Page 57 of The Diávolos: Part One
I immediately saved the file and sent it to Dion, asking him to get in contact with our hackers. We employ a trio of men who take care of all our hacking needs. Xander is the computer genius between the three of us, so he oversees their work. They are masterminds at what they do, so I knew that they would find something.
“Did the guys find anything about the ‘Sisterhood’?” I ask Dion.
Dion’s face turns grim. “They did,” he says, lowering his voice. “And you’re not going to like it.”
I straighten, bracing myself for the bad news.
“All those girls had gone missing from their homes. They were brought there from Greece, stolen from their parents, and given to the Sisterhood. Whatever it is, it’s evil,adelfé.”
I let out an exasperated breath and rub the nape of my neck. I was expecting something terrible, but this is disgusting, even for someone like me, who toggles between morally black and grey.
“Were there any missing persons reports for the children?” I ask.
“Hundreds, but some of the girls had nothing to trace them back to their parents.”
“Where are they now?”
The list was posted a little over a month ago, so some of the girls are still part of this organization, whatever it is.
“We don’t know yet. The guys are trying to locate where they are being hidden. They found a list of donors and women who worked there. They seem to all be nuns.”
“Hence why they’re called the Sisterhood,” I gather.
Dion nods. “There’s more,” he says, nervously, and I get a sinking feeling in my gut.
“What?” I ask.
“Marco went through every single entry and found a girl registered fifteen years ago by the name of Hera Kouvalakis.”
A roar starts in my ears at the mention of that name.It can’t be.
“How old was she?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse.
“Eight,” Dion replies.
Fuck.
Hera Kouvalakis can only be one person: Angelica. Angelica Hera Kouvalakis.
She was eight years old when her mother died. This can’t be a coincidence.
Does she even remember any of this? She has never even brought up being part of the Sisterhood, and nothing we’ve dug up on her shows that she was involved.
She either remembers and doesn’t want to talk about it or she somehow blocked it out of her mind. I can’t be the one to tell her any of this, but she must remembersomething. What if she was hurt there? Is that where she developed her self-harm habit? The thought of my angel being mistreated as a child fills me with a fierce rage. How could her father allow her to be taken there? Whoever is responsible for this demonic child abuse ring will pay for this dearly. I will not rest until I find and kill everyone involved. Even if that means bringing hell to Cebrene.
My uncle must have been involved to some extent. It makes me sick to think he could’ve been implicated in the mistreatment of young girls. He always taught me the importance of never hurting women and children, so none of this makes sense.
My mind is reeling.
“Bad circumstances have a way of ruining things that would otherwise be pleasant.” –Lemony Snicket
Istill haven’t seen Aria since the night at the club and I’m worried about her.
Since I’ve been back to Cebrene, it’s unusual for us to go this long without seeing each other, and I’m starting to think something might be wrong. She’s been avoiding my calls and barely replying to my texts, which makes me think the worst. So, I decide to pay her a little visit.
I haven’t left my place in days, too preoccupied with drowning in my own thoughts about Evan and what it all means. He hasn’t been to the house lately either, which leaves a sore spot in my chest. Maybe I’ll come back to a surprise if I leave. Wishful thinking. Who knew I could miss my stalker’s obsessive attention. I also have to catch Aria up on all things Evan before she loses her mind, again. She may be small, but she’s mighty fierce, and you don’t want to get on her bad side.
Aria’s family estate is a short walk away, so I don’t bother asking anyone for a ride. I smile at the cameras at the front gates of the property, and they open. I walk down the long driveway to the entrance, and I hear commotion on the other side of the door, the sound of footsteps speeding toward it. Aria’s brother, Dimitri, swings it open, and I’m greeted by a flirty smile. Dimo is younger than us, only eighteen years old, but he’s much taller than both of us and jacked. I always wonder what kids eat these days.
