Page 126 of Destined for the Devil
One. Last. Time.
This was fitting. A stupid death for a stupid man. I was emotionally stripped down to nothing. I had lost everyone. I had lived in a circusorchestrated by Sergei, who was creating tragedies and hiding the consequences of his lies.
And now…I fucking needed him. I hated it. I hatedhim, but I knew he would get Isla back safe and sound. I knew he would follow my last request.
Days slithered by at a snail’s pace. I called Isla’s number non-stop, but the phone had been turned off. I could only wait.
I transferred it all to cash as instructed, easily ready to give it all up—the money, cars, real estate; take it all. Take my life, I didn’t fucking care about anything. I only cared about her safety.
A week after the phone call, at five in the morning, my phone dinged with a text message, and I ripped it off my nightstand, my eyes burning from lack of any sleep.Thetext arrived. It was map coordinates of an old church in the middle of a tiny town right on Lake Como.
Come with one man to take her back. Arrive unarmed.
That was it. There were no more videos, there were no more texts, and none of the phone calls went through.
The private jet touched down on the runway in Milan’s airport, and Sergei looked up at me, asking the question once more, "Yousureyou want to do this?"
"Yes. Fuck, stop asking me; my answer won't change. Get Isla out as quickly as possible and get the fuck out of here."
After a brief pause, he nodded, keeping his mouth shut for good. After our last interaction he seemed regretful and depleted, all the life sucked out of him.
Regrettably, I wasn’t going to be the one to kill him.
Now, it was up to fate.
55
Agape
Isla
JohnClemenswasnotmerciful. Giovanni Pietoso was a monster. My eyes had been opened—I’d lived among them, and the monsters were quiet, masked, deceitful, andkind.
I’d lived in delusion my entire life, in a perfectly curated lifestyle, while my father had been out in the world doing unspeakable things. Because no good man would befriend Giovanni Pietoso.
My father played with his life and mine. He left me to my own devices, among men who were beasts and savages.
Roman was an honest monster—he didn’t hide behind a suburban middle-class lifestyle. He was the one who gave me the truth, the one who truly loved me, the one who treated me like a goddess.
After John revealed his plan, he put it in motion right away. He no longer spoke to me; he wouldn’t answer any of my questions. He ignored me, leaving me in quiet solitude.
The door locked behind me, and I was trapped in the little barren room once more. There was a bed, curtains, and a cross on the wall. There was nothing else. Not a book, not a pen—nothing.
In the mornings, an older Italian lady would come in and bring food for the day, as well as a change of clothes.
I begged her to let me out. I pleaded, but she only shook her head and spoke Italian. I tried to push past her, but she shoved me back with inhumane strength, slamming me against the stone floor.
I didn’t try again after that.
Day after day, I was alone, spiraling in my dark thoughts. The cross was the only thing I talked to. I’d never believed in God, but I started praying, asking for God to save Roman. Asking for freedom, for an end to this nightmare.
Time became a blur; day morphed into night and into day again. I had no understanding of how long I’d been there. I was in solitary confinement for a crime I didn’t commit.
One morning, the keys jingled in the door once again, but I no longer bothered going to it. I stayed on the bed, staring into the ceiling, emotionally void of any feelings.
“Come, Isla.” Giovanni’s voice broke through my haze, and like an obedient servant, I slowly followed him out.
He unlocked a door on the level below and flicked the lights on in an empty room. There was a chandelier, a chair, and a small desk. And nothing else. Because it was all nothing here.
