The Devil’s Secret

Lies On Both Sides

I woke up at five in the morning, got out of bed, and went straight to my private gym.

I started with the bench press, heavy weights, pushing myself until my arms burned.

But I didn’t stop. Pain was better than thinking.

Except today, it wasn’t working.

All I could see was Isla’s face from last night.

I’d watched her on the security cameras — sitting on her bed, crying after Vittorio sent that message about her cousin.

Did she really think I wouldn’t know?

I dropped the barbell and moved to the heavy bag. I punched it until the tape on my knuckles soaked through with blood, then I went harder.

When I was done, I went back to my room and stepped into the shower. The water was too hot, but I left it that way. I stood there with my eyes closed, trying to clear my head.

That’s when I remembered Mateo.

Three weeks before he died, we met at a tiny café outside Naples. Mateo looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes. His hands shaking as he tried to lift his coffee.

“Someone’s following you,” I said.

“I know. That’s why I called.”

He kept looking over his shoulder. Then he pushed an envelope across the table.

“What’s this?”

“Proof that someone in your family has been working with Vittorio Russo for years. Money laundering, weapons deals, everything. And something about my parents’ deaths.”

I opened it. Factory records. Bank statements. Payments going to someone named Salvatore Moreno.

“That’s my uncle,” Mateo said.

“They paid him to keep his mouth shut after the explosion. Everyone thinks it was an accident, but it wasn’t.”

“It was arson?” I asked.

“It was murder. And your family was involved somehow.”

He looked at me with desperate eyes.

“I don’t know who yet, but I’m getting close. That’s why they’re going to kill me.”

I grabbed his hand.

“Come to my house. Bring everything. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He relaxed a little, then leaned forward, urgent.

“If something happens to me, you have to protect Isla.”

“Nothing’s going to—”

“Promise me!” He nearly shouted.

“She doesn’t know anything about this world. She’s innocent. Please, Luciano. Promise me.”

I looked him in the eyes and saw real fear.

“I promise. Nothing will happen to you or your sister.”

He smiled for the first time that day.

“Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

That was the last time I saw him alive.

I punched the shower wall hard enough to crack the tile. Water mixed with blood from my knuckles and went down the drain.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the empty room.

“I failed you.”

I got dressed in a black suit and my father’s old cufflinks.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw him staring back at me.

My father never trusted anyone, not even his sons.

Someone killed him when I was twenty-five. I was too young to take over, but I did it anyway — because the alternative was watching everything fall apart.

Eight years later, I looked exactly like him.

And I was turning into the man I swore I’d never become.

Lorenzo was already eating breakfast when I came downstairs.

“Morning!” he said too loudly.

“You look like s**t. Couldn’t sleep?”

I sat and poured coffee.

“I slept fine.”

“Bullshit. Your lights were on until three.” He grinned, stuffing eggs into his mouth.

“What’s keeping you up? Work? Or maybe something else?”

I stayed silent.

“I saw that new maid yesterday. Elena, right? The one who dumped wine all over—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll break your jaw.”

The room went dead silent. Guards stared at the floor.

Lorenzo put his hands up, still smiling.

“Jesus, Luciano. Since when do you care what happens to the maids?”

I stood and fixed my jacket.

“Stay away from her.”

“Or what?”

“That wasn’t a question.”

He laughed behind me — but it wasn’t friendly.

My study was on the second floor. I locked the door and went to my desk.

I pulled out the fake files I’d created last night: bank records that looked real but weren’t, shipping details that led nowhere, names of people who didn’t exist.

I spread them out like I’d been working through them.

Then I turned on the hidden cameras — one in the bookshelf, one in the lamp, one behind a painting. Even my security team didn’t know about them.

This was my test for Isla.

If she photographed these documents and sent them to Vittorio, I’d know. I could feed him false information until I had enough to destroy him.

It was a good plan.

But a part of me hoped she wouldn’t do it.

I sat and opened my laptop.

“She’s just a spy,” I said out loud.

“That’s all.”

But I didn’t believe it.

I’d spent the morning watching the security cameras.

Isla was cleaning the east wing — quiet, head down — but I noticed everything.

She counted how many guards passed by.

She photographed the hallways with her phone.

She tested locked doors.

Just like Mateo.

Brave, even when terrified.

At one point she stopped by a window and looked out at the garden.

Her face softened — sad, lost, young.

Something twisted in my chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” I muttered to myself.

Sunday morning meant church. I didn’t believe in God anymore, not after everything I’d done, but Father Emilio was my mother’s priest before she died. He was the only person alive who remembered me before I became this.

So I went.

At the entrance, he hugged me.

“Luciano. Good to see you.”

He was one of the few people unafraid to touch me.

“Father.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m managing.”

“That’s not the same as being okay.”

I didn’t reply.

I sat in the front row during mass. I didn’t sing. Didn’t pray. Didn’t move.

Afterward, I went to confession like always. I knelt in the dark booth.

I could see his shadow through the screen.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Silence stretched for a long moment.

Then, finally:

“I’m trying to protect someone, but I think I’m going to destroy her instead.”

“You mean the girl? Mateo’s sister?”

Of course he knew.

“Yes.”

“You’re carrying too much guilt. Mateo’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“I promised him I’d keep her safe,” I said, my voice rough.

“Now I’m using her as bait to catch his killer. What does that make me?”

“Human. Someone trying their best in an impossible situation.”

“I’m becoming my father. Cold. Willing to sacrifice anyone.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Your father wouldn’t have cared if the girl suffered. You do. That makes you different.”

I closed my eyes.

“God gave up on me a long time ago.”

“Maybe,” he said softly.

“But I haven’t. And I don’t think she has either.”

I left feeling worse than when I went in.

Outside, I was speaking with him when I saw Lorenzo walk up to Isla. She’d come with the group.

That night, I pulled up the security footage.

Isla entered my study earlier to clean.

She saw the papers.

She hesitated.

Looked at the door.

Then back at the papers.

With shaking hands, she took photos.

Scared.

But she did it anyway.

I picked up my phone.

“Send those fake files to Vittorio Russo’s server. Make them look real.”

“Yes, sir. What about the girl?”

I watched Isla on the screen slip her phone away and leave the study.

“Keep watching her. I want to know everything she does.”

“What if she tries to get to the third floor?”

The third floor was forbidden. Anyone caught up there was killed.

But Isla…

“Tell me immediately if she tries. And nobody touches her without my permission.”

“Understood.”

I hung up.

At two in the morning, I walked to Isla’s room.

I stood outside her door with my hand on the handle.

I shouldn’t be here.

But I couldn’t walk away.

I unlocked the door and opened it a little.

She was asleep on her side, one hand under her cheek.

Peaceful.

I closed the door quietly and locked it.

As I walked back to my room, I whispered into the empty hallway:

“I’m sorry, Mateo… for what I’m about to do.”

My face hardened.