Page 47 of The Savage

Benedetta – Giada – makes a soft sound, somewhere between outrage and disbelief. ‘Should I not have a say in this? Or are you two going to keep discussing me like I’m not present?’

I look at her. ‘My trust issues haven’t gone away overnight, angel. But I agree, spending another night in that chair is out of the question. So a bigger bed is the only solution.’

‘I disagree⁠—’

‘Your faith requires you to be mindful of my wellbeing, doesn’t it?’

She frowns. ‘Of course, but it also⁠—’

‘My immediate wellbeing is contingent on whether you’re comfortable or not. And since a cot or a chair isn’t viable, a bigger bed it is.’

‘That’s bare-faced manipulation,’ she accuses.

As the doctor blinks. ‘A… bigger bed.’

I ignore her and answer him. ‘You heard me.’

‘Signore,’ the doctor tries again, ‘it would be⁠—’

I pierce him with the stare Orazio taught Dante and me to perfect on our first day of big school. It hasn’t failed me since and I watch it drill through them now. ‘Doctor, don’t mistake my physical weakness for indecision,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Do as I fucking say. Then come back after breakfast and examine her.’

He nods quickly, mutters something to the other doctor, and they retreat.

I exhale, gaze shifting back to her.

She’s staring at me like I’m the devil himself. ‘Why?’ she asks, voice trembling.

‘I told you last night. I’m not losing sight of you again.’

Not when somewhere beyond these walls, I can already feel the world stirring – the distant hum of engines, the whisper of surveillance feeds reconnecting, the faint ripple that means my family’s beginning to catch wind of something.

Let them.

By the time they do, I’ll have what I came for.

7

SISTER BENEDETTA

I shouldn’t be shocked. I’ve seen power before.

Many times in the past I’ve seen men in important robes visiting the convent, their smiles too sharp, their low-spoken commands doing nothing to hide the clear power behind their words.

Madre Superiora and the senior nuns are always in a bad mood after such visits.

But those men have nothing on him.

His injuries and pain should diminish him, but Renzo Salvatore commands every conversation as if he’s king and we’re his subjects.

The moment he speaks, people move. The nurses, the doctor, even the guards outside. Every one of them jumps to obey as if their bodies are wired to his voice.

He’s lying in a hospital bed, bandaged, bruised, half-crippled, and still the entire world bends around him.

It’s obscene.

But also… exciting?

I hate the way it stirs something deep inside me – something that feels far too much like awe.