Rebirth: The Devil's Lunatic

Chapter 11: The Devil Returns

Adonis Pov.

The city glittered beneath me, its streets illuminated by streetlights and the headlights of passing cars.

Verona was beautiful at night.

From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, I could see its buildings stretching into the distance beneath the darkening sky.

I took a sip of whiskey, the glass cold against my fingers, then drew on the black cigarette resting between my lips.

I was dressed in white sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, comfortable enough to enjoy the peace and quiet of my evening.

Or at least, I had been enjoying it until…

The elevator behind me dinged, and its doors slid open.

I didn't bother turning around. There was only one person in my inner circle who had the nerve to enter my penthouse without knocking or being announced.

“So, you’re really not going to attend the family dinner?”

Matteo.

I exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke toward the window pane. “I told you I’m not going.”

“But—”

“We’ve already put out the word that I’m returning to Italy in a week’s time,” I said smoothly, taking another small sip of my drink. “I have two whole days before I have to set foot into that den of wolves. I’m not wasting a perfectly good evening on them.”

Matteo chuckled behind me, the sound echoing off the polished hardwood floors.

“Come on, boss. You know your family is full of entertaining drama, and when it comes to serving good food and throwing extravagant parties, they’re top-tier.”

I rolled my eyes, watching his reflection in the dark glass in front of me.

“If anyone heard you talk, they’d think I don’t feed you enough.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we should go.”

“Then go by yourself.”

Matteo let out a dramatically heavy sigh. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to attend?”

“Matteo,” I warned, my tone dropping an octave.

He raised both hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “All right, all right! I was only asking.”

I turned my attention back to the sparkling city lights outside, letting the silence settle between us again.

A few quiet seconds passed.

Then he spoke up once more, his voice laced with faint, deliberate amusement. “I just thought you’d want to go, seeing as Ileana Bellucci is there.”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

For a brief second, I wondered if I’d misheard him.

I slowly turned around to face him, my eyes narrowing. “She’s there?”

Matteo’s expression was infuriatingly innocent. “Yes, boss. She is.”

“Explain.”

“She was released from Saint Aurelia two days ago,” Matteo said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Your grandfather wants to fulfill the old marriage agreement between the D’Angelos and the Belluccis, so he arranged for her to attend tonight’s dinner.”

I stared at him, feeling a sudden flare of irritation. “And why am I only finding this out now?”

Matteo spread his hands wide. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one who explicitly said you didn’t want to hear a single word about the Belluccis unless it directly concerned what happened to her during those five missing years.”

My jaw tightened.

He had a point. An annoying, thoroughly unnecessary point.

I had specifically instructed him to investigate Ileana’s five years in that asylum.

I didn’t care about her family’s desperate business deals, their bitter arguments, or whatever marriage arrangements my grandfather was orchestrating behind my back.

I wanted answers about her five missing years. And I wanted them before I decided my next move.

Unfortunately, Matteo had taken my instructions with painful literalness.

I shot him a cold, murderous glare.

He smiled right back. The bastard actually grinned.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know, boss?” he asked lightly.

I set my glass down on the side table with a sharp clink. “No.”

“Wonderful.”

I turned away from him and started walking toward my bedroom.

Matteo watched me go, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Where are you going?”

“To get ready.”

“For what?”

I stopped at the bedroom doorway and looked back at him over my shoulder. “To attend that stupid dinner.”

His grin widened until it reached his eyes.

I pointed a stern finger directly at his face. “Wipe that ridiculous expression off your face before I give you an actual reason to cry.”

He merely chuckled, completely unfazed.

I stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, hearing the latch click into place.

Behind me, I could practically feel his smugness radiating straight through the wall.

I was going to murder him one of these days. Eventually.

Thirty minutes later, I was standing inside the grand foyer of the D’Angelo estate.

Getting inside without raising an alarm had been ridiculously easy.

Everyone was occupied with the grand dinner, and the servants and security personnel were far too busy managing the high-profile guests to pay attention to a couple of extra faces.

Matteo had vanished into the crowd the second we crossed the threshold—probably in search of the buffet.

I slipped up the grand staircase and stopped near the top landing, keeping myself partially hidden in the high shadows as I looked down into the bustling dining area below.

The room was packed to capacity with distant relatives, high-society business associates, and random political figures who had clearly mistaken a private family gathering for a public spectacle.

Typical.

