SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL

THE CONTRACT

*CHAPTER 9: THE CONTRACT*

I woke up because someone was touching my feet.

Not in a perverted way. In a careful way. Like checking a bandage.

I opened my eyes. It was 2:13 AM. The bedroom was dark except for the fireplace, orange light flickering on the black walls. Lake Como outside the window was black and silent.

Killian was sitting on the floor next to the bed, in his white shirt and black tuxedo pants, sleeves rolled up, his bow tie gone, his hair messy. He was gently unwrapping the gauze from my right foot, checking the cuts from the champagne glass.

"You have blood again," he whispered when he saw I was awake. "You moved in your sleep. You kicked."

"I don't kick," I said, sleepy voice.

"You do. You kicked me when I tried to put a blanket on you. Twice. You are violent even when sleeping, Little Spy."

He rewrapped my foot with fresh gauze from the first aid kit on the floor. His hands were warm. The first aid kit was open, full of bandages and alcohol and weird mafia things like a suture kit.

"Did you get the confession?" I asked, sitting up, his huge black t-shirt falling off my shoulder. I was still wearing his mother's diamond necklace. I forgot to take it off before sleeping.

He didn't look at my shoulder. He looked at my feet. Very focused on my feet.

"Yes," he said. "Enzo signed. Full confession. Four pages, handwritten in Italian, signed, fingerprinted, video recorded by Avvocato Bianchi. He is now locked in the basement guest room with two of my men watching him. He will not run. He is too scared of my father and Luca to run. He thinks we are his only protection."

"Can I see it?"

"Tomorrow morning. You need to sleep. You have shock."

"I slept already. Two hours. I'm okay now."

He finished wrapping my foot and stood up. He went to his desk by the fireplace and picked up a stack of papers. Four pages, handwritten, with a big signature at the bottom: Enzo Rossi. And a USB stick taped to it.

"This is it," he said, handing it to me. "Read it. But not all tonight. Just first page. You need to sleep."

I took the papers. The first page was in messy Italian, but I could read some words because I studied Italian in NBI academy for Interpol cases.

_Io, Enzo Rossi, nato il... confesso che il giorno 15 Agosto 2021, alle ore 23:47, sul molo vecchio di Villa Bianco, su ordine di Vittorio Blackwood... ho guidato la macchina... Luca Moretti ha sparato tre colpi a Marco Reyes... abbiamo gettato il corpo nel Lago di Como con pietre legate ai piedi... per $50,000..._

I could read it. My brother's murder, written like a grocery list. Ordered by Vittorio. Paid $50,000 to Luca. Shot three times. Thrown in lake with stones.

My hands started shaking.

Killian took the papers gently from my hands and put them back on the desk.

"I told you not to read all tonight," he said softly.

"He wrote it like it was nothing... like... like throwing trash..." I whispered, tears coming.

"He is a driver. For him, it was just a job. Like driving a car. He doesn't understand. That's why he will go to prison for 10 years, not life. Because he was just a driver, scared."

"And Luca? And your father?"

"Luca will get 25 years. My father... life. If Interpol accepts this and the pier video. Which they will. Tomorrow I will send everything to my contact in Interpol Rome. A woman I trust. Agent Sofia Conti. She hates my father more than I do."

He sat on the edge of the bed, not too close, not too far. Looking at the fireplace.

"We have a problem, Elara," he said after a minute.

"What problem? We have confession!"

"The problem is the contract. Our 30 days contract."

My heart dropped. "What about it?"

He turned to look at me. His gray eyes reflected the fire.

"The contract says: For 30 days, you sleep with the devil. Every night you fail to kill him, you take off a piece of clothing. You failed on Day 1, you took off t-shirt. You failed on Day 2, at the party, you didn't kill me, so technically you failed again."

"So?"

"So technically tonight you should take off something else. Rule is rule."

I stared at him. "You... you are thinking about your perverted rule... after I just read my brother's murder confession? At 2 AM? When my feet are bleeding?"

He looked guilty, but also a little bit smiling.

"I am a man, Elara. And you are wearing my t-shirt with no pants, with my mother's diamond necklace, with bandaged feet, looking like... looking like you belong in my bed. And the contract is the contract. I wrote it. I have to enforce it."

