CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Daniela
I’ve hada clear image of Heaven in my head since childhood, thanks to my parents. A devout Catholic, my father entertained this clichéd fantasy of a soul being greeted by angels playing the harp in a pool of white light—and, until now, I never had any reason to doubt that hope.
Reality paints a different picture, however. My heaven is black, and the only serenade I hear consists of angry, masculine voices.
“You think it’s that fucking easy?” someone snarls. “You just hand me the reins and I’m what? King for a day untilDaddydecides to come back home?”
“No,” another man growls. “You fucking keep it. I never wanted it—”
“That’s not how it goddamn works, Dante! I know you’ve been on ‘vacation’ for a while, but there’s only one way the alpha stops being alpha. Just ask Dino...”
“Do you really want to try that method?”
The moment that dangerous tone resonates down my spine, Iknow where I really am. The pearly gates of Heaven must have slammed in my face; this is the devil’s domain.
From what I can gather, Lucifer himself and one of his trusted demons are arguing about who really owns the fiery pit.
“Ishouldchallenge you for it,” the first man starts—Arno?—but his voice doesn’t hold any real aggression. Just...pain? Hurt? Regret?
“You could,” the devil concedes. “I won’t fucking stop you.”
It’s more of a dare than a taunt. Tension builds, licking at the silence like flames. Higher...higher...until something has to give.
“Damn it, Dante... Fine,” Arno spits out finally. “Have it your fucking way. But, if you think for one second that you can just waltz back in and I’ll roll over like a good little boy, then you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been doing just fine on my own. I’m nobody’s fucking benchwarmer.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” the devil snaps, but his voice is softer and easily drowned by the thud of heavy footsteps.
What I assume is a door slams shut seconds later and my perception shifts once again. I’m in a room.
When I finally manage to peel my eyes open, I’m blinded by daylight streaming in through a nearby window—not hellfire. My searching fingers deduce that I’m on a bed, and even with my vision blurry, I have no trouble recognizing the dark silhouette lurking beside it.
When he’s awake, there is nothing about him similar to the fallen angel I watched sleep. His bulk is glaringly out of place here, and his scars shape everything about him—how he sits, waits, breathes. Scanning his worn expression, I don’t see any new scorch marks, however, so I doubt he walked through fire to find me.
But where are we now?
Without saying a word, he waits for me to notice the tubes snaking from my wrist and the bags of fluid hanging from a nearby IV, which answer the question I’m too tired to ask:ahospital room. He’s not alone, either. Someone is sleeping on a small couch beside him, using their bandaged hand like a pillow.Darcy? No, this figure is way too tall, with an unruly mop of black hair...
A flurry of beeping pierces the air—an alarm sounding from the machine monitoring my vitals. It doesn’t like how quickly I sit up and struggle to regain control of my heavy limbs.
“Espi?”
The specter on the couch groans, turning his face toward the crook of his elbow. Hesoundsreal enough... My brain warns me that it’s impossible, but when I blink, he doesn’t disappear.
“Is...is he all right—”
“He’s fine,” Dante grunts, gritting his teeth—but “fine” seems to be the operative word in this equation.
Guilt gnaws at my chest when I take in Espi’s bruised face and the mess made of his right hand. He might not be dead, but he survived his trip into hell with plenty of souvenirs.
The thought makes me glance down at my own hand, which is covered in gauze. My fingers seem to be intact, but when I flex them, a dull ache travels up the length of my arm, triggering a wave of memories:white-hot flames licking at my skin. Smoke. Burning. Death. Dying...
“How?” I look up while my tongue runs along my sore, cracked lips, tasting blood. “How did I...”
“Gino,” Lucifer grits out. “Turns out he wasn’t so loyal to your precious Vinny after all.” Anger rides every single word, searing hot—though the devil doesn’t even seem to understandwhyhe’s furious as he stares down at his open hands. They’re bruised and swollen even worse than before.
Like an arrow to the chest, something warns me thatI’mthe reason. While maybe not through the actual fire, my devil did go through hell, if only to drag his new toy from a rival’s grip. Not that it did one damn bit of good.
