Page 40 of Deal with the Devil
Il Diavolo—or Rafael, or whatever alias he goes by—takes his time replying. He merely admires me from behind his devil’s mask, his dark and piercing eyes unreadable.
I haven’t the faintest clue what he’s thinking. If he’ll lash out at me or brush off what I’ve said.
Clearly, he finds me a threat in some regard if he’s stopped me from leaving the country; he doesn’t want me out of his clutches because he knows how dangerous it could be if I go rogue. He needs me within his control.
That’s what it’s always been about for him.
He never cared about me. He never gave a damn about our relationship. It was all fake, and I was foolish enough to fall for it, believing I had finally found the right man for me.
It cuts so deep to even begin thinking about that… I can’t do it. I shut down those thoughts right away, deciding it’ll have to wait for another time.
After a minute passes and silence stretches on between us, it seems I’ve struck a nerve. What I’ve said has really pissed him off.
This is confirmed when the first word out of his mouth is a command spoken to the two airport personnel.
“Uscire.”
The two men make themselves disappear. They practically climb over each other to make it through the door, slamming it shut behind themselves.
The sharp sound makes me jump.
Il Diavolo takes a few steps toward me, closing most of the space between us. I’ve appreciated the buffer, which is what makes the sudden closeness so immediately tense and uncomfortable. In response, I take a step back, my pulse fluttering faster.
We’re alone now. Just the two of us locked in this room that feels strangely intimate.
He’s looking me in the eye. He won’t turn away.
I find I can’t either. I’m locked into this staring contest with the devil, a strange sense of anticipation crashing over me.
It’s like I’ve entered this silent battle of wills without realizing I have, and now I’m trapped.
But one thing is clear—Il Diavolo possesses the same kind of intense, dominating energy as Rafael. If by some chance heisa different man, there’s a reason he has the reputation he does.
All reasons he evokes certain reactions out of me against my will.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat and the tremor in my stomach and stand my ground.
He studies every feature, every detail of my face, letting the seconds tick by in unnerving fashion.
The tension builds until I begin to question if this moment will ever end, and then…
He laughs.
A rich, dark sound breaks the silence as he releases a short, contained laugh. I watch him, unsure what to make of his reaction, just as on guard as ever.
He sticks both hands in his pants pockets and says, “Portia, you can make all the threats you like. But the truth is, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea about anything. Soon you will come to realize that.”
I have no time to ponder what he means.
The door behind him swings open in the next second and two strapping men in crisp suits enter. Immediately, I know who they work for and why they’re here. They move in lockstep across the room as Il Diavolo gives direction in Italian.
“Accompagnala alla macchina. Il viaggio è lungo.”
“I’m not going anywhere without my purse,” I spit, digging my heels into the ground.
The men grab me from either side to guide me toward the door they just came through.
“We have gathered your things,” Il Diavolo says, switching back to English seamlessly. “Including the carry-on luggage you had at the hotel.”
