Page 86 of Demon's Angel

I thought marrying Demon had been the right thing to do. A way to protect Theo. Now it seems I was wrong. Angelino might be known as the Angel of Death, but Demon appears to be just as bad.He killed many men, out of a fit of anger when he couldn’t find me.He’s started a war. My perfect man hadn’t turned out to be so perfect after all. Not the right man to be a father to Theo. Now his actions could get my son killed.

I’m the only one to know Angel’s plans. What can I do? Angrily wiping my tears on the bottom of my dress, I look around the room with fresh eyes. If I call, maybe someone will come expecting to take me to the bathroom. If I can find something to incapacitate them in some way, maybe I can get out of this room. Or take their phone. I don’t know anyone’s number, but… While I know it wouldn’t make Demon happy, I’ll call the only contact everyone remembers. The police. Saving my son’s life is an emergency. According to Angelino, Demon has killed his father, the don.

What does it matter that a murderer like Demon is locked up if it means Theo has a chance of life?

Theo alive, while my husband rots in a prison cell or dies at the hands of another prisoner. Or Theo dead, and Demon alive, wreaking vengeance on the Mafia family who destroyed the compound.

I’m Violet Palmer, Nathan’s sister. Things like this just don’t happen to me.

The thought I’ve pushed to the back of my mind resurfaces, the unbelievable story Angel told about my father. He has to be wrong. My father didn’t have a secret life, hadn’t lied to me all the years I’ve been alive. I would have known, wouldn’t I? Would have suspected? Surely if he’d been a Mafia don there would have been some sign?

But if Angel is right, everything happening now started when Pompeo, his brother, had been killed. Had my father initiated the actions that led to me being here now, and the grandchild he never knew he had being in danger?

I have to escape. Got to get to Theo. Got to get him away. Revert to my initial plan and get him to safety.

I stand. There’s a desk, but all the drawers are empty. The soft cushions on the couch offer no solution at all. I pry at the window frame, but it’s not moving, and my fingers are bleeding trying to remove the nails which fasten it shut.Break a window.But how? And with what? And that would only bring men running.

Sinking down on the couch once again, my tears start falling. This time, I don’t wipe them away.I tried Theo, I tried. Mommy tried to come save you.I weep, wailing uncontrollably, my cries bringing no attention. Eventually the tears dry.If they’d already attacked, if that’s where Angel went… If Theo is dead or hurt, wouldn’t I already know it? Wouldn’t I feel it like a hole in my heart? Wouldn’t I have already started dying inside?

I can’t let myself give up.But what can I do?

It’s only when I hear footsteps approaching that I realise I’ve been stupid. I do have a weapon, it’s just that it didn’t come in a box with ‘gun’ or ‘knife’ written on it. Racing to the desk, I tug hard on a drawer, it’s old, and slides out without too much protest.

Moving fast to the side of the door, I hold it over my head.

Picturing Theo, imagining flames approaching him, I have no second thoughts as I raise it over my head and bring it down with all my strength on the head of the person who steps through the doorway.

But the man’s too tall. All I do is knock his shoulder, but hard enough to make him stagger. He’s one of Angelino’s men; his eyes blaze as papers fall from his hands onto the floor.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch,” he snarls, rubbing his shoulder. Then he wrenches the drawer out of my hands and throws it behind him into the hallway. Pushing me backward, hard, knocking me off-balance and onto my backside, he steps into the room, his eyes scanning quickly. Seeing the remaining drawer in the desk he goes and rips it out, turning to me with an evil grin. “There’s no escape for you. Angelino wanted you to read that file. He’ll be back once he’s finished his business. He, er, wanted me to remind you to think on your bargain.”

Kicking the file with the paperwork all away across the floor to me, he turns, slams the door, and disappears.

I hope his shoulder is hurting.

My bargain.Kneeling, I start pulling the papers toward me. There is nothing Angel can have left for me that will make me believe his fantastical story about my father. He hadn’t led a second life. Involved in the Mafia? Never. It’s a preposterous suggestion. I’ll read the ‘evidence’ he’s put together, find all the holes and find a way to rationalise them. Then I’ll explain that he has it all wrong.

What happens if he doesn’t believe me?Pursing my lips, I realise there has to be some way to convince him he has no reason to keep me. No reason to hurt Theo. There’s no revenge to be had, my father wasn’t the man he’s describing, and no way was he responsible for the death of his brother.

He might rape me anyway.And Theo…Once more I stuff my hand into my mouth, biting down so hard I draw blood, unable to cope with the thought it might already be too late. The file drops from my hands, paperwork scattering.

No.Finding an explanation as to why Angel’s wrong is the only chance I have to save my baby. My attempts at finding a physical weapon having been thwarted, I have to think on another way out instead, though all I want to do is curl up into a ball agonising about the planned attack on the Satan’s Devils’ compound.

Prove this evidence has no grounds.

I take a deep breath to steady me, and another. Then, having gathered the papers once again, I go to the desk and start reading.

A birth certificate is there. Vittore Parma. Same date as my father’s birthday, but that’s just coincidence, so is the similar sounding name. I flick through, there’s a visa with a picture of a young man on it; sure, there’s some resemblance around the eyes, but I only remember my father with dignified grey streaks in his hair, not with the jet-black mop this man is sporting.

My father had travelled for work. Some of the clients he worked for were based out of town, that’s not unusual, surely?

Angelino’s done his work thoroughly, or someone has on his behalf. There’s a list of dates when things went down, a stolen shipment of heroin, a warehouse explosion, that drive-by shooting when Angelino’s brother was captured and presumably subsequently killed. The last date was twenty years ago when Don Vittore Parma disappeared.

There’s also a matching column of dates when Victor Palmer went out of town. I scoff at the way they conveniently correlate. This is no proof, Angelino could have written those dates himself.

There’s one time I do remember, my fifth birthday. My father hadn’t been around. I don’t have many memories as a child, but that sticks out as one. At the time I’d been a spoiled brat, stomping my feet and wishing he’d stayed home for my party. But he hadn’t. Quickly I check the date.

Arms that time. A shipment of AK-15s had been hijacked.

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