Page 2 of Stolen By the Devil

I had known. I had always known.

My wife, Domenica, was a whore. Our marriage was a transaction, an arrangement of power. I didn’t love her. I couldn’t. Not with the demon blood that ran through my veins, with the darkness that ruled me. She was useful—at least, shehad been. But now, she had become a liability. And in my world, liabilities were dealt with in only one way.

I pulled the gun from its holster, screwing the silencer into place with a steady hand. The cold metal felt like an extension of myself, the weight of it comforting. My demon stirred again, its hunger for violence clawing at my insides.

Without hesitation, I pushed the door open.

The scene inside was exactly what I expected. Domenica was sprawled across the bed, her nude body tangled with another man’s, their naked forms gleaming in the dim light. They didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in their treacherous lust to realize the Devil had walked into the room.

I stood in the doorway, watching them, the tension in my chest replaced by a cold, detached amusement. There was no anger. No hurt. Only the sharp, biting thrill of knowing what was to happen next.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I let out a low, menacing laugh.

Domenica’s head snapped toward me, her eyes widening in horror as she realized who was standing in the doorway. She scrambled to cover herself, her face pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“Drago…” she started, her voice trembling with panic. “It’s not…”

I cut her off with another laugh, this one louder, darker. “Not what it looks like?” I stepped into the room, my voice dripping with cold amusement. “So you didn’t just happen to fall on his dick by accident? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like what it is.”

The man beside her—pathetic, small—scrambled from the bed, his hands clutching the sheets in a futile attempt to coverhimself. He stammered, his voice cracking with fear. “I…I didn’t know! I didn’t know she was your wife!”

I leveled the gun at him, my eyes gleaming with the dark energy that surged through me. “You knew,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You just didn’t fully understand who you were dealing with.”

The man’s eyes widened, terror etched into every line of his face as he backed away, his legs shaking so violently I half-expected him to collapse before I even pulled the trigger. He was just another fool—a weak, human fool who thought he could touch something that belonged to me without paying the price. I pitied him really.

I could feel the demon inside me grow, its hunger for violence surging through my veins. My body tensed, and for a brief moment, I let the change wash over me. My frame grew larger, muscles tightening, and the edges of my vision flickered with a deep, molten red. My skin felt too tight, my demonic blood pulsing with the need to punish, to kill.

“Please,” the man whimpered, his voice cracking with the weight of his desperation. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he clasped them together in a pathetic plea. “I’m begging you…please, don’t kill me!”

I tilted my head, watching him for a moment, savoring the fear in his eyes, the way his entire body trembled beneath my gaze. The smell of it filled the room—sweat, panic, and the faintest tinge of urine. He was terrified. And that thrilled me more than anything.

“You like being in the Devil’s life so much?” I asked, my voice a low, sinister growl. “Then you can spend eternity in his realm.”

Before he could utter another word, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot was muffled by the silencer, a soft, muted pop that barely disturbed the air. But the effect was immediate. The man’s head jerked back as the bullet pierced his skull, and his body collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The blood splattered across the pristine silk sheets, a dark crimson stain spreading across the white fabric. I breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of death. It was a smell I knew all too well. A smell that reminded me of who I was—what I was. Blood and death were my companions, my legacy, passed down through generations of Barones. And now, this man had become a part of that legacy, another corpse in a long line of the damned behind me.

Domenica’s scream pierced the air, her voice shrill with horror. She scrambled off the bed, falling to her knees beside the man’s body, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his bloodied face.

“Drago, please!” she sobbed, her voice broken. “It was a mistake…I didn’t mean it! Please, I’ll do anything…just don’t kill me! I love you!”

I watched her with cold, detached eyes, the demon inside me still surging, still hungry. Her words were meaningless, just empty pleas from a woman who had always been a liability. Domenica had never understood what it meant to be in my world. She was a spoiled princess, a slut who had never respected the rules. And in my world, betrayal had only one outcome.

I took a slow, deliberate step toward her, kneeling down beside her. My hand reached out, cupping her face as I had done so many times before, the motion almost tender. Her skin was warm beneath my touch, soft, and for a fleeting moment, Iremembered the woman I had once married. The woman who had, for a time, served her purpose in my life.

“You really were beautiful,” I murmured, my voice soft, almost wistful.

Her sobs intensified, her entire body shaking as she clung to me, her nails digging into my arms. “Drago, please…think about the children! Liliana, Marco…they need their mother! They’ll miss me!”

I stared down at her, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with terror. Her sobs echoed in the room, but they meant nothing to me. She meant nothing to me anymore. There was no saving her. No mercy. She had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed, and the price for that was death.

I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, “You know the price of your sin, Domenica.”

Her body went rigid beneath me, her breath hitching as the cold realization of her fate sank in. She knew, deep down, that there was no escaping this. No amount of begging or pleading would change the outcome. She had chosen this. And now, she would die for it.

I pressed the barrel of the gun to her forehead, feeling her tense under the weight of the cold steel. For a moment, the room was utterly still, the only sound the rapid, shallow breaths escaping her lips.

“Drago, no…”

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