Page 85 of The Savage

‘—a void.’ My words stutter out against his chest. ‘A hole full of noise and missing pieces. You keep saying I’m someone, that I’m worth saving, but you don’t even know what you’re saving. What if there’s nothing left to save?’

He cups my face, makes me look at him. ‘Then I’ll build something new.’

The fierceness in it undoes me all over again.

I press my palms against his chest, trying to keep distance, but he’s already there, steady, unyielding. ‘The way I feel about you…’ I shake my head, unable to name it. ‘It’s too powerful to be benign. Were we lovers, Renzo?’

His jaw works, but he doesn’t answer.

The silence hits like betrayal. I push at him, hard enough that he grunts. ‘Say something!’

‘Giada—’

‘You can’t keep me in the dark forever! The mind you’re half-bent on saving is already fracturing. Tell me!’

His eyes close for a heartbeat. When they open again, the softness is gone, replaced by something old and desperate. ‘You were eighteen. Your birthday. You wore white. We met at the church because you said it was the one place no one would look for us. You said it was proof that what we had could survive anywhere. I was crazy enough to believe you.’

The world tilts. ‘And then?’

‘I took what you offered. What I thought you offered.’ His voice cracks on it. ‘Your virginity. Your heart. Everything.’

I’m on my knees before I realise I’ve moved, the sheet pooling around me. His gaze follows me like heat, unsure whether to worship or repent.

I reach up, fingers trembling, and untie the wimple from the back of my head. It slips free, falling into my lap.

The air shifts. His breath catches, a sound halfway between a groan and a prayer.

He runs a hand through my hair, slow, reverent, the way one might touch a miracle they don’t trust. ‘God, Giada…’

For a moment we just stare at each other, two people tethered by a decade of ghosts. Then I rise higher on my knees and unfasten the thin silk nightgown he bought me – softer than anything I’ve ever owned, indecently delicate.

His eyes widen as it slides off my shoulders and puddles to the floor.

He whispers something in Sicilian, hoarse and lost.

And when I lift my chin to meet his gaze, there’s no fear left in me at all.

12

GIADA

For a suspended breath, nothing moves.

The lamp spills a soft halo over the bed as I perch on my knees, my body bare, feeling desperately exposed with my wimple a dark spill on the sheet and my pulse a drum I can’t quiet.

Renzo looks at me like a starving man who’s just remembered he has tastebuds.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says, voice low, ruined. ‘Say the word and I’ll burn for it alone.’

‘I don’t want to stop.’ The truth startles me with its clarity. ‘I want to… know. Be known.’

Something tight and dangerous flashes in his face. ‘Oh, I’m going to know you all right, ragazza. I’m going to know you so damn good.’

He reaches for me with his stronger arm as if he’s approaching a skittish creature, closes his hand around my waist to draw me closer to where he’s reclining on the headboard. ‘Come here, angel.’

His palm is hot on my skin, enough to make my hands tremble where they find his shoulders. He’s careful drawing me nearer, careful as if I’m made of glass, and then not careful at all when his mouth finds mine and the carefulness turns to the hottest blaze.

I gasp, then lean in, letting myself be taught.