Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

09 | Nina

A ring of fire tightens around my throat in the form of a man's hands wrapped tightly around me. I flail, my hands going automatically to where my circulation is already beginning to be cut off.

I can't see who's grabbing me, and I scream again as I'm dragged up to the window. I grab onto whatever I can knowing that whatever happens, I can't let myself be pulled through this window. I already feel the sharp edges of the broken shards beginning to dig into my neck.

But it's useless. I'm much too weak.

The door of the cabin slams open. My vision is blurry, nearly black with panic, but I make out a figure crossing the room in rapid strides. The way it moves makes me know it's Santo.

Suddenly, the pressure on my airways eases. I sink back to the couch, rubbing at the sensitive skin on my neck as I draw in desperate gasps. After my breathing evens out a little, I realize Santo is right next to me, reaching out the window. I hear gasps of pain from outside, and grunting as they both wrestle for control. The glass cuts into Santo's shoulder as he lunges and reaches all the way through with both arms, and I push into the back of the couch, my heart racing.

Then, I hear a horrible, horrible noise. I can only describe it as an otherworldly tearing, the ripping of a lifeforce.

Santo pulls back from the window, clutching a head in his hands. A decapitated head, gushing blood and other fluids.

And I scream.

Loudly.

I can hear the sick thud of the head on the floor and feel the panic as Santo comes closer. It's certainly a sight, him closing in on me, his hands dripping in blood. Breathing becomes difficult, and I feel like those hands are closing around my throat again. I think he's trying to say something to me but it all fades, everything does, as the world goes blank.

+

The planked, warm mahogany ceiling of the cabin comes slowly back into focus, along with the feeling of my limbs. I breathe, finding it only hurts a little bit, and suddenly, I feel a touch on my neck—

"Relax. Calm down. You're safe," Santo murmurs, and I don't know if I am.

"Who—what—"

"Breathe. Breathe for me, ragazza agguerrita. Then I'll answer your questions."

So, I try. He doesn't touch me and that helps. I gradually register that I'm lying on the bed, my head propped up on the pillows. Once my breaths are relatively evened out, I peer around cautiously.

If it weren't for the shattered window and cuts on Santo's arms, I'd think I imagined the whole thing. The head, along with all traces of blood, is gone from the floor. I finally relax. His eyes critically observe me, taking in the measured movement of my chest. Exhaling, he leans back.

"Where is the head?"

Santo's eyes trail carefully over my face before he answers. "Gone. I cleaned up while you were out."

"How long was that?"

"An hour."

I sigh, massaging my temples. A headache is beginning to pound there.

"And who was he?"

Santo seems to be treading lightly, eyes constantly shifting over my form like he can't decipher the calm timbre of my voice.

"Someone I was planning on killing. He followed me here. I didn't realize until I heard you screaming." Anger, barely restrained, has bled into his voice. His hands—blessedly free of blood—are clenching, as if around an imaginary neck.