Page 45 of Deal with the Devil
“My staff will bring you a change of clothes,” I say finally, my tone measured. “Something more comfortable for the evening.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“I don’t believe that was optional. They will bring you a change of clothes and you will put them on. You have a bathroom you will use to shower—or bathe in if you prefer baths—and the change of clothes will be waiting for you.”
“I want to go.”
“That’s not possible.”
She scowls. “Give me my phone.”
“That’s not possible either.”
“You can’t keep me here like this!”
I slide my hands into my pockets and stroll deeper into the room. My gaze sweeps over the bed and the last untouched tray of food Daniela must’ve delivered. It’s long since gone cold.
“Why not?” I ask, darkly curious as to her answer.
She blinks, thrown by the question. Her brows draw close as she falters for an answer. “Because… because, eventually, my loved ones will come looking for me.”
“That won’t be happening. I’ll make sure they never find you.”
The words disturb her on a whole new level.
It’s funny we’re both wearing masks—mine literal and hers figurative—and hers slips in this moment. Her features flicker with horror as she quickly spins on her heel to face the window again.
She doesn’t want me to see how she breaks; she doesn’t want me to know she’s on the verge of tears as she tries so hard not to cry.
“Why did you pretend to be someone else?” she asks, her shoulders quaking.
“Care to elaborate?”
“You know what I mean. Why did you pretend to want to be with me? Why act like I meant something to you if this was the plan all along?”
Portia turns to face me now, the hurt finally etched into her expression. Her eyes are dark and misty enough to show my reflection, a cold and aloof man in a suit and devil’s mask.
“You could’ve just hurt me from the start,” she whispers. “I would’ve preferred it that way. It would’ve, ironically enough, been less painful.”
She truly doesn’t understand what’s going on, even if she believes she has it all figured out. From her point of view, she’s fallen in love with a man who has now taken her captive and who will be ending her existence very soon.
But she doesn’t realize she’s wrong. She’s wrong because she has the wrong man.
Rafaeldoeslove her; he loves her more than she can ever possibly conceive. But I’m not Rafael, and I never will be.
He had his time to be in charge, and now it’s my turn to take over.
I look Portia in the eye, sensing how she hopes for some kernel of sympathy—some small sliver of comfort from the Rafael she’s fallen in love with—and I show her there is none to be found here.
None that will be coming from me,Il Diavolo.
“My staff will be bringing you a change of clothes,” I say matter-of-factly. “You will bathe and then change into them. Then they will bring you another meal. You will eat it. If you don’t, we will have a problem. And I will have them stick a tube down your throat and force feed you. Now dry your eyesand obey, or find out the hard way. Your choice, Portia. Choose wisely.”
14
PORTIA
Every hourin Il Diavolo’s custody feels like its own eternity. I can hardly get a wink of sleep trapped in the room they’ve put me in. It’s not the accommodations that are the problem—it’s the fact I’m being held captive by one of the deadliest mafia bosses in the world. He made it clear my loved ones won’t ever know what happened to me.
