Page 134 of Destined for the Devil
Me. Of course.
The angel was sacrificed so the devil could feel the pain.
The rest of his meal passed in silence as we sat together during this psychotic dinner charade. I didn’t touch anything he served me, my whole body buzzing with anxiety about the treatment Isla must havelived through while here.
The clock ticked on the wall, and the outside turned into darkness, but it felt like we were waiting for something.
And then…something did happen.
A sharp sound pierced a window somewhere close by, and one of John’s armed guards slumped down on the floor somewhere behind us. Both John and I whirled around just in time to see the front door bust open and hear the noise of gunshots and multiple windows crashing all at once.
I gazed at John, who still sat in his chair, wide-eyed but...calm. Serene even. He withdrew his phone amidst the noise, scrolled and tapped on something, before dropping it on the table and walking out of the dining room into the hall.
And that’s when I saw Sergei barge into the front door with a bunch of men, my jaw dropping at the realization that themotherfucker! Didn’t! Fucking! Keep! His! Motherfucking! Promise!
Gunshots, crashing furniture and windows—the chaos erupted quickly, but John still stood there, calm and collected, like this wasn’t a big deal. I was shocked at the unfolding events, but he was so strange about it all, as if he had it all under control!
Before anyone could say a word, something absolutely unimaginable happened. Isla strode into the house; murder reflecting in her eyes.
I was hallucinating, I was sure of it. Her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her arm was outstretched, and she pointed a gun at John as if she were a fucking sniper.
John said something I couldn’t hear, and without missing a beat, she took the shot, the bullet piercing him right in the leg!
On his knees in front of her, John no longer looked smug and confident. Blood gushed from the hole in his thigh, and he looked up at her, shaking, pleading with her. Sergei stood beside me and watchedon, mesmerized like me.
"I—Isla,” John gasped. “Let's not get carried away here; we can still all walk away." John offered, but it was fake; he didn’t believe his own words.
A cold shiver crawled down my spine from the way Isla chuckled. It was a high-pitched fake laugh, like she was taunting him.
“Didn’t I propose that, Giovanni?” she asked kindly, pressing the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “And what did you tell me? That you weren’t interested.”
Unable to truly understand what I was witnessing, I watched Isla lean down and get right into John’s face, delivering her last words—loud, authoritative, dominating. “There can only be one winner, John. This is a zero-sum game."
Isla spokemywords right before pressing the trigger, deafening us all with the sound of a bullet flying through John’s skull.
Brains, blood, and bone splashed out of John’s head, and he jolted backwards, slumping down on the stone floor.
Shocked at how it all happened, I stared at Isla, still with a gun in her hand, probably not fully believing herself what she’d just done.
But a sudden and loud noise pierced the serenity. My whole body was yanked back into the air, away from Isla, who was suddenly covered in debris and flames. My head hit something blunt and hard, and then…there was nothing.
Faint voices broke through, like someone was quietly arguing.
Isla. My love, my Angel, she was somewhere close by.
I cracked an eye open to see all white. Were we both dead? Yes, maybe we were together in another world.
"You can never just fucking let things go, can you?Fuck, you'rea bitch!" A man’s hushed voice pierced my ears, and I recognized it, immediate dread and repulsion stirring inside me. Sergei was pronouncing those words.
"Think whatever you want. I don’t care. You know you're the one in the wro—Roman?!" The angelic voice called my name, plunging me into joy.
I forced my eyes open wider, the effort monumental. My vision swam, but there she was. Standing beside me, radiant, real, eyes wide and full of life. Her smile was like a sunrise on the darkest night.
Sergei hovered at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face unreadable but tinged with something unexpected. Concern.
"Ang...angel?" The word cracked from my throat, mangled and broken. Only then did I notice—one of my eyes wouldn’t open. Why the fuck couldn’t I open it?
Isla’s hands cradled my cheeks, her touch feather-soft. She leaned in, still smiling through my blurred vision.
