Page 36 of The Diávolos: Part One
“I can’t help myself.” He shrugs. “You look cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Cute? Please. This is beyond embarrassing. I was basically throwing myself at you. I blame it on the alcohol.”
“Uh huh,” Evan replies. “The ‘alcohol’,” he says, making a quotation mark with one hand. “A drunk tongue is an honest one. And I thought you said you weren’t drunk.” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to wink at me.
“Yes. Thealcohol.” I cross my arms and pout. I’m not helping my case by acting like a big baby, but I really need this conversation to be over with.
Thankfully, at that moment, Evan pulls into the nightclub’s parking lot. We get out of the car and enter through the same door we exited last night. The club is lit up, bright and empty, no bartenders or bouncers in sight, which makes the place look strange. We walk through the space, past the bar and dance floor, as we head toward the main entrance. It’s silent for the most part, but I can hear faint voices coming from outside. The main door opens, and a short, tanned man walks in, flicking his cigarette outside at the last second. He nods in Evan’s direction and smiles when he notices me.
“Hey, boss, who do we have here?” he asks, now nodding his head my way. Evan scoffs at his attempt to flirt with me and shakes his head.
“Leon, this is Angelica.” He gestures toward me. “Angelica, this is Leon, my attendant. His main job is to man the door and stay out of trouble, which seems to be a lot to ask sometimes.”
Leon lets out a deep chuckle as Evan slaps him on the shoulder. I smile at the interaction. Evan seems to have a good relationship with his employees, which makes me wonder how many sides this gigantic, tough man has. The more I'm around him, the more I feel I’ll get to see the man he doesn't show to others.
“Hi, Leon, nice to meet you,” I say, grinning.
Evan puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me toward the rounded staircase between the main entrance and dance floor.
We’re greeted by two other men standing outside of Evan’s office and they approach us to shake his hand. They’re both tall and bulky. One is blond, the other has black hair, and they are both tatted all the way up to their necks.
“Sebastian, Gregory, this is Angelica. She will be spending some time with me today,” he says, pointing at the blonde man first. “Make sure no unnecessary distractions come our way.”
The men acknowledge me and nod as they move to let us into his office. I step in ahead of Evan and I’m immediately taken aback by the immensity of the space. The right side of the room is covered by a library filled with books. There is a large oak desk at the further end of the room with two brown leather loveseats facing each other in front of it. To the left there are two doors and a mini bar flanked with expensive alcohol and glasses. Art hangs on all the walls. I could stay here for hours going through every art piece and book.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he points to the couches. “Are you hungry? I can ask Pete to bring us something.”
I’m too preoccupied looking around the room, wide-eyed, to acknowledge his question. Is it possible to have this much money just from owning a club? I don’t know what his uncle’s business is, but it looks like Evan lives a pretty lavish lifestyle. He leans on the edge of his desk and crosses his legs as he stares at me.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” He grabs his phone out of his back pocket and types out a quick message.
I don’t argue. I haven’t eaten anything all day.
“Sorry. This office is impressive,” I say. “Are all of these books yours?”
He glances at the library and a look of sorrow flashes across his face. He walks toward the shelves and grabs a book. “Yes. They belonged to my parents. I brought them here when I bought the club. I spend most of my time here, so I didn’t bother moving them to my place.”
These books obviously have sentimental value to him. My heart sinks in my chest at the thought of him having lost his family so young. I want to touch him and tell him it’s okay to be sad.
“It brings me peace to be around them, knowing I still have a piece of my parents with me. My mother used to read poems to me as bedtime stories.” He shows me the book he pulled out,The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. He opens it up on a dog-eared page and recites the prose out loud.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