I was just about to retreat deeper into the shadows when something near the far end of the room caught my attention.

A woman was standing casually beside the dessert table.

Dark-red leather skirt. White vest. Black leather jacket. Knee-high boots.

Ileana.

I stared.

I leaned back slightly against the cold wooden railing, unable to look away. What the hell was that outfit?

A formal dinner at the D’Angelo estate was hardly where I’d expect a woman to show up dressed as though she intended to intimidate an entire underground club.

And yet, somehow, it suited her ridiculously well.

She stood right beside the pastry platters, looking completely unbothered by the sharp whispers and hostile stares surrounding her.

Every now and then, she reached out for a treat, her movements languid, confident, and completely unhurried.

I couldn’t stop the faint, amused smile that touched my lips beneath the shadows.

Just what on earth happened to you during those five years, Ileana?

The girl I remembered from five years ago had been soft-spoken, delicate, and painfully easy to overlook in a room full of loud personalities.

The woman standing downstairs looked as though she could set the entire mansion on fire and then casually complain about the smoke.

I had caught a glimpse of that sharp edge a few nights ago in that dark alleyway when she had yanked me into the shadows and threatened to knife me.

But watching her now, effortlessly holding her own in a sea of sneering aristocrats, only made me infinitely more curious.

What had Saint Aurelia truly done to her?

Or, perhaps, the more important question was what she had done to Saint Aurelia.

I fully intended to find out.

Down below, a throat cleared loudly over the background chatter.

My grandfather stood at the head of the long mahogany dining table, easily commanding the entire room's attention with his presence.

“We all know why we’ve gathered here tonight,” Alessandro began, his voice echoing clearly through the hall. “This is a momentous occasion for both of our great families.”

I crossed my arms and settled comfortably against the upper railing. Here we go.

“We have waited a very long time for this day,” he continued with a practiced, sweeping gesture. “The Belluccis and the D’Angelos have shared a deep understanding for years, and tonight, we intend to take the next official step.”

A few surrounding guests nodded politely in agreement.

My grandfather turned and offered a grand smile toward Vittorio and Lucia Bellucci.

“As many of you know, young Ileana has spent the past five years abroad, completing her private studies,” he announced smoothly. “We wanted to give her all the time she needed before making this joyous announcement.”

I almost scoffed aloud. Abroad? That was certainly a creative rewrite for five years locked away in a psychiatric asylum.

I wondered if a single person in this room actually bought that ridiculous story.

Judging by the way several guests were stealing glances at Ileana with poorly disguised skepticism, I severely doubted it.

Still, nobody dared to raise a question. Not that I expected them to.

Alessandro D’Angelo had a way of declaring a lie so powerfully that it sounded like gospel, and everyone here was far too spineless to challenge him in public.

He gestured toward the Bellucci table with a proud smile. “Tonight, we officially announce the engagement between Ileana Bellucci and my grandson, Lorenzo D’Angelo.”

A wave of polite, rehearsed applause rippled through the dining room.

Lorenzo stood among the crowd, wearing a tight, awkward expression that I couldn't quite decipher. I barely spared him a glance.

My undivided attention remained fixed entirely on the woman standing by the dessert table.

Alessandro turned his gaze directly toward her. “Ileana, my darling.”

She paused, her emerald eyes lifting to meet him.

“Do you accept this engagement?”

For the first time since I’d arrived, Ileana went completely motionless.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, her gaze drifted slowly toward Lucia and Bianca Bellucci, who were standing a short distance away, practically vibrating with tense expectation.

Something cold and calculated flickered across Ileana's face.

Then, slowly, her eyes drifted upward.

Straight up toward the upper staircase.

Straight toward me.

Our gazes locked across the vast expanse of the room.

Her emerald-green eyes widened just a fraction as recognition dawned.

I straightened up against the railing, surprised.

Then, right before my eyes, the corner of her mouth curved upward into a subtle, wicked little smirk.

My eyebrows rose in sharp surprise.

Interesting. Very interesting.

If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn she was actually thrilled to see me.

My grandfather’s booming voice broke the heavy silence down below. “Ileana?”

She finally tore her gaze away from mine, looking back toward the head table.

The entire room had fallen dead quiet, every guest holding their breath as they waited for her response.

She took a slow, deliberate breath.

Then, in a calm, clear voice that carried effortlessly to every corner of the room, she said,

“I don’t accept.”