Page 7 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

BUTTERFLY

“ M ove,” Angelo shouts over the cacophony of sounds.

Without hesitation, Alessa slips past him and climbs into the back seat.

I, on the other hand, can’t move. Rooted to the spot I’m standing on, I can’t take my eyes off the orange haze and smoke blocking the hospital entrance.

My lips part as the blaze reflects in my eyes, bringing back memories I’m not sure I want.

Zakryj oczy. The voice echoes in my head.

And the pain. So much pain. And screaming.

A burning building. No, a house. Small hands covering tear-filled eyes. Gone. Everything is gone.

“Butterfly!” Angelo cages me, his hands landing on my shoulders, his face right in front of mine.

A single tear escapes the corner of my eye as I try to push the lump lodged in my throat back down.

Angelo gently rubs the tear away, his eyes softening, before a series of pops shatter the glass entrance.

“Fuck.” His eyes turn cold as he all but shoves me into the car, slamming the door shut behind me.

Angelo rounds the car in record time, sliding into the driver’s seat and shifting into gear before his door is even fully closed.

“Buckle up,” he snaps as his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, his gaze locked on the rearview mirror.

I fumble with the seatbelt, my hands shaking as the car lurches forward.

Angelo isn’t stingy with the gas pedal as we weave through the parking lot.

Alessa takes the seatbelt from me as our eyes meet—hers full of concern, mine full of confusion.

I glance over my shoulder, taking in the blur of smoke and fire getting smaller in the distance. “What—what was that?”

“Nico’s men,” Angelo says through gritted teeth as Alessa’s hand finds mine and squeezes.

“Nico...” I repeat, trying to jog my memory.

“Nico Nicolosi,” Alessa fills in, her eyes darting to the burn on my hip. Suddenly, the letter starts making sense.

“Shit,” I whisper, my stomach dropping. “That’s why you said they’re here to collect their property? Because he branded me? I'm his property?” I find Angelo’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Alessa’s hand squeezes mine once more.

The further we get from the hospital, the quieter it gets, and it finally dawns me. There are no sirens. Not in the distance, not driving past.

“We need to call nine-one-one!” I tear my eyes away from Angelo and look at Alessa, my voice urgent.

“It’s being taken care of,” Angelo says, speeding down the road.

“They’re on their way?” I ask.

Alessa sucks in her bottom lip. “Something like that.”

“Dante and Luca will make sure those responsible for what just happened get justice.”

“Are they cops?”

Alessa snorts.

“What?” I ask her, turning to face her.

“They’re—”

“Alessa,” Angelo snaps.

“I’ll let Angelo explain later.”

Exasperated, I look out the window, trying to figure out where the hell we are. Should I be worried that I went from waking up in a hospital with no memory to being in a car with two strangers? Probably, but I am in too much pain and too exhausted to care.

“Where are we?”

“Blackwood,” Alessa replies. “United States.”

“And where are we going?”

“My place,” Angelo replies curtly.

Alessa’s brow raises. “Wouldn’t it be better if we went to—”

“My place.” There’s a finality to his tone as he focuses on the road, his left hand gripping the steering wheel, while his right brushes against the holster on his chest. Every single move he makes radiates control, precision.

Something in me stirs, a voice that begs me to ruffle his feathers.

See what he’d look like when that control slips and the layers beneath get revealed.

“Fine,” Alessa huffs, crossing her arms.

The rest of the drive goes by in silence, and I try to busy myself with looking out the window and trying to recognise anything I see, sure that a building or a street will jog my memory.

But soon the houses are further and further apart until we're driving up a steep winding road and houses change into trees, then trees turn into a thick forest.

Once again, I question my sanity in blindly trusting two strangers who, for all I know, could be taking me to their very own sex dungeon. Not that I’d mind that experience, just maybe not in my current condition.

The car keeps climbing for what feels like hours, but probably isn’t much longer than twenty minutes and just as I think we must be driving up Mount Kilimanjaro, the dense forest gives way to an open expanse.

