Page 81 of The Diávolos: Part One
Angelica laughs dryly and crosses her arms, tilting her head to the side. “Whoare you to me, exactly, then? Enlighten me. I thought I knew you, but clearly, I don’t.”
“I am yours, Angelica. No matter the circumstance, I am yours and you aremine.”
Angelica lets out a scoff. “Yours? The saddest thing about betrayal is that it always comes from those who truly care about us. But we’re enemies, right? Given we’re from rival families and all. You never actuallycaredabout me,” she says with a bite in her tone. My jaw tightens.
I pour myself a glass of whiskey, walk over to the dining table, and sit on a chair facing her. She leans against the kitchen island and watches me closely. Her hair clings to her neck, some of the curls sticking to her face. She’s still wearing wet clothes and I want to rip them off, wrap myself around her, and take all the pain away. Instead, I sit and start talking.
“My uncle was the closest thing I had to a father. He raised me after my parents and little sister were murdered. He protected and took care of me. He kept my identity hidden so the people who executed my family wouldn’t come back to kill me.”
I start fidgeting with the glass to calm my nerves. Talking about my family’s deaths is always hard.
“Whoever was responsible for their murder wanted the Vasilakis family extinct. If that person knew they had a son who had escaped and was still roaming the streets, they would’ve come for me. My uncle never told me who was behind it. He said not to worry about it, it had been taken care of, but he did everything in his power to keep me out of harm’s way, just in case. He made sure to find the assailants and kill them before they could discover I was still alive. He cleaned up the crime scene and pretended that he’d found my body with the rest of my family. Ever since, I’ve been living in the shadows, only going by the name of theDiávolosin the streets.”
Her eyes bulge out of her head at the mention of the nickname I’ve earned. I’ve referred to being the devil before, but I never called myselfthe Diávolosin front of her. I’m a household name in the streets, so she must’ve heard about the rumors. I put my head down in my palms and continue. “Ignatius knew that if anyone found out I was the heir to our family’s legacy, they would want me dead.” I still don’t know the true reason why. Growing up, I tried questioning my uncle countless times about my past, but he never opened up. He claimed it was better for me not to know. Now that I think of it, I can’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with the Sisterhood.
Angelica stares at me intently and sits up on the counter while I speak. Her expression is still one I can’t read.
“I grew up under my uncle’s watchful eye and he taught me everything I know. From being the man of the house to taking care of business. Everything he did was to prepare me for when he would be gone, but I never thought it would be so soon,” I explain. “When I got the call from Dion that Ignatius had been killed, I could only think of one thing: revenge. I had my men investigate the murder, and we found out it was your father who gave the orders. I had no idea who you were at the time, but you were the perfect target as Peter’s only daughter. I plotted to find you, make you fall in love with me, and use you to get back at your father. I wanted to kill him, Angelica, but I knew that if I directly responded to what he’d done to my uncle, I would be starting a war and putting my men and people at risk. There’s so much going on in the background, a lot I needed to uncover, and I wouldn't have been content with just killing him and moving on.”
I take a long breath and a few sips of my drink, Angelica still eyeing me silently. I want to climb into her brain and learn every single thought that is going through her mind at this very moment.
“You’re actually theDiávolos?” she asks, and I can’t tell if her question is out of curiosity or concern.
“Yes, that’s what I am, angel. The devil is real. He doesn’t have horns or a tail. He comes in the form of a man who was once innocent, untainted. I realized when I was a little boy, staring at my dead parents and sister, that hell was on earth. All the devils are here. From that day on, I felt no pain, and instead, became the one to inflict it, offering my enemies bargains they couldn’t refuse with me, theDiávolos. I’m a very bad man, Angelica. I initially planned on using you to kill your father, not caring about your feelings or the consequences.”
Angelica winces at my confession and I visibly see her try to swallow down her tears. Her voice cracks when she speaks, “You kill people. For a living.”
I smirk at her remark, though I feel anything but amused right now. “Yes, among other things.”
“What did you do to the man from the club, Evander?”
“I killed him,” I reply bluntly.
She inhales a sharp breath. “Why? He was innocent! It was my fault he got caught up in that situation,” she says, growing frantic.
“He touched what’s mine, Angelica. You might’ve been the one to initiate it, but his fate was sealed. He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” I explain, without an ounce of regret. I don’t give a fuck if he was innocent. He put his filthy hands on my girl.
“You’re sick,” she spits with a trembling voice. “How could you kill so mercilessly?” Her breath hitches as a realization dawns on her. It takes everything in me not to go to her and take her in my arms. “Niko,” she sobs. “What did you do to him?”
I can’t say the words, knowing she won’t take the truth lightly. Niko has been a presence in her life for as long as Gianis has. He’s her ex, too. The only way to get rid of him was to kill him.
“Answer me!” Angelica shouts as she starts to panic. She paces around the kitchen, her breathing loud and shallow. I see her reaching for her wrists. That damn habit she has of hurting herself.Not on my watch.I get off the chair and stalk over to her. She notices me approaching her and backs up into the kitchen counter.Is she fucking scared of me now?
“Get away from me, Evander,” she warns, but I ignore her. She turns around to walk out of the room, but I grab onto her wrist and yank her to my chest. I hug her tightly against me and she squirms in my arms. She’s crying profusely. “Let me go. Please,” she begs through her sobs.
“I won’t let you hurt yourself, Angelica. Not in front of me, not ever. I’m going to hold you until you calm down, and then you’re going to tell me why you started self-harming.”
She doesn’t give up trying to escape, so I squeeze her tighter. I don’t know if this will help, but touch always helped me when I was having one of my episodes. Pressure on the skin sends a signal of safety to the autonomic nervous system. That’s what my psychotherapist had told my uncle when I was a kid.
Angelica finally stops moving, but she still can’t seem to ease her breathing.
“He’s dead?” she asks in a shaky voice, but it sounds more like a statement. I don’t answer.
A whimper escapes her lips. “Niko,” she mumbles. “How could you? He was important to me.”
“He was in the way.”
“Of what, Evander?” she barks.
