Page 8 of Devious
Huh.“Was he in love with her?”
“Yes, he loved the hell out of Shelby. After her death, Devious was so broken up inside, he went on a killing spree.”
I never thought in a million years Devious could fall in love with someone, or that he had ever been in love. What was he like? Was he as cruel to her as he is to me? Did he force her to be with him like he did me? He reminds me of a beast, cruel and tame, but under all that cruelty, he has a kind heart. I laugh internally, a crime lord having a heart—that’s hard for me to believe.
“Have you ever slept with Devious?”
As she pulls out her iPad, she taps the screen and laughs lightly. “Oh no. I’m his cousin on his mother’s side.” She pauses. “Before he put me in charge of running his household, I used to bring women to his bed when he didn’t have time to find one.”
“Since you know him so well, do you know he forced me into marrying him? He kidnapped me against my will.”
“Again, his behavior doesn’t surprise me. Whatever Devious wants, he gets.” She half shrugs, then stuffs the tape measure and iPad into her bag. She gives me another once-over.
“Twirl around.” She rests her index finger on her cheek, and I stand on my tippy-toes and twirl like a ballerina. “I have the perfect wedding gown to fit your body type. Welcome to thefamiglia.” She cups my face and presses a soft kiss on my cheeks. “I’ll see you Friday to drop off your dress.” Then she exits the condo.
I can’t believe Papa sold me to his boss. Even worse, people think this shit is normal. None of this shit is normal. It doesn’t matter, I’m going to be out of here soon, but I have to go see my grandfather before I leave. I want to say goodbye to him.
I sit back on the couch, wiping my palms on my leg. The bodyguard heads toward the kitchen.
“Is your name Max?”
He nods.
“Can you take me to my grandpa’s house after lunch?”
He nods again.
After eating lunch, a driver takes us to my nonno’s house. I want to see him one last time before I kill my soon-to-be husband.
When I knock on the wooden door, his nurse, Holly, opens up. She tilts her head to the side, examining Max like he’s eye candy, and her cheeks flush the color of a pink Starburst. Then she gazes back at me. “Roselyn. It’s so good to see you.” She has her hair tied into a neat ponytail, and her bronze skin is glowing. Her belly peeks from under her tan shirt. She looks like she’s due any day.
“How is he?”
She beckons us in, and Max stands by the outside of the door with his arms folded across his hard chest.
“He had a bad fall this morning, but he’s okay.” I don’t miss the sorrow in Holly’s tone. Pain burns in my chest. Grandpa’s health is depleting, and there is nothing I can do about it. Papa doesn’t give a shit about him, which means I’m the only person who hasn’t given up on him.
His Alzheimer’s is progressing really fast. Last week, we had to put adult diapers on him because he forgot how to use the bathroom. A lump forms in my throat, so I clear my throat. “You can take your lunch break.”
“Thank you. I already changed his bottoms. It’s time for him to eat.” She grabs her purse from the coat rack and leaves us alone.
I mentally thank Holly for not feeding him and allowing me to do it, because I want to help him as much as I possibly can. I bounce to the kitchen, open the vintage fridge, and grab the container of chicken noodle soup and warm it up in the microwave.
Sadness lingers in my chest at the thought of having to leave here and living far away from him, but the mafia is no place for a woman. It’s a man’s world. Most women who are raised in the mafia would be thrilled to marry a don. The other men will respect you a lot more than they do their own wives and daughters. It brings power and wealth, but you can’t put a price on peace of mind and freedom.
The microwave beeps. I remove the container, grab the folding table, and head to the living room. Grandpa perches on his dingy yellow recliner, watchingMatlock. Bending down, I plant a soft kiss on his rubbery, wrinkled cheek.
His dull brown eyes narrow, and a smile paints his face. He wears a checkered shirt with khaki pants. His white hair is thinning, so I can see his scalp. “Hey, Cosetta. How is Lex?”
“I’m not Cosetta. I’m her daughter, Roselyn,” I explain.
He examines me as if I’m the confused one, and then recognition flickers across his face.
“It’s been weeks since I last saw you.”
He saw me the day before yesterday, but I don’t bother correcting him. I was told I look so much like my mother. But I look nothing like my papa. Her hair was the color of chestnut but straight.
I place the portable table over his lap, sit his bowl on the table, then grab a napkin and tuck it into the front of his shirt. I dip the spoon in the soup and bring it to his mouth.
