Page 15 of As Devils Love

Father is sitting at the head of a six-person table. His left hand, adorned with rings of various stones across every finger, holds a cocktail glass by the stem. Among the array of status symbols, his wedding band remains firmly in its place on his ring finger. Old and worn now, from years of his playing with it.

To his right, Tomas Bernardi, the Napoli family consigliere, is chewing on the end of a cigarillo. His beady eyes snap to me the instant I step outside, while father’s remain fixed on the looming shadows, cast by the tall trees scattered across his property.

“Where were you last night, Fiametta?”

Shit. He is pissed. Father never says my full name unless I’m in serious trouble.

I swallow audibly and clear my throat. I’ve got to choose my words very carefully, if I want to walk away from this still in his good graces.

“We were at the club. I had a few too many and—”

Father raises a finger to silence me. He looks up at me with forced indifference. He’s trying to stay calm, but he can’t control the anger that’s bubbling to the surface.

I take my seat on his left and pour myself a glass of water.

“A few too many? You were dead to this world. I had to send Tomas to your apartment to ensure you weren’t dead tome.” Father’s eyes narrow to tiny slits while mine widen in disgust.

Was it him all along? Was Tomas the monster who plagued my thoughts all day? Oh, God, I’m gonna throw up.

Tears sting the rim of my eyes while flashes of what might have happened dart across my mind. His mockingly twisted, yellow-toothed grin spreading wide while his gnarled, tobacco-stained fingers run across my skin.

I can imagine him, lost in the darkness andpretendingto do routine checks on windows and locks, stumbling into my desk of drawers. Adjusting my trinkets to lookalmostcorrect. I can see him putting on the whole show just to have an excuse for why he was in my room at all.

But somehow, behind the brewing nausea and disgust, my heart sinks.

This hard to swallow pill quells any delusions I had of the mysterious stranger’s breaking into my apartment. As messed up as it sounds, the idea of it had started tickling me in a way I didn’t want to shake.

It could’ve been the start of our very own fucked up love story. God, I need to get laid if this is what I consider the start of a relationship.

Finally putting the entire ordeal to restshouldmake me happy. It should halt the bile that’s clawing up my throat, as I look at Tomas’s sneer. At least I’m not in danger.

But there’s a chance I neverwasin danger. Anything could’ve happened to my drink. Maybe one of the fruits, added for garnish, wasn’t washed properly and gave me some short-lived food poisoning.

“Wha...” I choke on the word, and sip some more water. I don’t even know what I want to say. I’m just speaking to fill the silence and to still my racing mind.

Tomas jumps in before I can finish my sentence. “Oh, come now, don’t look at me like that.” He puffs on his cigarillo and rolls his eyes as if he’s annoyed. “Your door was locked. I couldn’t get in.”

A heavy sigh of relief barrels out of my me, and that seems to be the perfect segue to my father’s next question.

“Was someone with you last night, Fiametta?” His eyes trail lazily from me, back to the shadowy skyline once more.

“Simone. She helped me into bed and went home.” No use lying about it.

“No men?”

My eyes nearly shoot out of my skull in disbelief. “What? No.”

Unless...

If Tomas isn’t lying, I can still dream about my stranger. Not that I’d mention anything about what truly transpired last night to Father. He’d go berserk if he found out I’d been drugged and potentially followed home.

“Don’t be a child. I don’t give a damn who you choose to fuck.” Father growls. “This isn’t about my fatherly pride taking a hit, I’m trying to protect you.”

I hang my head to avoid further contact with his intense gaze. “Honestly. After Simone left, I was alone.” I allow him a moment to take in my response, before I ask. “What’s this about? I haven’t seen you this upset since—” Since Mother passed, I think, but don’t dare say.

“Two more dead. Normally I wouldn’t let it interfere with our arrangement or concern you, had the murders not occurred in the very same club where you were partying.” Father speaks with the calm stoicism of a mafia don. He isn’t my parent right now, and this isn’t a family dinner.

It’s an interrogation.

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