Page 51 of The Devil's Fire

“So, he speaks!” I gasped dramatically.

“What do you want?” He looked at me impatiently.

“Rude!” I scowled. “Whatever. I’m here to tell you, if you ever, ever, hurt my Cara, I. Will. Hunt. You. Down. Mister.” I pushed my finger into his chest with every word.

“Really?” He crossed his arms while looking at me with a blank expression.

“Yes! Look at me, I am strong. I work out.” I flexed my biceps to show him. I looked at my arms and grimaced when I saw my non-existent muscles.

“Okay, so maybe I don’t work out. I mostly eat, but that should count as a workout, right? You know, I reach for the food to get it in my mouth. That’s like going back and forth. I should be shredded by now.”

“You talk a lot.”

“You’re so mean.” I pouted before a genius idea popped into my mind. “You know what? We should be best friends because you’re marrying my best friend. We should all be best friends together!” I couldn't contain my excitement and hugged him tightly with a big smile on my face.

“Althaia.” The familiar voice of the Devil spoke, making me turn around to look at him.

“Oh, look who came over, Tank Man. It’s il Diavolo.” I giggled.

“You’re drunk.” Damiano pulled me away, and Tank Man left.

“Noo… you made my best friend leave.” My voice dripped with sadness as I watched him leave.

“Come, let’s get you to bed.” Damiano held me gently and led me to the stairs.

“Are you going to do naughty things to me like before? Or are you saving that for Zahra?” I asked as I dragged out her name. Damiano ignored me and ended up carrying me as I kept tripping over my own two feet.

He opened the door to my room and seated me in the armchair, crouching to take off my heels.

“Oh, that feels so good. I think the blood has stopped flowing to my feet.” I sighed and curled my toes.

I was ready to crash when Damiano gave me a hand up and unzipped my dress. He helped me out of my dress before leading me to bed. I flopped onto the mattress, closed my eyes, and snuggled into the pillows.

“Do you like her?” I mumbled to him.

“She’s not my type.” He answered quietly and felt him pull a blanket over my body.

“That’s not… an answer.” I slurred, tiredly.

“No.”

“Who’s.. your.. type then?” The room fell silent, and I thought he left. I was almost asleep when I felt fingers brush some of my hair away from my face.

“Goodnight, Althaia.”

I woke up with the most pounding headache I have ever experienced in my life, and my mouth was drier than the Sahara.

I sprawled on the bed with my eyes barely open, the bright sunlight streaming through the windows making me regret the champagne and vodka from the night before. Why did anyone let me drink champagne and vodka?That combination is fucking deadly.

Yes, I refuse to take responsibility for my own actions when I was suffering this much.

With a groan, I forced myself to the bathroom for a quick shower. Although a bath sounded heavenly, I feared I might never get up again if I indulged.

After my shower, I made my way to the kitchen at a snail’s pace, inhaling deeply as the smell of coffee reached me.

“Good morning!” Raffaele shouted in a singing voice, making me wince.

“For the love of God, stop.” I groaned, covering my ears.

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