Page 51 of The Devil's Den

“Do you mean that? Because if this is too weird for you now, to be with me after what they—” I gulp down the lump in my throat. “After what they did. You can tell me, Matteo. I won’t be mad.”

“What?” His face twists with confusion. “No. Never.” He tucks his knuckles under my jaw, his eyes filled with the truth seeping into me, giving me the courage to believe him. “You’re mine. I’m not going anywhere because I don’t want to. I’llalwayslove you, Aida. Every single time and in every single lifetime.”

My body rattles with another bout of tears. Because this kind of love, this acceptance, devotion—I’ve never had it.

“I—I wanted my first time to—” But I can’t finish that sentence. A sudden aching hits the center of my chest and I look down to avoid him.

“Hey.” He tips up my face. “Don’t do that. That doesn’t count. Our first time will still be together. The other stuff doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you.” His lips move toward me tentatively, like he’s worried they’ll scare me.

When I don’t back away, he kisses me with a tenderness I’ve come to enjoy, tasting my lips like it’s the very first time he has. But in a way it is. It’s the first time since everything changed.

Once his hand spills into my hair, his fingers pulling me deeper, I groan, not caring if my father hears it. Let him know he hasn’t taken Matteo from me.

And he never will.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

MATTEO AGE 21

THREE MONTHS LATER

“My money’s on the kid,”a man whose name I don’t know says, chewing on tobacco.

“I have a feeling they’ll take him.” Drew snickers as three guys surround me. The fear is there in their eyes, evident as I glare at each of them.

They know to survive, they’ll have to kill me, and that’s never been easy to do. I have no weapons. My fists, my body, are all I have. They have none either. My victims used to arrive tied to chairs, but now, they throw them on the floor and make me kill them with my bare hands. It’s my punishment for killing Stan and the other man. But I haven’t failed once in the last few months, and I don’t plan to start now. It didn’t take Agnelo long to have me back in the warehouse after that first week, and I was right to assume he had something up his sleeve. But at least she’s been safe. That’s all that matters.

I gesture for them to come at me, and stupidly one does. When he gets near enough, I run at him, kicking him in the face, and he goes down with a groan. The other two decide to attack me at once, each from the side, and while swiping the legs of one, I punch the other square in the jaw.

“Oh, damn! Looks like I’ll be winning that money,” Drew’s friend mocks on a laugh, and from the corner of my eye, I find Drew glaring, drilling a hole in my head.

“Fuck!” he barks. “I hope they kill him. If Agnelo would let me, I’d end the bastard myself.”

I ignore them, coming at the one I just punched, jumping over him, landing hit after hit to his face until he grunts.

Another man jumps on my back, his arm circling my neck, trying to get me in a choke hold, but he fails when I twist his hand backward and crack it.

“Ahhh!” he screams, while I deal with the other one, now backing away.

But he can’t get far, not here, not when the people who want him dead will stop at nothing to see that happen.

With a hard kick to his stomach, he goes down, and I take the time to destroy him. My fists fly unrestrained as I growl like an animal, hitting him until he’s unrecognizable, his nose shifting as it breaks, my knuckles bloody and raw. I don’t realize he’s dead, not until I ease off him, finding no pulse.

With a heavy rise of my chest, my attention is on the guy holding on to his damaged hand, still there on the floor, the fight in him gone.

He covers his face with his good arm, a serpent tattoo marking his skin there. “Please, do-don’t!”

“I promise to make it quick,” I tell him as I grab the collar of his shirt and raise him up in the air. My forearm rounds his neck, cutting off his breathing. His body fights, the oxygen slowly leaving him as he does, and gradually the movements diminish, until they still. I drop him to the floor with a thud.

There’s only one left. Then I’m done until the next day when they’ll make me fight them or kill someone new. Every day is different. And every day fucking sucks.

The last man is huddled at the far end of the wall, his body shuddering with harsh exhales as I descend on him. He knows he won’t win. He’ll die. Here. And there’s nothing I can do to help him. This is my hell as much as it is his. I can’t refuse the Bianchis. I learned that the hard way. So I’ll fight and I’ll slaughter. I’ll do it all to make her life that much less unbearable.

Every night I close my eyes, I wonder what I can do to give her a better life. If I get near enough to kill Agnelo, his people will kill me in an instant and his brothers will come after Aida.

There’s literally not a goddamn thing I can do. We lost our one chance to escape, and there’s no way we can do it now. That’s probably another reason they no longer give me any weapons, too afraid I’ll kill them and disappear with her. It’s too risky. If I fail, she’ll be sent back to that hellhole or be killed. My only option is to do whatever Agnelo wants, in the hopes that he spares her that agony again. I can’t lose her.

“Hey, you!” Drew calls to the soon-to-be dead man. “Grow some balls and fight! What the fuck? You know how much money I’m losing?”

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