Devil’s Lily: Chapter 9

The amber scotch catches the light as I twirl the tumbler between my fingertips, eyes fixed on my sleeping redhead. She looks so tiny, completely swallowed up by the thick blankets, her face peaceful in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest. My fingers twitch with the urge to move closer, to trace the soft curve of her cheek, but I don’t. Instead, I lean back in the chair, forcing myself to stay put. That’s not what this is about.

The moment she texted me her name, I knew who she was. Përmeti’s mysterious daughter, the precious jewel we’ve only ever heard about via the rumor mills. A ghost, really. Nobody knew her age or what she looked like. Aside from the closest members of her family and Përmeti’s men, I doubt anyone had ever actually seen the girl.

If she truly was not allowed to leave the compound, as she said, then that makes sense.

In fact, I’d nearly convinced myself his daughter had died along with his wife ten years ago, on that beach where his family was attacked. Because that was the last time anyone had reported seeing her. Yet here she is, right in my grasp.

I couldn’t let this chance to control Përmeti slip through my fingers. What luck to have found her just when she was itching to escape her cage. Unfortunately for her, she’s only traded her father’s cage for another: mine.

A restless moan breaks the silence, and I place the scotch on the table next to me, steepling my fingers as I watch her fight her way to consciousness. I was hoping she’d remain knocked out until we landed, but oh well, that can’t be helped, I suppose.

Her eyes snap open, brows furrowing as she takes in my jet’s bedroom—scanning, assessing. When it clicks that she’s somewhere unfamiliar, she’s up in a flash—feet planted, knees bent, fists raised. So, someone taught the precious princess how to defend herself. Interesting.

As her gaze zeroes in on me, those pretty green-brown eyes swirl and harden with anger. But fuck, that only highlights the spattering of golden dots on her nose and underneath her eyes. Freckles. Never thought I’d have a thing for them.

“You bastard, where did you take me?” she growls, remaining in her fighting stance. I wave a hand at her to sit down, which only pisses her off more.

“I guess the legendary redhead temper is not a myth, after all.” I comment mildly, testing the waters.

And there it is—the spark. Her fists tighten, her eyes narrowing into pure, murderous slits. Hell, if she could breathe fire, I’d be nothing but charred toast right now. I can’t help it; my lips twitch in amusement. Cute.

Then, like I flicked a switch, she starts marching towards me, each step packed with intent. Death stare in full effect.

She’s a bold little thing, I’ll give her that. Part of me wants to let her close the gap, just to see what she thinks she can do.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” I say, the warning clear, though I already know that’s not going to slow her down. Not with that look in her eye. I sigh, rubbing my temple. “I didn’t want to have to play this card so soon. I wanted us to land first and⁠—”

“Land?” she cuts in, freezing mid-step before whipping her head towards the window. Her eyes widen, and she practically lunges for the thick gray curtains, yanking them aside. The gasp she lets out is so dramatic it’s almost theatrical. “You’re smuggling me out of the country?” Pure scandal drips from every whispered word, like I’ve just committed high treason.

“No, sweetheart, not quite. We’re only making a quick stop in Vegas. We’ll be back in New York tomorrow.” I roll up my sleeve to check the time. “And actually, we’re landing soon, so I suggest you sit down unless you’re a fan of turbulence.”

“Landing soon? In Las Vegas?” She spins back to me, eyes blazing again. “How long was I out? What the hell did you give me!?” Her anger is back in full force, and honestly, it’s kind of impressive how fast she cycles through emotions.

I wave it off casually. “Just a mild sedative. Nothing sinister.” But of course, she’s not buying it. If anything, she looks even more pissed. She snaps the curtains back into place and starts marching towards me again just as the plane dips into descent. The sudden tilt sends her lurching forward, and before she can hit the floor, I’m on my feet, cursing as I catch her.

“For fuck’s sake, I told you to sit down.” My hand wraps around her upper arm, and—fuck—that instant jolt zings right up my spine as I steer her towards the chair next to mine. Once she’s seated, I retake my own seat.

She crumples forward, shoulders hunching in defeat as she buries her face in her hands. “The one time I rebel, I get kidnapped. Roan was right. Oh God, Atë.” Her head snaps up suddenly, those enchanting eyes burning with desperate urgency. “Does my father know you’ve kidnapped me? What do you want? Ransom money?”

Money? How mundane.

I scoff, insulted by the worry on her face. “No, Elira. Hurting you isn’t the plan. On the contrary.” The plane eases onto the runway, and I stand, offering her a hand. She slaps it away with a roll of her eyes as she gets up on her own.

“I’m not setting foot off this plane unless we’re back in New York. So you can go tell your pilot to turn back around immediately.” Her hands plant themselves on her hips, chin lifted in defiance. “Whatever you want, trust me, my father will give it to you. You’ve won. You don’t need this over-the-top charade of flying me out of the country.”

“We’re still in the country,” I point out, and she lets out this adorable, exasperated growl. I swallow my chuckle, pretty sure that won’t go down well with her.

“You know what I mean!”

“Look, while I’m sure your father loves you enough to bend to my demands, I doubt he’ll give me what I want quite so easily. Besides, I’m not one to ask for permission, so I simply took what I wanted.”

“Oh? And that is?” she asks with derision.

