Page 53 of Deal with the Devil
And then I make the mistake of turning around.
I’m not sure what’s worse: witnessing Rafael transform into a monster like Il Diavolo before my eyes or coming across a room likethis.
The gooseflesh that had crawled over my skin earlier returns in spades. It comes back along with a cold, unsettling chill that blows through me.
I’m surrounded by…me.
The room is dimly lit with only a single lamp desk on, but I can see what lines the walls. Dozens of photographs. All of them of me.
My face on camera at Metro News. Me on the beach in Jamaica. Wedding photos of me and Lincoln.
Even old news articles from my time at Newport University, when I wrote for the school newspaper.
I step toward the desk and see stacks of files, all of them with my name and various dates. Some are filled with documents about me. Others are emails. One in particular is about the Queenie Tate contest I won two years ago.
I pick up the sheet of paper, disturbed as I read the exchange between Rafael and the executive producer, confirming I would be ‘selected’ as the winner. The trip to Sicily wasn’t so luck-based after all.
It was a set up from the start.
And the thing is… I’m not so sure it was Il Diavolo who did any of this.
This was all Rafael. He orchestrated it that way. He’s been watching me, following me, always meaning for it to end up like this.
For him to lure me. Make me fall for him.
I’m so disturbed and shocked I don’t hear the click of the lock and the door falling open. Il Diavolo appears, now in his devil’s mask as he pushes the door closed.
“You found his room,” he says, sounding darkly amused. “You didn’t think he was the good guy, did you?”
16
DIAVOLO
Portia can’t decideif she’s more startled by my question, my presence, or the room she’s found herself in.
It seems like all three things have overloaded her, scrambling her brain to the point she’s frozen in place, wide-eyed and speechless.
There’s a certain… allure about her when she’s like this.
I’ll give Rafael that much.
The way her throat works when she swallows and her beasts heave when she breathes hard captures my attention. Her dark eyes flicker between strong-willed determination and the kind of intense fear that’s almost erotic in the darkest, most sinister way.
It certainly piques my interest even more.
I reach behind me, fingers rotating the lock on the doorknob into place with a resoundingclick.
She draws in a sharper breath and her nostrils flare as she tries her damnedest like she always does; she tries so hard to hold it together yet fails so spectacularly.
I see right through Portia James and her tough act. She’s terrified of not only the devil who stands before her but of the man who she hoped would save her. The same man who’s kept a shrine in her honor for years now.
Every moment she’s ever shared with him has been according to plan.
I start closing the gap between us, boxing her in like you would an animal being cornered. She seems to figure this out the closer I make it, but it’s already too late.
There’s nowhere for her to escape to, and nothing she can do as I come within reach. We hold each other’s gaze, an unmistakable tension pulsing around us. It permeates the air to such an intense degree it’s combustible.
It’s the same kind of fire we were playing with last night when Portia dared to stab me with the shard of glass. My shoulder throbs at the memory.
