Don’t Fall for the Devil, Alice.

Don’t Fall for the Devil, Alice.
The gunfire outside flared, a sharp burst that made me flinch, my heart racing. Reid didn’t move, his vigilance unbroken, but the sound pulled me back to the present, to the war raging beyond these walls. 

Tiberio was out there, fighting, maybe bleeding, and the memory of my hug—Please, come back—burned in my chest, a betrayal of my own survival instincts. 

Why did I care if he lived or died? Why did his mocking smirk, his whiskey-scented threat, linger in my mind like a drug? 

I buried my face in my hands, frustration and fear warring within me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, legs crossed too tight. The pressure in my bladder finally won the standoff with my pride.

I stood, making my way toward the door. As expected, Reid’s eyes snapped to attention like I’d just reached for a bomb trigger. 

His brows lifted—wordless, but loud.

I rolled my eyes, exasperation flaring. 

“To the washroom,” I hissed out, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You want to tag along?”

A flicker of annoyance and disgust crossed his face, but he said nothing, stepping aside with a stiff nod. I glanced back as I walked away, half-expecting his shadow to trail me, but surprisingly, he stayed put, his gaze still locked on me like a predator tracking prey. 

Relief mingled with suspicion—Reid would not let me out of his sight without a reason. Something is up.

Just as I reached the elevator, a familiar figure stepped into view like a phantom slipping from the walls, startling me.

Calla.

She was draped in her usual fitted black maid uniform and flat shoes that made no sound on the marble floor.

Perfectly composed. Perfectly suspicious.

Her hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and her face wore that same practiced smile—too polite, too polished to be real.

“Calla,” I called, my voice tinged with surprise, my hand pausing on the keypad as I punched in my floor number.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. 

She followed, her presence both comforting and unsettling.

“Don Tiberio asked us to keep an eye on you,” she said, her voice light but firm. “It’s crazy outside.”

I rolled my eyes inwardly. 

Us. Of course. I should have known. Reid letting me out of his sight wasn’t freedom—it was delegation. 

I scoffed softly under my breath, my chest tightening with the illusion of choice.

“But the enemies wouldn’t dare come into the house. Would they?” I asked, more out of irritation than curiosity.

Calla chuckled—a low, unbothered sound that somehow made me more nervous. 

“It’s the mafia, Alice. Enemies are everywhere—even insiders can be traitors.” Her words were flat, stripped of emotion, and they sent a chill down my spine. 

I stared at her, longer than I meant to, searching for a hint of her intent.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped out into the hallway leading to my room. 

Silence hung between us, heavy with her last statement, until she broke it with another chuckle, leading the way. 

“Don’t worry, Alice,” she said lightly. “I’m not a traitor. I’ve watched that man—” she paused, voice dipping low, “—wipe out an entire family. Parents, siblings, cousins. Over one mistake.”

She paused, her tongue clicking. “So But betrayal?” Her eyes shimmered with something cold and ancient. “That gets you flayed alive.”

Her eyes held a haunting glint, and I couldn’t tell if I should feel relieved by her loyalty or terrified by her reverence for Tiberio’s brutality. 

Wipe out an entire family? The thought turned my stomach, a stark reminder of the monster I was caged by. 

I stayed silent, my mind reeling, processing the weight of her words.

“So, what’s the crash about?” I asked, desperate to shift the conversation.

Calla shrugged, her steps casual but her voice measured. 

“Christian Montez, a DEVescori rival, planted a mole to steal information.”

My mouth formed a small “o,” surprise mingling with curiosity. “And how did you find out?” I pressed.

She laughed, a genuine sound this time. “I overheard Don Tiberio talking with Antonio, his father’s best friend.”

The mention of family sparked a realization. Since I’d arrived, Tiberio had only ever mentioned Silas. 

No parents, no other relatives. We weren’t friends, so he owed me no explanations—but the absence of any hint felt deliberate. 

“So, his parents…” I ventured, hesitating. “They don’t stay here?”

Calla’s expression sobered. “They’re dead. His father, at least. No one knows about Samantha, their mother.”

Her words carried a weight, a story left untold, and I knew pushing further would yield nothing. 

I wanted to ask more. I wanted to pry. I wanted to dig into the dark grave that was Tiberio DeVescori’s past. 

But something told me curiosity could get me killed faster than betrayal. So I let it go—for now.

I needed to stay alive—for my vendetta, for my freedom.

“Sorry, I’m bugging,” I said, forcing a small smile. 

“But I have one last question, I hope you can answer.” Calla’s eyes softened, encouraging, though her voice held a warning.

“I hope I can, Alice. Some things are better left unsaid,” she reminded, and I nodded, swallowing my nerves.

“The chaos outside… it’s intense,” I stammered, struggling to voice the question gnawing at me. 

“Will he survive it? I mean, Tiberio. Will he make it out alive? It sounds bloody out there.”

Calla’s smile returned, warm but knowing, as she placed a hand on my arm. 

“This is nothing compared to what he’s faced before. He might lose some men, but that’s all. Everyone knows the DEVescori are the most powerful mafia clan in the underworld. His enemies know not to double-cross him, but they did—and that’s a death sentence.”

Her words steadied me, a strange relief washing over me, though I couldn’t explain why.

“Alice,” Calla said, her voice drawing out my name, her tone flat, unreadable. I hummed in response, avoiding her gaze.

“Do you care about Don Tiberio?” She asked, and my cheeks flushed, embarrassment flooding me.

That question didn’t come with judgment—but it didn’t come with warmth either. It just hung there, raw and unadorned.

I cleared my throat, scoffing to cover my unease. 

“Of… of course not. I.. I am asking because I think It’d just be a shame if he died like that.”

Her gaze burned into me, but she said nothing, letting the silence stretch. 

Then, softly, she spoke again. 

“You shouldn’t care.” I turned to look at her, but she wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You’ll only fall for him and be left with scars that never heal.”

Was it a threat? A warning? Or heartbreak disguise as advice? I couldn’t tell, but her words settled like a stone in my stomach. 

I opened my mouth to respond, but the gunfire outside flared, a sharp burst that made me flinch. 

Calla’s hand tightened briefly on my arm before she released me, her smile returning as if nothing had happened.

“Let’s get you to your room,” she said, guiding me down the hallway. “The washroom’s there, but don’t linger. Tiberio’s orders.”