm worth and start accepting what I'm offering."

Angelo searches my face like he's looking for the lie, the manipulation, the catch. But there isn't one. This is the most honest I've ever been, the most vulnerable, the most free.

"I love you," he breathes, the admission torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "God help me, I love you so much it terrifies me."

Relief floods through me so powerfully that tears spill over, running down my cheeks. "Say it again."

"I love you, Butterfly." His voice is stronger now, more certain. "I love your strength and your courage and the way you chose me even when you had every reason not to."

Then his mouth is on mine, desperate and claiming and perfect. I taste salt—whether from his tears or mine, I don't know. The kiss is everything I've ever wanted, a promise, a claiming, a beginning.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Angelo rests his forehead against mine, his hands gentle on my face.

"Promise me," he says quietly. "Promise me you won't throw yourself in front of any more bullets."

I consider this, weighing the words carefully. "I promise I won't throw myself in front of bullets unnecessarily."

"Kasia—"

"But if someone is trying to kill you, all bets are off." I meet his gaze steadily. "This is who I am, Angelo. I protect the people I love. And I love you."

He stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head with something that might be fond exasperation. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Not if I can help it," I say firmly.

Angelo huffs out a laugh, the sound rough but genuine. "Come here."

He pulls me carefully against his chest, mindful of my injured arm, and I melt into his warmth. The pain is still there, throbbing with each heartbeat, but it feels distant now. Unimportant compared to the solid reality of Angelo's arms around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.

"I love you," I whisper against his throat, testing the words on my tongue. They taste like freedom.

His arms tighten around me. "I love you too, Butterfly. Always."

And for the first time in my life, I believe in always. I believe in forever. I believe in love.

I chose this. I chose him. And he chose me back.

It's the most beautiful freedom I've ever known.