Page 103 of The Savage

I move closer to her, my hand brushing her hip – not to touch her, though I want to – but to signal her. To position myself. To prepare.

She mistakes the gesture for affection and blushes.

Jesus, save me.

The vendor appears, cheerful and oblivious. ‘Buon pomeriggio! What can I get you?’

Giada’s smile wavers but holds. ‘Um… pistachio, please. And⁠—’

‘Make it two,’ I say, keeping my voice light. ‘And add a brioche.’

She shoots me a look. ‘I can’t eat all that.’

‘You can,’ I say softly. ‘You didn’t eat much at breakfast. And you like pistachio.’

A small frown creases her brow. ‘How do you remember everything?’

‘Because I pay attention when it’s important.’

That does something to her. Something warm and startled and unbearably sweet.

I reach for my wallet and I buy her the gelato – pistachio, piled high, brioche warm around it – and the look she gives me is so sweet I swear it cracks something old and rusted in my chest.

And that’s when I see it.

The smallest thing. A flicker of movement.

One of the men lifts his hand. A signal.

Fuck no.

I step behind Giada, my body pressing flush to hers, my arm curving naturally around her waist. She stiffens, a little gasp catching in her throat.

‘Renzo?’ she whispers. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Eat your gelato, angel,’ I murmur against her hair. ‘We’re going to walk to the marina.’

‘But why⁠—’

‘Do as I say.’

I steer us away from the square, past fishermen mending nets, past tide-wet steps leading down into the sapphire water. My senses sharpen, mapping every alley, every exit route, every shadowed corner.

The men follow. Not close but not far enough.

When Giada speaks again, her voice is quiet but clear. ‘Those men behind us…’

She noticed. Good girl.

‘Are they dangerous?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Because of you?’

I nod my head once. ‘Yes, but also because of you.’

She stops dead.