Page 60 of The Diávolos: Part Two
I set my coffee down on the desk and wrap my arms around myself as if seeking protection from the chill that has settled over me. “I need to talk to you.” My father leans back in his seat. “As I said on the phone a few days ago, I want to be more involved in the family.”
“To what capacity?” mybabaasks.
“I’d like to learn the ins and outs of the business so I can understand what you do.”
My father’s lips press together in a tight line, a clear indication that he’s trying to hold back an incredulous retort. “Why?”
“I want to eventually take the reins,” I say with greater conviction than I feel.
A disbelieving chuckle escapes his throat. “You know it doesn’t work that way, Angelica. Women do not lead our clans. So, unless you marry another Godfather, you won’t be able to take over. Either way, I’m still alive and well and not planning on retiring anytime soon.”
Mybabamight not have retirement plans in the forefront of his mind, but I have other intentions. By understanding the business more, I could plot how to destroy it from within, starting with the Sisterhood. Instead of killing my father, I could overthrow him. With the help of Evander and the Vasilakis clan, I could bring down the Kouvalakis house and its legacy once and for all.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m getting married to one,” I respond with confidence, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
My father’s gaze bores into me, searching for any sign of jest or deception. “Mydaughter is getting married to a Godfatherwithout my knowledge? Who is this person?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching, caught between a frown and a smirk.
I chew on my bottom lip, lost in thought of the consequences of my next words. “Evander Vasilakis.”
Mybaba’s eyes widen to their limits, and his breath stutters in his throat.
“Over. My. Dead. Body.” He seethes. “I will not allow my daughter to marry that scum. I will never accept a member of the Vasilakis into our family, Angelica!” Eyes ablaze with fury, his words come out as a volcanic outburst, and I flinch.
“You have no say in who I marry!” I retort, my own anger intensifying with every inhale.
“I thought you were done with him when you moved back to Antium,” he spits.
I shoot him a piercing glare. “That was all because ofyou. If it weren’t for your antics, Evander would’ve never tried to use me to get back at you!” My teeth grind together as I’m reminded of the betrayal that triggered this entire situation. “I don’t even know what caused you to hate him so much, but you seem to have a personal vendetta against him!”
“Anyonewith the Vasilakis name is an enemy, Angelica—especially the Godfather. You are not marrying him!” mybabayells.
Fists clenched at my sides, I can feel the tension radiating from every muscle. He has no right to dictate my life. I’ve had enough of his controlling ways. Even though I think marrying Evan isn’t the best idea, it’s clearly the best course of action to get what I want from my father. If he won’t let me in, I’ll force my way.
“Iwillmarry Evander Vasilakis,” I say, smoldering with anger.
My father lifts himself off his chair and slams his fist down on the desk, the impact reverberating through the room. “I will killhim before that happens, Angelica. And if I were you, I’d watch out,” he threatens. Then, he storms out of the room, leaving me alone.
I take a deep breath, trying to grapple with the aftermath of my loss of control.
Moments later, Eldora pops into the room. “Kardiá mou, is everything alright?”
“Is he gone?” I ask, the rage within me morphing into full body shudders.
“Yes. I heard the front door slamming.”
I sigh. He’s most likely going to make a run for it now that he knows about our marriage and suspects our plan. I can’t help but worry about his next moves.
My limbs feel heavy as I lift myself off the chair. “Eldora, do we still have any of mymama’sbelongings?”
Her lips curve into a sad half-smile. “Yes. I’ve kept them safely stowed upstairs,” Eldora replies, as if expecting the question. “Come. I’ll show you.”
We make our way up to the second floor and into the room my mother used as a closet. Most days, though, I’d find her scribbling on pieces of paper at the small vanity here. I think she mainly used this space to hide from my father.
I stand outside the door, and a heavy lump forms in my throat. My hand hovers over the doorknob. The fear of confronting memories of my mother and the wounds that time hasn't fully healed sends shivers down my spine. Even when I still lived here, I’d avoid this room like the plague. It's not just a room; it's a portal to a time I wish to leave behind.
When I step inside, I'm overcome by a sense of déjà vu. Furniture arranged just as it was years ago, the play of sunlight casting familiar shadows. The room seems frozen in time, as if mymamahad just stepped out momentarily and will return any minute. It’s…uncomfortable.
The air feels thick with the weight of the past. I spent years in this house. Some good, many bad. And the bad times always overshadow the good ones.
