The Darkest Devotion

CHAPTER NINE

GABRIELLA

The next school day is torture before it even begins.

I wake up before my alarm rings, dragging myself out of bed and into the shower just to keep my mind from spiraling. Steam curls around me, but it doesn’t clear the raging thoughts in my head.

How do I navigate my new life? How do I navigate having a freaking bodyguard?

We haven’t been together for up to twenty-four hours, and I’ve already bashed a car against a wall and given myself a mini concussion. What next is bound to happen?

“Arghh!” I groan, pulling the ends of my hair.

The more I think about the day ahead, the tighter my stomach twists into knots. By the time I’m dressed for school, the knots are as tight as the ponytail throbbing at the back of my head.

I grab my small, fancy backpack and take in a deep, shaky inhale before stepping out of my room.

The apartment is completely silent. There’s no sign of him anywhere. I glance down the empty hallway that leads straight to his room. The doors are closed, and it doesn’t seem like he’s inside.

I tamp down the relief washing over me as I head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, probably a bowl of cereal. Leon is still nowhere to be found, but I see a fresh fruit plate waiting for me on the kitchen counter.

Did he make this?

“He would never,” I snort out loud.

I imagine Leon’s big frame in the kitchen, chopping up fruits for me with that emotionless look on his face.

Nah. Someone else did this. A private chef, maybe. I had one back in Italy, and I wouldn’t put it past Papa to get me one here, just so he’s sure I’m eating well.

I roll my eyes as I move to take a bottle of water from the fridge. I find a note glued to the fridge with a magnet.

‘Good morning, Miss Gabriella,

Your father has requested that I prepare all your meals. Could you please write down your favorite dishes or anything you’d like me to make for you this week? I want to be sure your meals are to your taste.

– Chef Elena.’

“Of course, he got me a chef,” I mutter to myself.

Annoyance sparks in me, but so does gratitude. Papa knows I can’t cook. It’s not my fault that I can’t—he never let me learn—but at least, he doesn’t want me to starve. How thoughtful.

So I save all my annoyance and anger for my bodyguard, whom I still haven’t seen a sign of.

What if he’s actually gone?

Maybe he decided he’s had enough of this and disappeared. Good. Let him quit.

I take a bite of apple and watermelon before heading downstairs, clutching onto that small hope. But the moment I step out of the elevator into the garage, the air leaves my lungs.

He’s there.

Leaning casually against the car like he owns the world, my world, and there’s nothing I can do about it. The black surface is polished, and the huge dent I left in the car hood from nearly killing myself last night is gone.

He’s in all black—a black button-down shirt, black tailored pants, and shoes that look a bit too expensive to be worn by a regular bodyguard. I refuse to acknowledge how snug the shirt fits against his frame, not too tight but tight enough to notice his muscular arms. I refuse to acknowledge how tall he is compared to me, how the sharp edges of his clean-shaven jaw cuts into my chest, making my breathing heavier.

My steps falter slightly. He notices; I know he does because his head tilts the slightest bit in my direction, but he doesn’t move. Black sunglasses hide his eyes, but I know those piercing green eyes are staring right at me.

I am not a violent person, but I feel the urge to smack those ridiculous glasses right off him.

Forcing my legs to work again, I stomp toward him, refusing to let him see how much he unsettles me.

The drive is somehow worse than yesterday’s.

The air in the car is thick, like it’s pressing down on my chest. I can hear my own breathing, the soft hum of the engine, and the faint click when he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. Not one word passes between us. There’s no music to even make things less tense. I’m tempted to connect my playlist to the car stereo, just to annoy him, but I’m too tense to even move.

I decide to focus on more important things, like ways I could make him quit.

Getting myself in trouble so that he gets in trouble with Papa? Been there, done that. He fixed the car without a complaint. Something tells me Papa prepared him for this.

Getting him in trouble so he gives up? I scoff internally. Look at the man. I don’t have the power to get someone like him in trouble.

