The Darkest Devotion

CHAPTER EIGHT

LEON

It’s raining heavily, freezing water pouring down in violent torrents from the angry sky. The earth beneath my feet rumbles as an angry roar of thunder bellows through the night. My breath comes out in short pants as I dash through the empty streets, the darkness illuminated by the bright, thick swirl of red and orange in my peripheral vision on both sides. All the houses that line the street are consumed by fire, the downpour acting as fuel to the flames instead of putting them out.

Footsteps slam against the ground in heavy thuds behind me. Large, dark shadows cross the streets with me, deep snarls and mocking taunts surrounding the air around me.

“You won’t run forever, boy.”

A hot trail of tears slips down my eyes, coming down to my slightly open lips. I taste the liquid—my salty pain diluted by rainwater. My thin, small frame trembles from the cold, my small feet propelling me forward even though my lungs are on the brink of collapse.

I dash out of my street into the muddy roads of a neighboring area. The houses here are not on fire; they are already burnt. Charred remains of buildings that once stood tall, saved from turning to ashes by the angry rain.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the darkness. I take a quick glance over my shoulder to see my pursuers have gotten even closer to me than before. Panic explodes in my stomach, stoking the adrenaline rush flowing in my veins. My legs move faster, but my body doesn’t follow suit. The ground is soft when my legs sink into it but forms a hard grip around me when I try to take another step.

A scream rips out of my throat as a sharp pain slashes across my back. Two hands land on my shoulders, pulling me back. My elbow swings behind me, landing on thick flesh. I get a grunt in response before a heavy blow whips my face to the side. With fury and pain boiling inside me, I try to fight back, but the hands on me have multiplied. Someone grabs my two hands and secures them behind me. Another punches my stomach while I’m simultaneously being shoved down to the ground.

“Let me go,” I scream, or at least I try to, but no sound leaves my lips.

Suddenly, something shifts in the air. The large men surrounding me freeze before taking position at my sides, letting me see what is ahead. Who is ahead.

A man steps forward, a large black cloak covering his body and dragging against the mud as he moves. His face is shrouded in shadows, but I see his eyes. They are sharp yet deep, a swirl of greenish-brown filled with death.

It is the last thing I see before he points his gun to my face and pulls the trigger.

My eyes snap open as my body jerks off the soft mattress beneath me. Heavy panting fills the air as I take in my surroundings. The gun on the dresser behind me, my soaked pillows, and the wall clock on the wall ahead of me.

It’s 3:00am.

The exact time I always wake up from my nightmares. The exact time my life changed many years ago.

“Fuck.” It leaves my mouth in a hiss as I throw my legs over the bed. The bitter aftermath of the recurring nightmare lingers in my chest as I make my way across the room. I’ve had the same nightmare for years, all different versions of the same night sixteen years ago. Every dream ends with the sight of Tomaso’s razor-sharp hazel eyes.

I push the bathroom door open. The air in here is colder, the atmosphere chillier. I shove my sweatpants down my legs before kicking them off and stepping into the shower. It’s no use trying to go back to bed. I’m never able to sleep after a nightmare.

I twist the shower knob and welcome the bite of cold water against my skin. I haven’t had a nightmare in months. When they first started, it was from a place of fear of what happened that night. As time passed, the fear turned to anger, then helplessness. It bounced between the two—anger at myself for not being able to get revenge. But the moment I set my plans in motion, the nightmares stopped.

I guess spending my first night in an apartment Tomaso owns, with his daughter under the same roof, triggered something in that part of my brain.

A dull pain squeezes my throat, and I proceed to scrub every emotion threatening to crawl out of my chest off my body. I dry off my body, brush my teeth, and get dressed for the day. It’s just 4:00am by the time I’m done, so I decide to catch up on some work.

I head over to the mini workspace I set up last night—a simple chair and desk in the corner of the room where my laptop, alongside other important work gadgets, has been arranged. Settling into the chair, I turn on my laptop. While waiting for it to boot, my mind wanders.

To her.

She must be deep asleep now. I could easily head over to her room and put a bullet in her head. Better still, tie her up and send the footage to her father, which will send him on the next flight back to New York. I could do what Ivy initially suggested—torture her and use her as bait to get Tomaso to do my bidding. I could get it all, right here, right now.

But I won’t.

It’s too soon, too stupid, too reckless. I’m neither of these. I pride myself on being a patient man. I’ve waited for this moment for sixteen years. I can’t f**k it up now.

My mind travels a few hours back to the little stunt she tried to pull in the parking lot. Her father was right—she’s a brat. She acts like someone who isn’t used to not getting what she wants, which in this case is me. A little streak of humor rises in my throat. She thought she could escape me. She did try, and the speed at which everything happened did surprise me. The humor slowly trickles down when I realize she could have driven away if she knew how to drive.

She wouldn’t have been able to escape me completely—I could find wherever she’s heading to or hiding in minutes—but the time spent trying to find her could be spent doing something more important. She is a nuisance, and again, her father was right. She will try to make my job harder for me.

My mind circles back to another thought. She’s twenty, and she can’t drive. It makes me wonder where exactly Tomaso kept her all these years and the many other things she might not be able to do.

The thoughts dissipate with a small shake of my head. I don’t care about that. My job here is to keep her safe, learn more about Tomaso while doing that, and earn his trust before I eventually strike.

I go through my messages, which are limited to The Strays group chat and a few personal messages from my friends. One particular message in the group chat makes me stop scrolling.

KAI: Milo Cortez is in town.

Milo Cortez, one of our main targets, is one of the men responsible for shipping young girls from low-income families in America to Italy. For Tomaso. He takes them under the guise of a modeling agency that scouts girls young, claiming to have made the biggest models in Europe and selling them dreams that America can’t provide them.

We’ve been tracking him for months now, but the man’s security is as tight as the ridiculous clothes he wears. I assume it’s to put on the fashion enthusiast persona of his.

IVY: He’s mine.

Ivy has a personal vendetta against s*x traffickers, having been trafficked from Russia to Italy as a child herself.

KAI: Yes, ma’am. But first, I have to pin down his exact location and routine.

DANTE: Leon, will you be available for this mission?

The last message was sent by 12:07am this morning. I consider responding now but decide against it. I don’t have an answer yet. We’ve always gone on missions as a team, but I have another priority now.

I leave the question unanswered, deciding to plan for my day ahead instead. If Kai narrows down Milo’s movements and a date and time for the mission is fixed, only then can I decide.

The next few hours before dawn breaks are spent looking up all the information I can on my client’s school. Montclair Academy of the Arts. The most exclusive and expensive dance institution in the country, and one of the best and highest ranked. Of course, the man who killed the dreams of many children gets to send his own child to one of the best schools.

I feel that surge of anger again. This time, I don’t try to tamp it down. I let it simmer in my chest, let it fuel my determination for this mission, and let it fuel my hatred for Tomaso and anything related to him, including the girl sleeping a few walls away from me.

Especially her.