"Pervert! Devil! I will not take off anything!"

"Then you break the contract. And if you break the contract, you have to leave Villa Blackwood tomorrow morning. And you will not be here when I send the confession to Interpol. And you will not see your brother's justice."

He was blackmailing me. With a stripping rule.

"That's not fair! I got you a confession tonight! I should get a reward, not a punishment!"

"Okay. Negotiation. Mafia negotiation. You propose."

I thought fast. I am an NBI agent. I negotiate with criminals.

"I... I take off the necklace. That's something. Necklace counts as clothing. And I stay 28 more days. And you send the confession tomorrow."

He looked at the diamond necklace on my neck, resting on my collarbone, just above his t-shirt.

"Necklace is not clothing. Necklace is jewelry. Rule says clothing."

"Then... then I take off... I take off the bandage on my foot! That's clothing!"

He laughed. A real laugh. Loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Elara Cruz, you are trying to negotiate with the Devil using a bandage?"

"Yes! Because your rule is stupid!"

"My rule is not stupid. My rule is what keeps you here. If there is no rule, you will leave. And I don't want you to leave. Not yet. Not until my father is in prison. Not until you are safe."

He said it honestly. He didn't want me to leave.

I was quiet. The fireplace crackled. Outside, the lake was silent.

"Okay," I whispered. "What do you want me to take off?"

He looked at me, at my t-shirt, at my legs, at my face. His eyes were dark.

"I want you to take off... your fear," he said.

"What?"

"Tonight, when you screamed Marco's name on the pier, you were scared. You are still scared. You are scared of my father. You are scared of Lake Como. You are scared that even with this confession, my father will not go to prison because he is too powerful. Take off that fear. For tonight. Just for tonight. Take it off and sleep without fear, in my bed, with my mother's necklace, with your bandaged feet, and trust that I will protect you. That's what I want you to take off. Not clothes. Fear."

I stared at him. This man who pointed a gun at me on Day 1, who made me wear a maid uniform, who made a perverted stripping rule, who shot a man in his father's garden, who fired a gun into a lake for my brother — now asking me to take off my fear.

No one had ever asked me that.

"How do I take off fear?" I asked, voice small.

"Like this," he said, and he lay down on the bed next to me, on top of the blanket, not under, keeping distance, but close enough that I could feel his warmth. He was still in his white shirt and tuxedo pants, not touching me, just lying next to me, looking at the ceiling, at the black ceiling with tiny lights like stars.

"Now close your eyes," he said.

I closed my eyes.

"Now breathe with me. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four."

I breathed with him. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

His breathing was slow, calm. Mine was fast, but slowly became calm too.

"Now think of Lake Como in the morning. Not black. Blue. With sun. With birds. With your brother's soul not in the deep black water with stones, but up, in the sun, watching you, proud that his little sister is brave."

I breathed. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

"And think that tomorrow, Agent Elara Cruz will send a confession to Interpol and put two killers in prison. And she will do it wearing a diamond necklace and no pants, with bandaged feet, like a real mafia queen."

I laughed, eyes closed. "Mafia queen? I'm NBI."

"Mafia queen is better. Better pay. Better clothes. Better devil."

"Pervert devil."

"Yes. Now sleep. Take off fear. Keep t-shirt on. Keep necklace on. Keep bandages on. Keep everything on. Just take off fear."

I breathed with him, in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, and slowly, my fear did start to come off, like a heavy coat I had been wearing for two years since Marco died.

For the first time in two years, I fell asleep without thinking about my brother's dead face. I thought about blue Lake Como in the morning, with sun, and with Killian's warm voice breathing next to me.

I fell asleep on Day 2, next to the Devil, wearing his t-shirt, his mother's diamond necklace, bandaged feet, no pants, no fear.

And outside, in the basement guest room, Enzo Rossi was sleeping with two guards watching him, holding a confession that would destroy the Blackwood family tomorrow morning.

Day 3 would be war.

But tonight, Day 2, was peace.

28 days left in the contract.

And I didn't want to leave.