Page 11 of The Diávolos: Part Two
I shoot him a text while I get ready.
Me: Are we still on for today?
Gianis: Yes. I’m already in town.
Oh, I guess he had some rounds to do. I’m wondering if he went to see Hendrick.
When I was kidnapped by the head of the Puerto Rican mob, Gianis had been the one to come and get me. I’d noticed that they had shared a quiet moment right before we left. At the time, I had no idea they were acquainted, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind to bring it up.
However, a few months ago, I’d gotten the chance to ask Gianis about their connection.
We were sitting at a local eatery when his phone rang, and I saw Hendrick’s name on his screen.
After his conversation ended, I took the opportunity to ask him about it.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Hendrick.”
He types something out on his phone. “We’re not friends.”
“Business partners?”
“No. Let’s just say we have common interests,” he replies, and my brows furrow.
It’s not unlike Gianis to give short, curt answers.
“Does this have to do with mybaba?”
“Everything has to do with your father,” he retorts.
I sigh, accepting that I won’t get further details from him, but he surprises me when he starts to talk.
“I met Hendrick years ago when I was still under my father’s wing. Your father and mine had a meeting with his, still alive at the time, to talk about expansion plans. I was sent away to play with the boys while the grown-ups talked, but the meeting didn’t go well, as far as I remember.”
“How old were you?”
“Young. A kid. I met Evander that day, too.”
The sudden revelation causes my eyebrows to shoot upward.
“He was there with his uncle, Ignatius. The three of us formed a sort of bond. We didn’t know much about the business, but we promised we’d have each other’s backs in the future.”
Questions dance in my mind, and I find myself going over his words.
“But you and Evan hate each other,” I say, confused.
He takes a swig of his beer, as if needing courage to respond. “You don’t have to like someone to respect them.” He shrugs.
The truthful confession hangs in the air for a few long moments.
The memory swirls in my mind as I venture out to my favorite coffee shop that’s opposite Hasting Park to do some journaling. It’s the same café I sat in almost a year ago to the day—when I saw Evander for the last time—in the daylight, at least. Since then, he’s been lurking in the shadows.
When I set foot in the park, the crisp, wintry air causes a sharp chill to greet me, nipping at my exposed skin. I tie the scarf around my neck tighter, zipping my parka all the way up to my chin, and slip on my gloves. That’s when a vivid memory of Evan backing me into a tree flashes before my eyes.
The only times I see him now are in my dreams or late at night when he decides to visit me.
But I know he watches me.
I can feel it as I walk around my house, each time I step outside, get into my car, or stroll through the city.
