Page 48 of Deal with the Devil
“The only reason it’s gotten this far,” he says coldly, “is because you suggested keeping her here. You know what would’ve happened if I had my way.”
My stomach knots and the next breath I try to draw comes up short.
They’re talking about me. Not just around me, butaboutme, like I’m not an autonomous person at all. I’m just some object for them to dispose of.
Anthony scoffs, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “If you think we can just blast a famous TV reporter and dump the body like nothing, then you reallyarecrazy. You think American media won’t look into it? And worse—” he stabs his cigar in Il Diavolo’s direction, “you thinkhe’llstand for it?”
My brows pinch. Who are they talking about?
“He’s not coming back,” Il Diavolo snaps.
“You say that now,” Anthony says, popping his cigar back into his mouth. “We’ll see when he returns in the next few hours.”
“I’ve handled him. For good. I’m in control now.”
Anthony hacks out a laugh. “You know what’s funny? Rafael used to say the same thing about you. Isn’t that why he stopped receiving help for your problems?”
Il Diavolo leaps from his chair, knocking it over, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud and violent thud. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
“I know better than most! I’ve been here to see it all from the start!”
“Enough,” Don Vito croaks, pounding his cane against the wooden floorboards. A wet cough seizes him, rattling his frame like an earthquake. He fumbles for his handkerchief, sputtering until he can breathe again.
When he recovers, his eyes narrow at both men. “You argue like children. Is this what I leave behind? My legacy in the hands of juveniles?”
I cover my mouth with a shaky hand, blinking fast. The tears threaten to spill, but I refuse to let them. I’m too busy trying to process the sick realization: they’re not just talking aboutme—they’re talking about Rafael. About somethingdoneto him.
What does Il Diavolo mean, he handled Rafael?
Il Diavolo lowers himself slowly into the chair again, now eerily calm. “I have a solution that solves everything. It will ensure the media doesn’t get involved and her loved ones are handled.”
Don Vito eyes him skeptically. “And him?”
“He won’t come back. And if by some miracle he does, it’ll be too late. She’ll be gone.”
“You’ve made this claim before. He has made the same claim too, as Anthony has pointed out. Your old doctor swore up and down it was managed.”
“He didn’t know what he spoke of. It was not managed then. But it is now thatI’min charge.”
Don Vito gives a slow nod, then murmurs in Italian, “Bene. Buon lavoro.”
Anthony Senior seems to take that as his signal the meeting is over. He crushes his cigar into the tray, downs what’s left in his glass, and storms out without a backward glance. Don Vito stands with effort, leaning heavily on his cane as he limps from the room, each step punctuated by a labored wheeze.
Il Diavolo turns to me. The devil’s mask tilts slightly, shadowing his features, but there’s no mistaking the finality in his tone.
“Come, Portia. Follow me.”
And like a woman walking toward her own execution, I rise.
Dread fills me more with every step I take following in Il Diavolo’s wake. I can’t even bring myself to protest like I told myself I would. I said I’d fight back if he were to try something, yet here I am, so stunned I’m numb.
I follow obediently after him back down the corridor, wondering why he subjected me to the meeting in the first place.
The only explanation is it was just another mind game. Just another form of torture. Another way for him to exert his dominance and show me how little control I have.
He reemphasizes this as we finally reach my bedroom. He unlocks the door and steps aside for me to enter. I bite down hard on my tongue, pushing down the intense loathing I have for him and stepping into the room like I’m supposed to. He follows after me, snicking the door shut and twisting the lock.
“Daniela and the others have told me about your behavior. You’re unhappy here. But you won’t have to suffer for long. It’ll be over soon.”
