Page 24 of The Diávolos: Part One
Me: I’m not going anywhere with you.
Guardian Angel: Play innocent all you want, Angelica. You’re a spirited woman, but you’re also damaged. I’m interested in what you have to hide.
I sneer. What an arrogant bastard. I want to keep defending myself, but it’s impossible to defeat someone who has such a way with words. I decide it's best to end the conversation here, but texting him feels almost as normal as texting Aria or my friends back in Antium City. As if we’ve known each other for years. It’s unfamiliar territory and I don’t know how to feel, but I do know I’m looking forward to the next time I get to talk to him again.
I spend the entire shopping trip thinking about our conversation while trying on dress after dress. Aria chooses most of them as I go in and out of the changing room, modeling each one. She makes three stacks: yeses, nos, and maybes. She hollers ‘woot woot,’ and whistles at every dress she likes, smacking my ass as I re-enter the room to change, shakes her head and gags at the ones she hates, and shrugs at the ones she’s unsure about, tossing each dress in its respective pile.
After what feels like days, we finally find the holy grail of dresses. I can’t help but admire myself in the mirror.
“This is the one,” Aria says.
It’s a RASARIO, crystal-embellished, black, spaghetti strap, floor-length tulle gown with a mermaid hem. The dress hugs every curve on my body perfectly and the crystals twinkle like a starry night sky. The scalloped neckline accentuates my small chest, and the plunging back leaves barely anything to the imagination. It’s classy, yet sexy. Now, all I need is the perfect mask to complete the look. I grab my phone to take a picture of myself in the mirror, and I notice a new text.
Guardian Angel: You look perfect in that dress.
Shocked and confused, I run back into the changing room, leaving a puzzled Aria behind, and I lean my back on the door and close my eyes.
He’s watching me.
Just like that, I realize I’m never going to be alone again.
“He watched her every move and when she left the room, his eyes allowed her reluctantly to go.”–Maya Angelou
Yesterday afternoon, eyes focused on my screens, I watched Angelica climb into an armored Toyota Land Cruiser that picked her up from her place. Her face was marred with a frown, and she walked with a slight slump in her back, looking defeated. I didn’t bother to follow, assuming she was going to meet her father.
The tracker I installed on her phone in the dead of night, while she was asleep, alerted me that she went to his house. So, I hacked into his security system and sent the feed to my computer. I spotted her around the property, sitting on the patio alone, looking uncomfortable. I left a note in her purse when I snuck into her place last night, but I figured I could surprise her in another way.
I had an uncontrollable urge to put a smile on her face.
Finding her number was child’s play. I wasn’t sure how to start the chat, so I simply wrote her name. Her response came several minutes later, and it was blunt, but once she knew it was me, I could tell she lowered her guard. Every message I sent had me impatiently waiting for her reply and constantly checking my phone to see if a notification popped up. I looked like a fucking lovesick puppy.
Watching her while she texted me was thrilling, and her feistiness made me hard. I love challenges. The thought of forcing Angelica to give herself to me has my dick trying to break through the zipper of my jeans.
I knew my angel would figure out it was me sooner than later. But she trusted me too quickly. I mean her no harm, or at least nothing she wouldn't enjoy, but I can’t help but think she’s a bit too naive to let a stranger into her life without any hesitation. Much less a stranger, who is undoubtedly stalking her and breaking into her house. A part of me is pleased that she trustsme, but the other part wonders if she lets other men into her life just as easily. My blood boils at the thought.
I was aware of this week’s charity event—like I said, I know everything that happens in Cebrene, even if it’s for the prestige members of society only—and knew her father wouldn’t attend. I figured he would ask her to go on his behalf, and my assumptions were right. I got to watch her find the most perfect dress, andGod, do I want to rip it right off her. Little does she know, she will be wearing it just for me. I need to add my own personal touch, so I plan to leave her a note and gift. I know she’ll like them both.
Tailing her to the party will be too risky.It’s a masquerade party, maybe I could still go…
I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. I’ve spent the last 72 hours with my eyes glued to her every move. I followed her home and watched her until every light inside was turned off. I wondered what she did all alone in that big house, how she looked naked in the shower, what she wore to sleep, if she touched herself at night.
The impulse to break in and watch her do those things is overwhelming, but I don’t want to invade her privacy more than I already am. I want her to know I’m there, and towantme to watch her. I want Angelicawillingto show me the most sacred parts of her. And she will.
My favorite distraction
It’s about 11:30 p.m. when people start rolling into Academia. I flick my wrist to adjust my watch, and smooth down the lapels of my suit.
I don’t usually come down to the club on weeknights, but I have to keep a closer eye on things for a little while, especially after the Cyrus ordeal. If I’m being honest, Angelica has been a mental distraction keeping me away from work. I can’t fucking stop thinking about her. There aren’t enough hours in the day or night for how much I’d happily think about her—or for the things I’d do to her, which is why I let Xander and my men do all the background digging so I can focus on my new role.
I’m making an appearance tonight to check on the club and staff. Dion and Xander are going to meet me here to talk and have a few drinks.
I’m grateful. Business is booming, and the club is always packed, from Monday to Sunday. It’s one of the only clubs in Cebrene that operates seven nights a week.
When we first opened, it was only from Thursdays to Sundays, but after throwing events on random days of the week and seeing how successful they were, we decided to try operating on weeknights. It’s been profitable ever since.
The lineup outside is lengthening and the noise inside is getting louder. My bar staff confirmed that they are fully equipped, and I talked to my bouncers to check that they have everything handled.
The general manager, Elias, is talking to one of the bartenders near the back door. He sees me and nods, understanding that I want to talk to him. He cuts his conversation short and walks over to me.
