Page 2 of Savage Saint
“Chill, Angelo,” he says, slicing through the lock with a flourish. “You’re wound tighter than Dante.”
“That’s because one of us has to take this seriously,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “You think this is a game?”
Luca shrugs, unfazed. “You’re always so serious. You should relax, live a little.”
The words hit like a slap, even though I know he has no idea how deeply they penetrate. It’s not like I have the option to relax, not when my soul is blacker than coal.
I don’t reply, my jaw tightening as he steps aside, letting me take the lead.
The ever-present Blackwood fog is unrelenting this close to the shore, the salt in the air threatening a sneeze just as I yank the door open. The mist rushes in like a living thing, shrouding everything within in its white tendrils.
It doesn’t stop the stench from assaulting my senses–a vile cocktail of sickness and decay that claws at my throat, dredging up images of things I've seen and done over the years. I instinctively cover my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and take a cautious step inside, squinting as the fog swirls around me. The container seems empty at first glance, but it’s hard to tell with the fog distorting my vision.
“Do you see anything?” Luca’s muffled question comes from behind me, his voice barely above a whisper. I shake my head, taking another step in when a sound startles me motionless. It echoes eerily in the confines of the container.
“Luca,” I breathe, straining to hear it again. “Did you hear that?”
“What the hell was that?” Luca fumbles for his phone, his cocky demeanour finally slipping as I try to make out the dark shape in the corner.
A beam of bright light cuts through the darkness as he flicks the torchlight on, illuminating the far corner of the container.
“Cazzo,” he curses from behind me, a sentiment I share in abundance.Fuck, indeed.
There’s a body of a woman, crumpled on the container’s grimy floor. Empty water bottles scattered around her like discarded evidence of a failed survival attempt. Her tangled hair clings to her pale face and even in the dim light, I can see the bruises and cuts marring her skin.
I surge forward, something lodging in my throat as I kneel beside her. The foul odour no longer registering. Reaching out, I press my fingers on her pulse point—faint, but still there.
“Call the hospital,” I bark at Luca, urgency lacing my voice, an emotion I haven’t felt in years. My reputation as a brutal enforcer may precede me—I’m known for my savage methods and ruthless ways, but I draw the line at harming women and children. “Then call Dante. And keep fucking calling him until he picks up. Time for fucking around is over.”
Luca hesitates, his gaze bouncing between me and the woman. For all his wit and bravado, I can see the wariness in his eyes. This isn’t a game anymore, and he knows it.
“On it,” he mutters, stepping away to make the calls.
Gently, I scoop her up, her fragile body sagging in my grip, head lolling back like a broken doll. What the hell was Nico thinking, keeping a woman in this locked-up hellhole for God knows how long? Her skin radiates heat against me, a feverish blaze that rings alarm bells in my mind. Red, angry lines streak across her arm, telltale signs of infection feasting inside her. This is not good.
Her matted hair falls away from her face, and something in my heart picks up speed. Even dulled by dirt and blood, that shade of red is stunning. A red like I've never seen before.
One thing is clear, we need to get her out of here, and the sooner, the better. Still cradling her to me, I run outside, trying hard not to jostle her as I make my way back to the entrance.
As we near the car, Luca glances at me, his usual smirk replaced by something sombre. “You think this is Nico’s way of sending a message?”
“If it is,” I reply darkly, “he’d better get ready for one hell of a response."
I try not to look at her, not to notice the ribs digging into my chest or the smattering of pale freckles across the bridge of her nose. I try to focus on my anger at Nicolosi, who just signed his death warrant in my eyes. Wars be damned. This is the second innocent woman he has almost killed in as many weeks. Not to mention how he treats the girls at his strip clubs—sleazy motherfucker.
My arms tighten at the thought of that monster. Too tight.
A gasp escapes her dry, cracked lips and her long eyelashes flutter as her eyes flicker open. I stumble to a stop, unable to rip my attention away from her. Her unfocused gaze lands on my face, her lips curling into a serene smile just as the sun rises behind me, lighting up her face.
“Aniol,” she whispers before, with a sigh, her pale blue eyes flutter closed once more, leaving me speechless.
2
ANGELO
It’s been twenty-four hours since they took her to the hospital.
Twenty-Four hours I’ve spent trying my hardest not to think of her eyes on mine. Of her raspy voice saying that strange word when she stared into my soul.Of that fucking hair, matted with blood and dirt but still burning red like fresh-spilled blood in the firelight.
