Page 19 of The Devil's Deal

Silent tears spring into my eyes, falling, drifting into nothing.

Why is everyone I love disappearing?

Where can Dom be? Why would he leave without telling me? He’d never do that. He’d never hurt me like this.

“Hey, Chiara,” says a man behind me.

I turn around, finding a short, older man with gray hair. I recognize him as Gerard, the one who owns the candy shop next door.

“You speak to Dom today?” He scratches his thick, gray hair. “I’ve started to worry.”

“No.” I shake my head with a tremble. “When were they here last?”

His brows tug gently, and he places a finger on his temple, staring absently.

“Well, Friday, I saw Francesco all day, but then Dom stopped by Saturday afternoon looking for him, but the shop was closed. The boy seemed as concerned as you do right now.” He squints, looking inquisitively at me. “What’s going on?”

The weekend is their busiest time. I remember Dom telling me that. Unless there’s an emergency, his father would never close.

Wait…

My heart races while I freak out.

Saturday is when Mom disappeared, the day my dad took my phone. Did he do something to Dom’s dad?

A shiver runs down both my arms, leaving thick prickles.

No. It can’t be.

But, I wouldn’t put it past him. He hated Mom, and he hated Dom’s family. What if he decided to hurt them all? What if…

I can’t even think those thoughts. I can’t imagine a world where Mom and Dom are not in it.

“Did you speak to them the last few days at all?” Gerard interrupts my thoughts.

“No,” I speak over the ball of anxiety in my throat. “Dom won’t answer his phone.” The words shudder from my lips. “It doesn’t seem to be…on.”

“Oh, goodness.” He exhales sharply. “I don’t have Francesco’s number. I’ll have to call the police.”

Police? Oh my God.

“Okay,” I mouth with a barely there whisper as he walks away.

Glancing back at the bakery one last time, I run out of there with tears raining down my face, unable to handle another second of staring at my own reflection.

Part II

The Present

Chapter Eight

Dominic

Age 28

“Where the fuck is he?”I demand, twisting the collar of his shirt tight in my fist, gritting my teeth as I stare at a man who looks terrified.

He should be.

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