Page 59 of Deal with the Devil
My heart stalls inside my chest.
Daniela doesn’t linger for long. She straightens, brushing hair behind her ears, and then turns to walk out the door.
“Half an hour. I’ll come collect the tray. Please be quick… and eat everything.”
I’m holding my breath until the lock in the door clicks and the pad of her footsteps dies down the hallway.
Then I pounce.
The meal is gone within a few minutes, shoveled down between frantic glances at the door. I’ve never been a fast eater yet tonight’s an exception—I shovel the pasta in quick forkfuls, barely chewing a single bite before swallowing. The bread and eggplant disappear just as urgently, consumed in such a rush I don’t taste a thing.
A single minute can’t go to waste on food when I have this opportunity in front of me.
Once the plate is wiped clean with hardly a crumb left, my gaze lands on what’s most important.
The cell phone.
My fingers tremble reaching for it. The first time I dial Jayla’s number, my nerves get the best of me and I screw up the digits. I get it wrong and wind up calling some fast food restaurant in Newport. I hang up and try again, heart thudding faster for every ring of the phone.
Panic surges as the possibility she won’t answer increases. What if I still have the number wrong? What if I run out of time? What if she doesn’t even answer?—
“Hello?”
Her voice is groggy, riddled with sleep. The sound is so familiar it almost transports me back in time; it’s almost enough to make me forget about this terrible period of my life where I’ve been taken captive by a deranged mafia boss in a devil’s mask.
I’m back in Newport, sharing an apartment with my sister.
It’s Sunday morning where she is, which means she’s sleeping in late. The fact that I know this makes me want to smile despite how grim my circumstances are.
“Jayla,” I say, relief washing over me. I clutch the phone to my ear like it’s a lifeline. “It’s me, Portia. I’m alive. I’m okay, don’t panic. I just needed to let you know I’m safe. Please don’t worry about me.”
Her voice rises an octave. “Portia? What the fuck, sissy? Where are you? What are you talking about? You… wait, what do you mean you’re safe? Where the hell?—?”
“There’s no time,” I whisper urgently, glancing back at the door. “Just listen. If Adagio or Maurizio are with you, tell them Rafael needs help. He… he’s not… he’s not himself, Jayla. Something’s wrong with him and Il Diavolo’s taken over. Just promise me, Jayla?—”
“Portia, what are you saying? You’re not making any sense. Slow down.”
The door bursts open with a violent snap, slamming into the wall. I spin around, so stunned I clumsily slide the phone behind my back.
Diavolo’s in the doorway, his devil’s mask obscuring his face, dressed in his usual all-black suit. He doesn’t need to move or speak to be menacing; his presence is more than enough. Behind him, shrinking into herself like a child caught misbehaving, is Daniela.
“What do we have here, dolcezza?” he asks in his cool, venomous tone. “Are you breaking the rules again?”
I stand outside the door to Il Diavolo’s quarters, my belly quaking with uncertainty. Even if I wanted to run, there’s nowhere to go.
The Bellucci guards wait at the end of the hall in case I try anything.
When Il Diavolo walked in on me with the phone in my hand, he didn’t react in immediate anger like I expected he would. He was almost amused, as if he had expected I’d try something like this.
He knew who had helped me—Daniela was promptly called from the kitchens downstairs. She appeared like a bashful child aware of wrongdoing, head bowed and a deep frown on her round, rosy-cheeked face.
I had to listen to Il Diavolo threaten to fire her as she begged for forgiveness. Guilt filled me like lead. The only reason she was in trouble was because she had been trying to help me.
But Il Diavolo knew exactly what he was doing; he knew that Daniela would beg and I’d be filled with remorse and guilt.
It was part of the mind game he was playing.
When he sent her away, he turned to me and demanded I show up to his private quarters.