The house looms into view, a stunning juxtaposition to the wilderness around us.

It’s a marvel of modern architecture, its sleek glass walls reflecting the silver light of the overcast sky and the dark forest that surrounds it.

Each level of the house, of which there are three, juts out at sharp, deliberate angles as if it’s been designed specifically for the panoramic view of the world below.

The car rolls to a stop in a circular driveway paved with smooth slate stones.

From here, I can see the jagged coastline in the distance, the white foam of waves crashing against the rocks in a steady rhythm.

Beyond the coastline, I can just about see the outline of houses covered in a fog—Blackwood, probably—the faint lights flickering like stars.

The house itself, built into the edge of the mountain, seems like it could tip forward at any moment, though its design screams of calculated precision, just like its owner.

Angelo cuts the engine, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. For a moment, no one moves. Alessa breaks the stillness first, muttering something incoherent under her breath as she climbs out of the car.

“You live here?” she asks, her voice dripping with a mix of disbelief and awe. “And I thought Dante’s mansion was spectacular.” She shakes her head as her gaze sweeps over the house and the dramatic view behind it. “You wouldn’t want to swap houses with your brother now, would you?” She grins.

So Angelo and Dante are brothers, not hard to believe, as just by looking at them you can tell they both must have been chiselled from the same spectacular block of gorgeous marble.

Although I must admit Angelo is definitely the hotter brother, there’s an aura about him that has your eyes coming back to him.

I wonder if Luca is their brother also, he does have similar features.

“Let’s move,” Angelos says curtly, his tone snapping me out of my musings.

He steps out of the car and reaches for my door before I even have a chance to fumble with the handle.

“You okay, Butterfly?” he asks, towering over me and extending his hand to help me out.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing my hand in his.

An electric current rushes between us as our skin touches and we both inhale sharply in unison.

Before I can take a step, he leans down and once again lifts me up into his arms, knocking the door behind us close with his hip.

"I bet all the women you bring here love this place," Alessa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she takes in the building. "Nothing says 'welcome to my bachelor pad' quite like wall to wall glass, concrete floors and zero personality."

I don't know, I kinda like it. There's beauty here.

Angelo's jaw tightens. "I don't bring women here. I don't bring anyone here."

"What, never?" Alessa's eyes widen with genuine surprise.

"This is my sanctuary," he growls, shifting me in his arms. His muscles tense beneath me, and I catch the smallest tick in his jaw. " Was my sanctuary," he corrects himself, the words coming out like they physically pain him.

“A Santoro through and through, wait until I tell Arrow about this,” she sniggers.

Angelo ignores her as he carries me to the door, but something at the back of my mind starts niggling at me.

Santoro . I know the name, or at least it feels like I should.

But before I can try to prod my mind further, Angelo starts moving, striding to the door, his grip steady as he carries me.

I feel the strength in his arms, the controlled power, and it takes everything in me not to snuggle into him.

“You can put me down,” I hear the lie in my voice. God, please don’t put me down. Hold me close, feed me and tell me I’m pretty—my life would be made.

Angelo ignores me as we reach the front of the house, just as breathtaking as I thought it would be.

Smooth, black panels frame the glass walls, and as we approach, I notice the faint glow of hidden lights illuminating the base of the structure.

Angelo shifts me slightly in his arms to free one hand and punches in a code on a keypad embedded into the wall.

The soft chime of the lock disengaging is the only sound, and the large glass door glides open, like something out of a James Bond movie.

The interior of the house is cold and minimalistic, the stark walls devoid of personality.

A wide-open living area stretches before us, its centrepiece a sunken seating area with low, plush couches arranged around a modern fireplace encased in glass.

The flames flicker softly, casting long shadows that dance on the polished concrete floors.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a jaw-dropping view of the coastline and the foggy town below, but the space feels almost cold, as though it’s been designed for appearances rather than comfort.