Page 153 of The Savage

My jaw drops when I see what it is. A burner phone.

By the time I spin around, they’re gone. Melted into the crowd.

My stomach drops as I stare at the phone like it might explode. I jump when it buzzes. Chest thumping like a wild animal, I answer.

The line clicks, then an expelled breath. ‘Not going to greet me?’ my father says. Matteo Mancinelli’s voice is thinner than I remember. Meaner. ‘I guess you’ve made your choice. Just like your—’ He stops, then corrects himself with a sneer. ‘Just like them.’

My chest tightens. ‘Papa,’ I whisper. ‘Is that really what you’re going to say to me after six years?’

Silence. Then a scoff.

‘You stand there parading yourself with the Salvatores,’ he spits. ‘Smiling for cameras like you belong. Traditrice. You’ve always wanted their world.’

‘That’s not true,’ I say, too fast. ‘You know that’s not true.’

‘Do I?’ he snaps. ‘Because it looks like you’ve chosen your side. Just like your sisters.’

Something inside me hardens. I’m done begging.

‘Did you know?’ I ask quietly. ‘Did you know what Bonafacio was going to do to Isabella Salvatore?’

The silence this time is longer.

My heart pounds. ‘Papa,’ I push. ‘Did you approve it?’

A breath. Not denial.

Before he can answer, there’s a noise behind him a scuffle. ‘Giada, ascolta – listen to me.’ His voice is tight, rushed and panicked. ‘You need to do what Vittore wants.’

‘What?’ I breathe.

‘He’s in charge now,’ Matteo blurts. ‘Head of the family. He’s already decided. You need to obey him, figlia mia, or he’ll kill me. Capisci? He’ll kill me.’

Cold floods my veins. ‘Papa, what are you saying?’ I demand. ‘Papa⁠—’

The line crackles.

‘Papa?’ I say louder. ‘Papa, are you there?’

Nothing.

‘Papa?’ My voice breaks. ‘Rispondi. Papa?’

The call drops.

The phone slips from my hand. I barely feel it hit the ground. My knees give out and I fold in on myself, breath tearing out of my chest in ugly, broken sobs. The world tilts. Noise rushes in and out like I’m underwater.

Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.

Renzo.

He’s there like he always is. Solid. Furious. One look at my face and something dangerous lights behind his eyes.

‘What did he say to you?’ he demands.

I can’t speak. My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I just shake my head, tears blinding me.

He doesn’t push. He just holds me, one hand firm at my back, the other cradling my head, murmuring low, vicious Sicilian curses under his breath. Figlio di puttana. Bastardi.