Page 61 of Devil Mine

When I turn back around, Thiago’s hand is down by his side and his guard is level with him. It’s the one I recognize as his lieutenant, the one I’ve been referring to as Younger Guy in my mind.

“No,jefe. Sorry.”

A look of annoyance crosses Thiago’s face before he waves at him to continue.

“Fabian just called. He took care of the two Italians we captured last night.”

“Did they give him a name?”

The guard stands with his back to me so I can’t see his expression, but he shakes his head.

“No. They said they had no idea who was responsible. They were in the death room for twelve hours and never wavered from that. Fabian thinks they were telling the truth.”

Thiago roars furiously, scaring unsuspecting people walking past him in the process. His expression blackens completely, all traces of humanity gone from his face now.

“Fuck!” he thunders. He starts pacing, uncaring of the crowds around him who jump out of the way to avoid his storming presence. Finally, he stops in front of Younger Guy and points a finger at him. “Enough of these low level footmen who don't know shit. I want Augusto.”

I can see Younger Guy’s face now and he blanches.

“You mean…”

“Augusto Leone. The capo. I want him captured alive, whatever it takes. He’ll know who was responsible.”

A chill rolls down my spine at his tone. I know the name Augusto Leone, all of London does. He’s the head of the Italian mafia, a key part of the Underworld, and a ruthless killer. Going after him is a death sentence.

“Jefe, you know I’d never question your orders but Augusto Leone…he’s untouchable.”

Thiago grips his guard by the collar and yanks him against his chest. “Find a way, Marco. I’ve been playing nice for far too long. That ends today. I don’t care what it takes or how much it costs, but you get me Augusto Leone. He’ll answer firsthand for what his family did to Adriana.”

I turn away from the postcard stand and stumble back deeper into the store.

I’ve heard enough.

This connects back to what I overheard at the charity event. He’s avenging his lost love even as he’s scouring Europe looking for me.

Frustration and disappointment swirl in my gut. Frustration that I let myself think for even a second that his search for me was anything but wounded pride. Disappointment that I was stupid enough to think that someone could be doing something forme.

“Vous…avez sortie autre?” I ask the shop owner in butchered French. When he gives me nothing but a quizzical expression in return, I sigh in annoyance. “Oh, sod this.” I take a hundred euro bill out of my wallet and slap it on the counter. “Can I use your back exit?”

He picks up the bill and pockets it, pointing behind him. “Of course, right this way.”

And of course he speaks English now.

Heading towards the back door, I go through a stock room of sorts, and finally erupt onto a side street. I don’t even bother looking back to make sure no one is following me, I run.

I run and I run until I come to a Metro station. I buy a ticket and blindly get on a train, not even checking the direction in which it’s heading.

Settling in by the door, I look out of the windowpane. Exhaustion hits me out of nowhere. It’s bone deep and it overtakes me, making me fall back against the section divider.

I’m so, so tired.

Of running. Of being constantly on guard.

Of being alone.

I drop my head back against the partition as the doors close. The train doesn’t move yet and I stare absentmindedly off into the distance, watching unseeingly as long legs wrapped in tailored black trousers run down the steps, taking them three at a time. His top half isn’t visible yet but whoever he is, he must be late because he’s running furiously to catch the train. I feel bad that he's just missed it.

I lift my head when the man reaches the platform. Realization hits me at the same time as my gaze collides with a pair of vivid, honey-colored eyes that I’ve come to know all too well. I straighten, my heart lurching violently into my throat. My mouth dries instantly, my tongue becoming rough as sandpaper.

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