The Devil (BOOK I + II)

18 | "You Smell"

Chapter Eighteen
"You Smell"

"we are made of all those who
have built and broken us,"
~ atticus

┏━━━━━━━┓

My mom was here. She was standing in front of me.

And she was alive.

Her green eyes, the one's I inherited, were wide while her tears started building up. But all I could to was press my back deeper against the wall, wanting to get sucked in. Because I must be dreaming. This was a god damn nightmare.

But the silence that was lingering in the room quickly evaporated, when I faintly heard Angelo's amused voice. "I don't think you deserve your present yet."

And before I could stop him, Rolando was tugging mama back up the stairs, with her tripping on her feet in the process. My throat was clogged, and I couldn't even yell for her. Most of all, I hated how satisfied the Italian looked. Like he won.

After he and Naveen casually exited the basement, I was left staring at the wall without a training of thought. I refused to appear broken or weak, especially in front of the assholes who decided it was best to betray the Dynasties. My family. Me.

For the next few days, I hadn't seen anyone except Naveen, who was in charge of bringing me food once a day. There was a bucket, he ushered to me the first day, and told me to do my business there. I had to give him credit, though, he clearly seemed disgusted at the thought of me squatting in a rusty bucket.

It was day three of smelling my own piss—I refused to shit—when the door at the top of the stairs scrapped open. Naveen hadn't brought my food in this morning, so I assumed he'd bring it down—without a tray. He learned his lesson the first time, when I kicked it out of his hands, so it would smack right into his face.

But after a few footfalls, I stiffened against the cold wall when I noticed how much heavier they were. My eyes snapped to the top of the stairs as I held my breath, only to choke on an inaudible gasp when I recognized the face seconds later.

Of course. Why wasn't I surprised?

Boris Mikhailov, Rolando and Gala's father—and papa's right-hand man.

He was bald, but I knew he once had a head full of blond curls. And unlike his son, he had the brightest hazel eyes that seemed to pop out more without his hair. He was Rolando's height, and he broad, like most men in the Dynasty were. But he was different. He was papa's best friend.

"Hi, Rosalina," he greeted, and he had the nerve to give me a small, sweet smile, when he reached the last step. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come visit, but I thought I'd give you some time to cool your temper."

My temper? He wanted to talk about my temper? I'll show him my fucking temper when I—

"Rosa, I want you to know I did not want you to be here," he sighed as he leaned against the wall across from me. Because of the sun being out, I could see how his lips tightened in remorse. "I had planned for things to go differently."

I couldn't speak. It was physically difficult to put all my emotions out into words, so I just stared at him.

He probably read my expression—which wasn't hiding much—and sighed again before straightening. I watched as he pulled on the sleeves of his button up shirt, flattening the wrinkles.

"You know I care for you. You and your siblings. I watched you take your first steps, Rosa, and they were to me." He gave a pained smile, and I was ready to throw my shoe at him. But unlucky for me and lucky for him, I was kidnapped by his son without shoes on.