Page 64 of The Savage

And sweet heaven, why does my heart sing, then settle as if it’s found peace? ‘Are you… Is everything okay?’ I ask, more to quiet the rush of alien feeling than for affirmation of what my eyes tell me.

‘Yes and no.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning, the obstacles are only going to get bigger, angel.’ He pulls me closer, peers deep into my eyes.

And within those silver depths I spot something vital. Something I need to keep reminding myself no matter what comes.

The dash of bitterness and rancour I saw that first day. The solar flare of savage intent that whispers that in the grand totality of my memory loss, all I have is Renzo Salvatore’s sliced version to keep me dangling on his hook. That I would be so much better off being on my guard.

A press of his fingers refocuses me. In time to hear him add, ‘I hope you’re ready for them.’

9

RENZO

The morning of my self-prescribed emancipation from the Istituto reminds me of bloody victories, anticipation of a race win, and Tom Ford’s Black Orchid.

My Milan-sourced attire, casual but ultra-suave layers of blacks and greys, warns of what’s underneath. Barely leashed savagery of a Salvatore.

The kind of outfit that says convalescence is over, long live the king.

I painfully adjust my cuffs, slip on my watch, and catch my reflection in the glass. I’m a little paler than I’d like, sure, but well-stitched, still dangerous.

I’m no longer a patient. I’m a resurrection with an arm brace.

Can’t say the same for my primary carer though.

Dr Conti looks like a man who’s aged ten years since I last saw him only a handful of hours ago. But even looking the worse for wear, he can’t quite hide his desperation to be rid of me. His fingers tremble when he signs the paperwork, as if even his pen fears reprisal.

Poor bastard. I have far more agitation in store for him.

‘I believe that is everything, Signore,’ he mutters. ‘The private medical team assure me everything is arranged as you requested. It’s been a pleasure⁠—’

‘Not yet,’ I say, cutting across his barefaced lie. ‘One last thing to take care of.’ I fix him with a smile sharp enough to cut glass. ‘You need to go pack a bag, Dottore. You’re coming with me.’

He blinks, startled. ‘Scusi?’ Then he shakes his head, much too vigorously than a man like him, confronted by a man like me, should.

‘One million euros.’ I don’t bother repeating myself. ‘In cash, offshore, or whichever way you sleep best at night. You’ll continue Giada’s treatment. You’ll help me fix her head – and watch mine while you’re at it. You keep everything confidential, needless to say. And if you leave without my permission, you’ll never see daylight again. We understand each other?’

The colour drains from his face. ‘Signore, this is highly irregular⁠—’

‘So is surviving a crash that should have killed me.’ I lean closer, my voice a low growl. ‘I’ll make it simple, Dr Conti. Heaven or hell. Which one do you want to wake up in tomorrow?’

Greed laced with bone-deep fear wins faster than I thought it would. They always fold when they see the zeroes. He nods, voice hoarse. ‘I’ll prepare what’s needed.’

Good.

I push off the bed and test the weight of my injuries.

The arm cast and sling are lighter than my temper. My ribs are… middling but I’ve endured fractured ribs way more times than is decent so I’ll live. And every second I’m forced to remember that I was born to move fast, not hobble like a pensioner, I’ll endure the pain and humiliation, because without it, I wouldn’t have her back.

Giada – Benedetta, she insists – has spent the last day hovering between scolding and silence. I may have given myself away when I revealed my desperation mixed with anger to her after Dante’s visit but – I shrug philosophically – it’s better she knows what’s coming.

That whatever malleable feelings I have for her, it would always be overshadowed by her actions where the death of my mother is concerned. And when my family discover her existence, as they will sooner than I want, not even those traitorous feelings I can’t escape might save her.

The sight of her now, arms folded and eyes wary as she watches me prepare to leave, ignites something hot and electric in my chest.