Diavolo

1

WHAM!

Elyse groaned into her pillow, swearing in the same breath, "Vete a la chingada." Fuck off.

WHAM!

But the uninvited guest had no intention of fucking off. It sounded like he was about to shatter her front door with his pounding fist.

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

Dead tired, Elyse wanted nothing more than to ignore the relentless asshole. But doing so would only lead to bigger problems. She rolled over to grab her phone, not the regular one, but the burner that hid her fucked up predicament from the world. Its screen glowed in the dark as she checked the time. 2:07 am. Elyse winced as her vision adjusted to the light. A barrage of notifications greeted her. Seventeen unread texts. Five missed calls. All from the same asshole who was currently trying to break into her apartment.

What fresh hell was he bringing to her doorstep this time?

He was saved in her contacts as Pendejo, but his real name was Stefano Russo. Some people could take no for an answer. Stefano wasn't one of them. He expected her world to revolve around him. Usually, Elyse replied as soon as possible whenever his demands popped up on her phone. Today was the exception. The hospital had been more chaotic than usual. In addition to scheduled procedures, she'd been summoned to the ER. After treating a teenager with burns on both hands, a car accident victim with a traumatic brain injury, and a smoker who needed a part of her lung removed, her mind felt frayed, nerves were shot, and exhaustion took over. By the time Elyse made it home, the burner diminished to an afterthought, and she'd collapsed in bed without switching out of silent mode.

Such a fuck up was about to cost her.

Elyse forced her body out of bed in a half-awake stupor. Lethargic steps led her to the front door. Rising on her toes, she peered through the peephole. Her mouth flattened into a tight line. As she feared, Stefano and his merry band of fuckers had come to call in another favor. Through the small, rounded glass, two men in their forties came into view. She recognized Stefano and Mikey right away. But a third man also accompanied them. He was younger than the others, and she didn't recognize him at all. Elyse honed in on the last fucker. Something felt off.

"Just... a minute," she called out hesitantly.

"Open the door," came the terse reply, "before we kick it down."

Tension strained her jaw as Elyse undid the chain guards. She then unlocked the swing guards. Finally, she got to the slide bolts. There were seven locks in total. These barriers, Elyse suspected, were useless against the criminals they were guarding against, but the delusion of being in control helped her sleep at night.

With a turn of the knob, the door swung open to reveal the three dark-haired men. They stood like reapers in the shadows. Well, technically, she noted, only two of them were standing. Slumped like a ragdoll, the third man's arms were draped over Stefano and Mikey's shoulders. He'd probably be facedown on the ground if they weren't supporting his weight.

Curiosity trickled through dread. Elyse recognized Stefano, of course, and his long-time associate, Mikey, but she'd never laid eyes on the third man, and her memory was damn near photographic. Stefano and Mikey never brought new faces to her door. Discretion was key to their operation. She sensed the man wasn't a nobody. Guys like Stefano and Mikey wouldn't bend rules for nobodies. This stranger was definitely a somebody. Important enough for them to care whether he lived or died. Or maybe he simply owed them a fuckton of money. Greedy shits.