In The Devil’s Keeping

The Devil’s Own

“Yes, Fiore, work,” his voice was low with satisfaction.

“What kind of f*****g work are you talking about, you sick animal?”

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

The doctor’s eyes widened, and he stepped away.

Antonio’s expression darkened as he inched closer to me. His hand moved faster than my brain could process. All I felt next was a burning sensation on my cheek, the way my face jerked to the side, and a tear I couldn’t control rolling down my skin.

He grabbed my neck and squeezed.

“Fiore, you are my favourite. But learn your place. I do not tolerate disrespect. Do you understand me?”

His voice came out as a hiss.

“This is just a light warning. Next time I won’t be so forgiving.”

I nodded desperately as I clutched his hand. He let go and nodded toward the doctor.

“Continue,” he said, then stormed off.

I gasped for air, clutching my chest. Tears flowed freely, and I couldn’t help but break down.

The doctor took my temperature, asked if I had allergies, examined me, and then he left. I stood from my bed, my feet shaky with every step as I walked to the mirror in my room.

It had been a while since I saw myself—long enough to forget.

The girl staring back at me was a stranger. Same eyes, same nose, but hollowed out and repackaged. Like a mannequin fitted for someone else’s life.

Antonio’s handprint marked my cheek and neck. I traced them slowly.

I wanted to remember this—especially on the days when I found my captor attractive. I needed to remember what he was capable of.

While I stood in front of the mirror, the door burst open. I flinched instantly, my heart hammering in my chest.

It was a guard—dark, chubby, and lifeless-eyed, as if human emotions had been drained out of him.

“The boss sent these. As of today, your old clothes will be burnt. Every single one of them must go into that trash bag. Sanitation protocol.”

He tossed a pile of clothing bags onto the bed. A woman came behind him and threw toiletries there as well.

The guard and the woman left, shutting the door behind them. Out of curiosity, I picked up one of the bags. Inside was a uniform.

Pale grey, like the old clothes I’d been given—but softer and lighter, almost like silk.

Each piece had a tag reading “E–L47.” Not a name. A number. My name didn’t matter here—only what he wanted.

The door opened—it was the guard again.

“Get dressed, L47. I believe you wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” he said.

My mind flashed back to Antonio’s slap and the way he held my neck. He said that was a light warning. I didn’t want to imagine what a heavier one looked like.

I waited for the guard to leave, but he refused. So I reluctantly dressed in front of him.

He locked the door and inched closer. I instinctively stepped back.

“If you make a scene, just think of what the boss could do,” he said, menacingly getting closer.

He snatched the clothes I used to cover myself with and stared at my body greedily. His perverted eyes dragged over my skin. I tried to move away, but he gripped my shoulders harshly.

“Stop moving, b***h!” he snapped, squeezing my shoulders and digging his nails into my skin.

I cried out in pain. His hand connected with my face—another slap—before he stepped away.

“Hurry up for now. I’ll have time to feast on you later,” he said, his face twisting into a menacing grin.

I had no choice but to finish dressing with him watching. I briefly licked the blood on my lip from the slap and held back my tears.

There would be time for that later.

The guard smacked my ass as I finished dressing, and I pushed the doors open, following him down a long hallway where four other girls stood.

“Fiore,” a deep voice called.

Footsteps echoed. It was Antonio—changed out of his earlier clothes. He wore a black sleeveless top and trousers.

“Fiore—”

His expression darkened again as he advanced toward me. I clenched my fists at my sides until he reached me.

“Who did this?!” he barked, gesturing to the cuts on my shoulder.

“Sir, I—” the guard began, but a gunshot cracked through the air.

Blood splattered across the floor. The guard screamed, clutching his leg.

“You hurt my Fiore?” Antonio asked, voice venomous.

“Please,” I begged softly, tears threatening again.

Antonio reached out, brushing the back of his hand over my breasts. My n****e hardened involuntarily. For a moment—even with a gun in his hand—he looked flustered.

I had already broken down. My body trembled. Antonio set his gun on the table.

“You’re not wearing any…?” he asked, voice laced with concern.

I shook my head.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped. He brushed his thumb against my broken lip, his hand trembling as he saw the blood smear on his skin.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice suddenly cold.

I nodded slowly.

He shook his head.

“Marcel! Get up!” he barked.

The guard—Marcel—struggled to stand despite the gunshot wound.

Antonio picked up his gun again.

“You touched what is mine?!” he roared, aiming the weapon at the guard. Marcel’s eyes went wide with terror.

“No, please!” I whimpered, tears spilling freely. I didn’t want a man to die—not because of me.

“Fiore… do not interfere.”

A final shot rang out. Blood splattered across the walls and floor. Marcel’s body hit the ground with a loud thud.

The other girls screamed. I screamed.

“Lucia! Drea! Manty! Clean this up now!” he barked, handing his gun to one of the men who had rushed forward.

I had just witnessed a murder, while Antonio didn’t shake… he didn’t feel anything.

His face twisted in disgust as he looked at Marcel’s body.

It became hard for me to breathe. My chest tightened with each breath I took.

I felt dizzy.

I clutched my chest as my body felt light. I was falling—but strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.

Then darkness swallowed me whole.