Page 75 of Deal with the Devil
Others would say the view is beautiful and scenic. It’s a view of the Italian countryside, after all.
But after so long in captivity it only represents my prison.
It’s a cruel taunt of the world I’m no longer a part of.
At this point, I almost wish he’d get it over with. I know it’s coming. I’ve known it from the beginning. This is all just buildup, some elaborate orchestration of torment—emotional, psychological,sexual—designed to break me over time.
It’s the waiting that’s the worst.
The not knowing how long until the next moment he’ll return. The wondering if the next time he looks at me with those cold, inhumane eyes, it’ll be the last time I’ll take a breath.
A soft knock breaks the silence. The door glides open a split second later.
Daniela slips inside as light-footed and gentle as a breeze. She’s always so cautious in the way she moves when she comes by my room, like she’s breaking a rule by merely associating with me, even if it’s to deliver me food.
This afternoon she’s carrying two porcelain bowls in her hands. One for me, the other for herself.
Her expression is warm but hesitant, and I realize with a pang that she’s been worried. She always looks a little worried when she sees me like this—hollowed out and broken down.
“I brought something sweet,” she says, lifting the dish. “Panna cotta, your favorite Italian treat.”
I force a smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
She crosses the room and sits beside me near the window where the light slants across the hardwood floor. Without speaking, she hands me one of the small silver spoons tucked into the napkin.
We eat slowly, taking our time to savor the sweet dessert.
Daniela has been the only constant since I arrived here. Not a guard. Not a tormentor. Just a woman navigating this madness with quiet and gentle grace.
We’ve grown unexpectedly close. Trauma has a way of accelerating friendships. And even though I still don’t know exactly where her loyalties lie, I find myself craving her presence in moments like this; when I need to remember normal people still exist in the world.
I glance over at her as she scoops a bite of the cream from her cup.
“Tell me about your family, Daniela. I know so little about you.”
She pauses, then shakes her head, a bashful look on her face. “There isn’t much to tell. I’m an orphan. I have no family and very few friends.”
I blink slowly. “Me too. I lost my parents when I was a kid. They were gunned down one night. My cousin Jayla—well, she’s my sister by adoption—her parents were gunned down that night too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says sadly. “I lost mine in a similar way.”
“You did?”
She nods. “To the Morellis.”
“Wow… and now you work for their rivals.”
“The Belluccis avenged my family. I was taken in by them. They clothed me and paid for my education. They gave me this job to work off my debt to them.”
Debt.
While it’s a noble concept they avenged her family, I’m not so sure it’s as selfless as it seems they’re forcing Daniela to be indebted to them as a servant.
“Anyhow,” sighs Daniela, reaching into the pouch of her apron. She withdraws a sleek black envelope and slides it across the table between us. “I was hoping the dessert might make this a little easier.”
The spoon slips from my hand, clinking against the dish. I stare at the envelope for a moment before ever touching it. Dread has started pooling in my stomach.
“What is it?”