Ugh! What do I do?

My thoughts wither away when I realize we’re pulling into my school parking lot. Thank God. I get to spend at least ten hours without him breathing down my neck.

The car comes to a stop. Before I gather my things and reach for the door handle, he’s already out of the car and opening my door with that calm precision of his.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath as I look outside the window.

Students glance up from their conversations and slow down their steps to watch the ridiculous display that is my presence. Some whisper amongst themselves, and some just gawk outright.

It’s not enough that I roll up in a lavish car like I’m auditioning for a popularity contest. No, I have to be escorted out of it by a man dressed head to toe in black. The whole deal is screaming high-maintenance princess, which is unnecessary since everyone here comes from a wealthy home.

Heat floods my face as I step out. I grip my bag like it’s a shield and march away from him.

The car door slams shut, and that’s when I hear his crunching footsteps behind me.

I spin around to glare at him. “Are you following me?”

He slips his hands into his pockets. That’s the response I get.

“I know the way to my class,” I hiss. “And don’t worry, there are no shooters hiding in the hallways and waiting to kill me.”

His face twitches for a split second that I almost miss it.

“You can stop following me now and go wait in the car like a normal bodyguard.”

He doesn't acknowledge me at all. Instead, he starts walking closer towards me.

My teeth grind together. “If you don’t stop following me, I swear I’ll make a scene right here.”

That gets me a response. “Go ahead. You’ll only be embarrassing yourself. I don’t care.” His voice is calm, almost bored.

My chest burns with fury. I spin back around and storm towards my department building, my cheeks flaming as his heavy footsteps echo behind me.

Heads turn as we walk down the hall. People nudge each other. My stomach twists tighter with every stare until I finally spot Lisa and Nicole.

They’re waiting near the studio doors, their expressions flipping from surprise to confusion the moment their eyes land on Leon trailing me.

Lisa’s the first to speak. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

I try to sound casual, but it comes out strained. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t you dare deflect.” Lisa folds her arms. “First you ditch your own birthday party, disappear all weekend, send one text that says I’m okay, and then you show up to school with—” She jerks her chin at Leon. “—him.”

Nicole’s eyes dart between me and Leon like she can’t decide which is more interesting. Actually, she’s staring a little too long at him. I want to scream.

Her smirk is razor-sharp when she speaks. “Let me guess. Daddy got you a babysitter?”

Her tone is light and joking, but I can feel the passive-aggressive sting beneath it.

I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t help. I can feel Lisa still staring too, her eyes glued to Leon like he’s a walking candy. But he doesn’t look at them, just at me. He waits at a post until we reach our classroom. Only then does he finally step back, disappearing down the hallway.

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The three of us walk into the big studio classroom for Contemporary Dance, one of those cursed compulsory classes that forces every student into the same sweaty room twice a week. The air hums with chatter and the squeak of shoes against the polished floors as more students shuffle in.

The professor isn’t here yet, which means Lisa and Nicole immediately close in on me like vultures.

“So?” Lisa presses. “Start talking.”

Nicole leans in, whispering fast. “Seriously, Gabby. Spill. You vanish for days, send us one cryptic ‘I’m okay’ text, and then show up with a bodyguard. Bodyguard. What aren’t you telling us?”

Even Nicole sounds genuinely worried.

I bite the inside of my cheek, debating if I should tell the whole truth or give a more digestible version of the story.

My throat goes dry. Should I? Shouldn’t I?

They’re my friends. They would believe me… right? Besides, that’s the point of friendship. If I can’t tell them things like this, then who can I tell?

“You guys didn’t see the news?” I ask carefully.

They glance at each other, then shake their heads.

My palms sweat. The words claw their way up anyway. “There was… an attack. At the restaurant my Papa and I had dinner on my birthday night. Some assassins attempted to kill him, to kill us.”

Silence drops like a stone for one, maybe two seconds.

Then they both burst out laughing.