Page 76 of The Diávolos: Part Two
Anxiety takes over my entire body as I approach the massive iron gates of the Sisterhood’s grounds.
After going over the plans with Evander and his men, I left them behind the forest line, at the edge of the land surrounding the property, and I drove down the winding, desolate roads.
An unnerving feeling settles inside of me as snippets of haunting memories begin to resurface. All the nightmares I’d had before finding out the truth about the Sisterhood were actual recollections. I dreamed of a building surrounded by tall trees, secluded from any form of human life. And the school in front of me is still exactly like that.
As the familiar landscape unfolds before me, those trees seem to close in, creating a suffocating sensation.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, and beads of sweat form on my forehead. Suddenly, I find myself transported backto that chilling moment when my father left me at the gates of Hell.
“I want to stay with you,baba.I don’t wanna go!”
I flinch, the ominous silhouette of the establishment looming before me. The grand façade, adorned with intricate stone carvings and pointed arches, reaches toward the overcast sky.
My palms are clammy and a knot tightens in my stomach. Each of my breaths feels shallow as my heart beats in my ears like a distant drum.
As I drive into the courtyard, I’m met by two guards. “Can we help you?”
“Yes. I’m Angelica, I'm here on behalf of my father, Peter Kouvalakis.”
The men look at me skeptically, probably not expecting any guests, much less the daughter of one of their leaders. One of the guards walks away with a phone to his ear. I sit in the car nervously, waiting for them to deny me entry. Evan told me to act normal, but he’s not the one having to face his demons.
The man finally ends the call and walks over to my window. “Okay, you’re clear.”
I mumble a quick thank you and drive off.
After parking the car on the side of the lot, I follow a short path up to the main doors. The main building is an architectural masterpiece, constructed from weathered, gray stones that have witnessed the passage of many decades.
When I reach the large, wooden double doors, my vision blurs, the creaking noise as I push them open echoes in the large entry, a dimly lit space that seems vaguely familiar yet entirely foreign.
I spent years here and I have no recollection of that time at all.
The air is heavy, but I force myself to go further.
I pause just inside the threshold, my eyes scanning the room as if searching for a clue to unlock my past. The space feels so strange. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a realm of forgotten memories.
Once I’m past the small antechamber and another set of doors, I’m greeted by a large hall adorned with a chandelier that hangs from a high ceiling. The floors look like marble and the walls are covered with wood and dark wallpaper, giving the place an eerie vibe.
I take a hesitant step forward and look around; from what Xander showed me on the blueprint, all is as described. I wonder if they’ve been able to break in yet. It doesn’t seem like there are any disturbances happening now—the halls are quiet—so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that everything is going fine.
Evander instructed me to act reserved and demure, like the traditional mob daughter, and pretend like I’m simply looking for old pictures on behalf of my father. It’s not the smartest excuse, but I’m hoping the nuns won’t question it. The goal is to buy time so the others can enter through the tunnels.
My gaze lands on the portraits that adorn the wall.
Immediately, my gaze lands on a photo of a group of young women and, in the middle, I recognize my mother’s smile. My heart comes to a dead stop—I feel sick. If I wanted physical proof thatmamawas a sister, this is it.
A tall, blonde girl stands very close to her. I wonder if that’s Lydia.
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice asks, and I startle, my hand flying to my chest.
I turn around and find a woman, dressed in a black habit with a crisp white shirt underneath. She’s wearing a veil.
Her smile is polite, her eyes a shade of blue, regard me with a glint of recognition, but whether it’s genuine or just a part of her courteous demeanor, I can’t discern.
“Is it your first time here? We don’t get many visitors,” she says, her tone friendly.
I debate lying, but I need her to trust me. I shake my head hesitantly, my gaze flickering between her and the portrait on the wall. “No…I actually attended the school when I was younger. I’m Angelica Kouvalakis,” I admit.
“Oh, come in! Welcome! We weren’t told that you were coming by today. What brings you here?” She chuckles and the sound puts me slightly at ease.