I hold her gaze as I answer, “You.”

The color drains from her cheeks, and I watch in fascination as emotions war across her expressive face. Surprise, a flicker of something that looks dangerously like pleasure—quickly buried under an avalanche of confused fury. That brief glimpse of pleasure intrigues me. Maybe there’s more to her than I thought.

It drags me back to that impulsive kiss she threw my way earlier, a bold move I sure as hell didn’t see coming. But the way her lips pressed against mine, the hesitant brush of her tongue, spoke volumes about her inexperience. No practice—just raw, tentative want. It was unexpectedly sweet, and it stoked something in me, something dark and greedy, something that hadn’t been part of the plan when I followed her to that park.

“Me?” she finally manages. “What do you mean, me? I’m not an object you can just take.”

I shrug, walking out of the room, and her footsteps follow me exactly as I expected. Every quick step of hers behind me is practically vibrating with her simmering fury. I lead her down to the cabin’s spacious meeting area, my temporary office when I travel, and wave a hand for her to take the leather chair across the table from me.

Her gaze flicks to the desert landscape stretching out beyond the window, then returns suspiciously as I slide the document I had my lawyer draft up at the last minute this morning towards her. She picks it up with a cute furrow between her brows, but as she reads it, they shoot up to her hairline, her eyes wide with disbelief all over them.

God, she’s easy to read. It’s refreshing after years of dealing with faces carved from stone.

The moment she comprehends what she’s reading, she drops the document like it’s a ticking time bomb as she glares up at me. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to sign this or marry you.”

I glance down at the prenup. “The terms are fair to you.” And they are. Thirty percent of my wealth—at least the legal ones—will be hers as soon as we’re legally married. She’ll also get a black card to shop for all her needs and a car, even though she won’t have any reason to use it—but she doesn’t know that part yet—and so much more. “Do you want to add anything else? I’m open to negotiate.”

“Oh my God, you really are crazy.” She looks at me like I’m a whole different species. “You kidnapped me, psycho. I don’t even know your name and you expect me to negotiate marriage terms with you? No way in hell. And once my father gets wind of this, you’re as good as dead. That is if I don’t end you first.”

I wait for her tirade to finish before I give a slight bow. “I suppose it wouldn’t do for my own bride not to know my name.” I lean in just enough to watch her reaction. “Maximo Leonotti, at your service, dolcezza.”

She inhales sharply, but it’s not because I called her ‘sweetness’. Recognition floods her face, draining it of color once again as understanding dawns in her eyes. Hmm. “I take it you know me? Or at least you’ve heard of me?” I ask, watching her carefully.

“There’s not a soul alive who hasn’t heard of the Nightshades.” She spits the name out like poison, and I smirk. I can’t imagine her father talking to her about business, but she’s a smart one, my wife-to-be.

“Knowing who you are doesn’t change anything, Maximo.” My name becomes a curse on her lips. “I’m not going to marry you, not even if you torture me or put a gun to my head.”

I sigh sadly. “I was afraid you’d say that.” I take out my phone, hesitating before I unlock it because I know this will change the dynamic between us. If she didn’t hate me already, this will seal the deal.

Well, it can’t be helped. I don’t want her affections anyway—just her, and the frustration and anger the knowledge of his precious daughter with me will cause her father. And if a gun to her head won’t give me her consent, perhaps a gun to someone else’s head will.

Without a word, I pull up my media gallery and hand her the phone. She doesn’t need any prompting to play the video. The gasp that escapes her lips says it all. I can’t see the screen from this angle, but I know exactly what she’s watching; I’ve replayed it so many times it’s burned into my memory.

The scene unfolds with my man on the rooftop of the three-story building next to Përmeti’s main house in his gated estate, the one built for his men. But I had a few of mine infiltrate it yesterday while the distraction for my little redhead to run into my arms was in full force.

The video starts with my sniper on his knees, steadying his rifle against the railing, eye pressed to the scope, watching his target. Then the camera pans over to the main house, zooming in on a second-floor window, revealing the prey—a man in his office, swallowing some suspicious-looking pills.

Afrim Përmeti.

Elira’s face turns ghostly pale, her grip on my phone white-knuckled as she struggles to breathe. “There’s another video. Swipe left,” I tell her, hating the way the fight drains out of her. I liked her fire, damn it.

She swipes. The next video mirrors the first but features a different target. Roan Përmeti sits on a quiet sidewalk outside of a small coffee shop that belongs to his uncle, completely unaware of the crosshair trained on him.

She turns a worrying shade of green, and her cheeks seem to swell as she drops the phone almost as quickly as she dropped the prenup.

I force myself to speak so she understands what the video is about. “So you see, Elira. You’ll marry me, or my man will blow your father’s head off his stubborn neck, and your brother will follow him.”

She bolts from her chair, fleeing towards the bedroom at the back of the jet. Against my better judgment, worry gnaws at me as I get up to follow her. For fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t care how she’s taking this. She’s my enemy.

But I follow her anyway, right into the jet’s bedroom. The ensuite door is wide open, and I find her on her knees in front of the toilet bowl, emptying her stomach. My chest tightens at the sight. And as I stand there watching her, I can’t ignore the sharp stab of guilt winding its way through me.

I did that to her.