Page 95 of The Savage

Giada shakes her head, then swallows again like she’s trying to force something down into place. ‘I didn’t… I only felt⁠—’

Her voice fractures.

‘It’s all right,’ Conti says softly. ‘Your mind is healing. This can happen. A memory fragment bleeds through, the body reacts.’

‘No.’ She sits up too fast, her hands gripping the couch cushion. There’s steel in her now under the tremor. ‘No more bleeding through without me knowing. No more secrets. If something is going to hurt me, I want to see it coming.’

I blink.

That’s not Sister Benedetta at all.

That’s Giada Mancinelli with teeth.

My mouth tugs with elated pride despite the knot in my chest. ‘You’re a stubborn little saint.’

She turns those eyes on me, blazing. ‘Don’t call me that in that tone. I don’t even know what I’m meant to be any more.’

The doctor clears his throat, visibly deciding his role here is to keep everyone alive, not mediate a marital war that’s already halfway to eruption.

‘I’ll give you something mild,’ he says, pulling pills from a case. ‘To steady the nerves. It will not impair memory recovery.’

He hands her water. She takes the pills without asking. Proud, even shaky.

I scrub a hand down my face, guilt chewing my gut. ‘Giada, I didn’t mean to⁠—’

‘Stop,’ she cuts in. ‘You don’t get to decide what I can handle. Not any more. I’ll be the judge of that.’

My temper lifts its head, reflexive. ‘No, you won’t. I will.’

‘Renzo—’

‘Because I’m the one who picked you up off a convent floor and dragged you into a war you don’t even remember, so yeah, I get a fucking vote.’

Her chin lifts. Her eyes narrow. A flicker of something hot and defiant flashes through her like a spark catching dry tinder.

‘There’s my fighter,’ I murmur, softer now, because Christ, I missed that fire even when I didn’t know where it came from.

She glowers. ‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘I’m not.’ I crouch in front of her, ignoring the way Conti’s eyes dart between us as if he’s waiting for someone to explode. ‘I’m… trying to keep you safe.’

‘And I’m trying to live in my own head without you deciding what’s in it.’

Touché.

When she draws a breath it shakes like a fucking earthquake, and I want to rip things apart. Then she blurts, words I’m not ready for tumbling out like she’s afraid if she stops to think, courage will evaporate.

‘I saw her.’

The room stills.

Conti freezes mid-pack. I stop breathing. ‘Who… who did you see?’

Her eyes go glassy, fixed on something I can’t see. ‘A woman. Her name flashed… Isabella,’ she whispers. ‘Your mother?’

The sound of the name slams through me like a fist. I nod.

‘She was alive,’ Giada says. Her hands clench, unclench. ‘She was standing in the church. She turned… she looked at me as if she recognised me. She was frightened. And there was shouting. Men. Guns. The lilies, she was holding them. I smelled the lilies, and I heard the choir singing – oh God—’ Her breath spikes. ‘And then there was sound,’ she finishes, voice gone thin. ‘Terrible, horrible sounds.’