The Devil’s Control
1104 Words
I heard voices while I was half awake. It felt like I was on a bed.
“Will she be fine, doctor?” a male voice asked, heavy with concern.
“She will. She fainted out of fear and shock,” another voice answered—calm and devoid of emotion.
“Try to keep her out of any kind of events that will—”
“I got it. Leave,” the first voice replied. It sounded like Antonio.
The sound of receding footsteps echoed, and another set of footsteps came closer to the bed I was lying on.
I opened my eyes in fear, and I was met with Antonio. His face was laced with concern, anger, and… something else I couldn’t read.
“Fiore, I’m glad you’re awake,” he said with a sigh. He tried to sit on the bed, but I flinched. He raised a brow, then chose to sit on a chair instead.
He pointed to the scratch marks on my shoulders. “If I could kill that bastard again, I would,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on that menacing tone again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly calmed down.
“Fiore, you’ve never asked me any questions about myself,” he said suddenly.
“I—I—” I fidgeted, and he smiled at me. I was taken aback—it seemed genuine.
“Come on, Fiore,” he persisted.
“Why do you call me Fiore? My name is Estelle,” I blurted out, then quickly clamped a hand over my mouth and gripped the sheets.
“You’re my flower. My flower,” he said, his voice turning menacing around the “my.”
“Do not fear me, Fiore. I will not hurt you,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette.
He lit it and gestured with his hand for me to continue.
I nodded and strengthened my resolve, taking breaths to calm down.
“Very good, Fiore. Breathe,” he said.
“You fainted, Fiore. That is a weakness. Weakness will—and can—get you killed,” he stated blankly, taking a drag of his cigarette.
A chill ran down my spine, but I pushed it away. I needed answers.
“Why did you kill him?” I asked in a huff.
He paused, as if I had asked a question with an obvious answer.
“He touched what is mine,” he said simply, running a hand through his hair.
I fought the urge to correct him, to tell him I belonged to no one, but the image of Marcel’s bloody body flashed in my mind.
“Next question. I’m a busy man.”
“Why did you kidnap me?” I asked quickly, averting my gaze as he looked at me.
“I didn’t kidnap you, Fiore. I only took what is mine and saved it from being tainted,” he replied.
He looked at me the way someone would look at something they found interesting. His lips shifted into a slow smirk.
I turned away from him. My heart was racing, and my spine tingled.
Why does he look at me like that?
Why does my body react to someone I should be terrified of?
Stop. Stop.
I closed my eyes and took long deep breaths to calm my stupid heart.
I heard a laugh, and I turned my head toward Antonio. He laughed—a sound of pure mockery.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
He tilted his head, cigarette still between his fingers.
“It is rather funny that my Fiore is trying to calm herself down around me like a lost kitten,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of mockery.
Silence followed. My mind raced with a thousand questions, but only one truly mattered.
“Who are you?” I asked, my eyes roaming his body as I spoke. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he was completely shirtless. His rock-hard abs and pecs stood out, and a large scar ran across his chest.
My hands seemed to have a mind of their own as I reached for him.
My fingers hovered inches above his skin before my brain caught up. When I realised what I was doing, I snatched my hand back as if his body were fire.
Antonio’s gaze followed the movement—slow and predatory.
Not soft, not gentle. Something darker.
He leaned back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, studying me like a puzzle he wanted to break apart piece by piece.
“Touch me if you want to, Fiore,” he murmured, smoke curling from his lips. “Just remember—flowers don’t get to pretend they don’t reach for the sun.”
Heat crawled up my neck, infuriating me.
I didn’t want him.
He was a madman who kidnapped me.
In fact, I hated him—and I certainly didn’t want this.
But my body betrayed me with its trembling.
“You’re scared,” he said, low and calm. “Good. Fear keeps you alive.”
His eyes flicked to my lips.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for my breath to hitch—and for me to hate myself for reacting this way.
He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and stood. The way his muscles shifted made me want to wrap my arms around him, and I hated that too.
He approached slowly, deliberately, until he stood at the side of the bed. My pulse hammered so loudly I wondered if he could hear it.
“Do not ever reach for a man like that again,” he whispered, his voice harsh now. “Not unless you’re ready to face what he’ll do next.”
My breath caught.
His hand shot forward and gripped my chin. Firm. Possessive. Not gentle.
His thumb brushed dangerously close to my mouth.
“And Fiore?” he added, his eyes roaming my face.
“Y-yes?” My voice came out unsteady.
“Next time you touch me…”
He leaned down, lips just shy of my ear.
“…you better mean it.”
A shiver ran through me—one I instantly regretted.
Antonio pulled back, his expression unreadable. His eyes were cold and cruel.
“Rest,” he ordered, turning away from me. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?” I gasped before I could stop myself.
He paused at the doorway.
“For surviving me,” he said without looking back.
Then the door clicked shut.
- Writer
