Page 6 of Stolen By the Devil

I was grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged out of the room. The last thing I saw before the door closed behind me was Drago’s cold, calculating gaze, watching me as I was led awayinto the depths of his mansion, a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing.

As the door to my new prison slammed shut, I realized with terrifying clarity that my life would never be the same.

Chapter Two

Drago

I stood by the window, watching as the pale girl was led away.

Angel…That was what she called herself. The name suited her, I supposed. She was almost ethereal, with her fair skin and hair that fell like silk down her back. As the men led her away, her slender figure seemed even more fragile in the dim hallway light. And yet, for all her frailty, there was a fire in her I couldn’t ignore.

I had seen people abandon their families for a lot less. They cowered when I came for what was owed, turning their backs on fathers, brothers, and even their own children without so much as a flinch. I had watched men tremble in fear, hand over the lives of those they claimed to love, just to save their own skin. But this girl? She stepped between me and her mother as though she could stop me.

Her mother, Carla, was a useless junkie, someone whose life most people wouldn’t bother saving. But Angel hadn’t hesitated. She had faced me down with courage that bordered on stupidity.

What intrigued me most was that she wasn’t doing it for herself. She hadn’t pleaded for her own life even once—she had only asked for mercy for her mother. I saw the way her clear blue eyes blazed with defiance even as her voice trembled. She didn’t beg, didn’t cry. She just…stood there. It was as if she had resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her, as long as it saved her mother. She was a rarity, indeed. Especially for someone barely off the streets, someone who had lived a life steeped in hardship. I wondered, briefly, if she was an albino. Her skin was so pale, almost translucent, and her hair was the color of fresh snow. Most people would never guess she was Italian just by looking at her. She didn’t belong here, in this world of shadows and cruelty.

As I thought more about her, something inside me shifted. There was potential in her. Not just as leverage to control Carla, but something more. I had been searching for the right person to care for my children, someone who could manage Liliana’s sharp tongue and Marco’s timid nature. The nannies who came before had been failures—unimpressive and too soft. None of them had lasted. None of them had been worthy of my legacy. But Angel…there was something different about her. She had spirit,and despite her circumstances, there was a light inside her. My children needed that light, that angelic fire if I could call it that, even if they didn’t know it.

Yes. She would do perfectly.

I pressed the button on my desk, summoning one of my staff. When one of the older housemaids appeared, I gave my orders. “Take a hot supper to the girl in the suite. Make sure she has everything she needs for tonight—fresh linens, toiletries. Ask her what size she wears and bring her a full wardrobe by tomorrow.”

The maid nodded, waiting for more. I added, “Until you can gather new clothes, take her a selection from my wife’s closet. She’s smaller than Domenica was, but the girl can take what she wants.”

The maid’s eyebrows rose, but she quickly schooled her expression and left. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t sentimental about Domenica’s things. The closet was full of items I hadn’t touched since her death. Let Angel wear them. They were just clothes, after all.

With the arrangements made, I retired for the night. I expected to sleep easily, the way I always did, but as I lay in bed, I found my thoughts circling back to Angel. The way she had stood her ground despite the fear I had seen in her eyes. The stubbornness that had kept her from begging, even when her situation had become hopeless. She was different, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of curiosity gnawing at the edges of my mind.

The morning came quickly, and with it, a renewed sense of purpose. I had made a decision, and I intended to see it through. My children needed stability, and Angel was going to provide that, whether she liked it or not.

I made sure the cook prepared a lavish breakfast—the kind of spread few could refuse. pancetta, fresh eggs, ricotta pancakes, fruit, pastries, and the strongest espresso to rouse even the most fatigued. I intended to show Angel the benefits of playing by my rules.

The servants brought her down shortly after. As she entered the room, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. She was still wearing her same dress from last night, complete with food stains, but I noted that her pale hair was freshly washed and brushed. It shimmered in the morning light, cascading down her back like spun moonlight. Stubborn woman. She had access to my wife’s entire wardrobe, and yet she had chosen to wear her own dirty clothing rather than submit. A small act of defiance, but one that amused me.

She approached the table cautiously, her blue eyes flicking to the array of food before her. I gestured for her to sit.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair. “Oh? I know you didn’t touch the supper I had sent to your room last night. Did you not care for the food? Was something wrong with one of the items?”

Her eyes darted to mine, suspicion clouding them. I listed off the meal, letting her know exactly what she had missed. “Minestrone, veal parmigiana, fresh bread, and tiramisu. You won’t find better.”

“It wasn’t the food,” she replied, her voice tight, though she didn’t elaborate.

I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head at her obstinance. “You should eat, Angel. You’re going to need your strength. Starving yourself will only result in your death. Andthen, how would your mother feel, knowing her daughter committed suicide? Suicide is a sin, you know.”

Her expression changed instantly. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and I could see the flicker of anger and frustration in her eyes. She didn’t like being manipulated, but she wasn’t stupid either. She knew I was right. Slowly, she sat down and began to fill her plate.

At first, she moved with deliberate care, taking small portions, but I watched her closely. The moment she took her first bite, her composure broke. She was ravenous. I had the staff bring more food as she ate, making sure there was enough to satisfy her hunger. Her stubbornness may have kept her from admitting it, but I could see she was starving.

We ate in silence for a time. I watched her as she picked at the fruit, her movements becoming slower as her hunger subsided. Once her plate was finally empty, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes locking with mine.

“What are you going to do with my mother?” she asked, her voice calm, though I could sense the tension beneath her steady tone. “And what do you want from me?”

I leaned back in my chair, considering her carefully before answering. “Your mother is free of her debt, thanks to you,” I began, watching as a small flicker of relief passed over her face. “In exchange for your services, I won’t sell to her anymore. She’s not my problem now. I can’t guarantee she won’t go elsewhere for her fix, but as long as you obey the rules, I’ll leave her be.”

Her hands clenched as she absorbed my words, her mind likely running through the endless possibilities of what her mother might do. I could see the conflict in her eyes—relief tempered by the harsh reality that her mother’s addiction wasn’tsomething I could completely control. But Angel didn’t let that stop her.

---