Page 125 of The Savage

‘Angel…’ The word scrapes out of me.

She flinches. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘What happened?’ I ask, stepping closer, palms open. ‘Talk to me.’

‘I remembered something,’ she whispers. ‘I remembered – her.’ Her voice trembles. ‘Isabella.’

My breath freezes.

‘I saw her,’ she sobs. ‘Alive. Before – I don’t know – before something happened. Before something terrible. I don’t know what I did. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know if I’m good or if I’m⁠—’

‘Stop.’ My voice cracks like a whip.

She shakes her head wildly. ‘I can’t. I feel like a monster. I deserve… I deserve bad things, Renzo⁠—’

I grab her shoulders, firm but careful. ‘You look at me.’

Her breath catches. She does.

‘You’re not a monster. And no, you fucking don’t.’ I’m not sure why laughter breaks out of me. ‘If we’re counting sins, I would be more deserving of those bad things. Believe me, everyone in this house behind me would win before you even came close to winning the monster trophy.’

‘You don’t know that⁠—’

‘I do,’ I growl. ‘Because I know you. Even if you don’t remember yourself yet. You’re goodness itself, ragazza.’ I laugh again and I hear the foot-thick manic beast within the sound. ‘You’re the clever girl who wanted to meet in a church on our first date. I’m the bastard who agreed just so I could corrupt and defile you.’

Her lip trembles, and that single movement nearly floors me.

‘That night,’ she whispers, ‘was I the one… Did I… did I kill your mother?’

The question guts me but I don’t look away.

I raise one hand, tracing my thumb along her temple. ‘Only you can tell me that. But not yet. Not tonight. Not like this.’

Her breath leaves her in a crushed sound. ‘I’m scared.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘But you’re not doing this alone, Giada.’

She looks at me in a way that makes my chest ache. ‘Why – why are you being so gentle with me?’

I swallow, jaw tight.

‘Because you’re it for me, baby. You always have been, always will be.’

The words fall out like a confession ripped from bone.

Her eyes widen. Then she collapses forward into me, her fists gripping my shirt, her face pressed to my chest like she’s trying to burrow straight into me.

I hold her.

Hard.

Like I could anchor her to this world by force alone.

She sobs once – just once – then her hands slide up my jaw, her mouth finding mine in a kiss so desperate I taste salt.

‘Tell me what you need, baby,’ I murmur against her lips.

Her voice breaks. ‘I need you.’