Page 37 of The Devil We Know

“Aren’t we done here?”

Tony walks back, swinging his arm over Kaian’s shoulder, his fingers gripping on as he jerks him in close and says, “I have a feeling that we’re only just beginning.”

I smile, opening the door and then holding it for them as Tony maneuvers an obviously reluctant Kaian through the doorway,and then I follow behind, relishing the sound of the heavy door as it slams shut behind us.

15

A Family Reunion

Jessica

It’s been an interestingcouple of days since Matt showed up to my room asking questions.

For the most part, I’ve stayed in my room, though at least once a day, I’m summoned down to the equivalent of the great hall, where a bunch of old, crusty men talk about me as if I’m not actually there.

Luckily, given my career in entertainment as well as my previous experience living amongst these types of people, I’mentirely accustomed to the dealings of old, crusty men. I was barely sixteen when I was finally released from my life sentence of misery. I’d been working on getting an out for myself when my mother passed, securing me a future outside what was going to be expected of me as the daughter of a criminal overlord.

This means I know the best way to handle these types of men is by pretending they’re not there.

I’m not sure if this knowledge is making it easier or more difficult, considering the urge to roll my eyes is high most of the time. I only got caught one time so far, which earned me a pretty good slap, and then choking down maniacal laughter just about sent me into a tizzy.

I haven’t seen Matt at all, and I wish I could say the same thing about Matteo.

One thing I learned about him is that he’s vile. He’s come sniffing around here a few times, and I’ve managed to maneuver him back out the door relatively unscathed, but I feel it’s only a matter of time before he stops playing nice.

I’m contemplating whether or not a person can die of boredom when one of the women shows up, stating my presence is required. If she has any actual information, she’s not sharing it with me, and I don’t bother prodding too much, knowing it would be pointless.

The room isn’t nearly as full as normal—maybe two dozen men—half of whom I don’t recognize. I scan the faces of each person, taking a mental note of the ones who appear to be new, and then I look at the end of the room where the old men who typically call the shots are all congregating.

And that’s when I see him.

I frown, swallowing the suddenly painful lump in my throat, and then I sigh, putting my shoulders back and straightening my spine as I walk toward him.

My father has arrived.

I’m annoyed yet not surprised that they wouldn’t provide me with a private word with him before making a spectacle. I’m sure they decided to do that so we wouldn’t be able to come up with any kind of story together, but knowing my father, he has it all in hand anyway.

My general feeling as I look at him is ambivalence.

I recognize that his allowing me to go out on my own wasn’t something he had to do. It’s also something that would be frowned upon by basically everyone.

So for that, I’m grateful.

But it also leaves me vulnerable because I have no idea what’s happened since I’ve been gone. I’m sure he hasn’t suddenly shifted into a good person, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he would want to cause me harm, especially knowing how my mother would’ve felt about it.

If there was ever anyone he loved more than himself, it was her.

I stop when I’m a few feet in front of him, and he looks me over quickly, his eyes briefly meeting mine. The coldness emanating from him sends a shiver down my spine.

No one says anything for a few moments, and I grip my hands together in front of me and do my best not to fidget nervously as I wait for someone to say something.

After a few long, awkward moments, my father nods shortly and says, “I see you’ve finally managed to do one thing correctly.”

I frown and then quickly shift my features back to neutral as I nod, knowing I’m not meant to say anything. If nothing else, I do remember my place is to be seen and not heard, and even if I’m heard, it’s only to say what I’ve been told to say.

My father turns back to the men in charge and says, “I’m glad my gift made it to you unharmed. Shall I assume that it is well received?”

The men look amongst themselves for a moment before the older one, who typically does the talking, says, “Very well. Once the shock wore off, of course.”

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