Rebelling is in my blood. A born defier straight from my mother's womb. I don't do well under someone else's authority. It's like combining coke cola with mentos, an explosion ready to happen. Selling my soul to another can only go on for so long until I find a better opportunity for myself. To be fair, I gave Diablo a generous amount of my time for the respect of our intertwined past.

Enough is enough.

A better opportunity appears over the horizon, and I am not getting left behind in his sinking boat.

It's time Diablo eats from the palm of my hands like the lapdog he is. Sometimes an asshole forgets their place, and I am here to show them where it is.

I might be younger.

Naive in my sweet, old mentor's eyes, but I'm here to demonstrate that a student can defeat their master.

The area is plagued with silence, streetlights trickling in from the open blinds. It's pin-drop silence, my breathing barely audible. One of the many talents Diablo has shared throughout our relationship. Maybe on his tombstone, I'll leave a heartfelt message for all the things he taught me.

My attention perks as the key jams into the lock, his force causing the knob to jiggle as he twists it. If I had a heart monitor attached to my body, the graph would outline a straight line. To get this heart running would probably be a good fuck session.

Just what I deserve after this is done and over with.

The walls vibrate as he swings the door opening, causing it to slam. He groans, kneading the kinks in his neck as he pushes his shoes off his feet. His keys are thrown in the dish by his door, and he beelines for the kitchen.

As quiet as a mouse, I tip-toe through the kitchen until I'm standing behind him. He opens the fridge with my pistol pressed against his occipital bone. He shakes his head with amusement as laughter escapes from his lips. For his own good, he slowly shuts the refrigerator and places his two hands criss-cross over his head.

"How the tables have turned, huh?" Diablo comments as I feel his body for any sign of a weapon. "Mika, if you wanted an excuse to feel me up, all you had to do was ask. You know I'll do anything for you."

Laughter of disbelief nearly slips out. "Funny. Now feet apart."

He yields to my request, standing in a wide stance as a yawn exits from his mouth. It fucking irks my soul to see how unbothered he is. But I'll let him relish these moments before everything is torn from him like a carpet beneath his feet. Dragging him by his hoodie, I shove him into the dining chair, and I position the gun on his chest.

His lips curve in an obnoxious smirk as his damp hair from the rain outside causes it to obscure one eye. "I figured you would want to talk when I got back, but I didn't expect this." He darkly chuckles, giving a side-eye to the pistol. "We can talk like adults, Mika. Put the gun down."

My grip tightens. "Maybe you have forgotten since you went ahead behind my back, but we already discussed this. Now, I'm not discussing. I'm demanding."

"Demanding what exactly?" Diablo asks, his shoulders shrugging as if he hasn't broken our deal.

My voice drops to a ferocious whisper. "To give Isabela back to me."

He doesn't say anything, face passive and eyes heartless. I don't know why I expected him to convey any resemblance of guilt. These people meant nothing to him. One step closer to another buck in his pocket. To think he swore he would never do what his father did looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the damned tree.

He raises a brow. "I have no recollection of what you're going on about. Who is Isabela?" A playful spark flashes in his irises.

My fingers tighten around his neckline, and I yank him closer, redirecting the pistol to his temple. How courageous of him to toy with his life. He lived a pretty eventful life. Maybe he wants a front-row ticket to hell.

"You know, exactly who she is."

"Do I?" His tongue snakes over his lips. "Let me think. A teenage girl around age fifteen, Spanish, five foot one, beautiful black hair reaching above her ass?"

My eyes narrow. "Sounds about right."

His eyebrows jump to his hairline. "Doesn't sound familiar at all."

Shoving him back, I take a deep breath and slam my fist against his cheek, throwing him off-guard. When he tries to feel for his cheek, I press the gun further into his head to keep him from moving.

"Mika," Diablo laughs, his lips crack with a smear of blood. "Put the gun down. We both know you aren't going to kill me. I'm too valuable to you. Just like how you're to me."

"Don't get so cocky." My voice mocks his calm, amused tone. "Are you sure you know what I am capable of?"

"Yes," he replies in all seriousness.

He truly doesn't see me as a threat.

Time for a little mind-fucking.

He jerks his head, trying to get the hair out from his face as he keeps his eyes on me. His eyes go round as my hands drop to his leg, firing a bullet straight into his thigh. Diablo's face contorts with pain, clutching onto his leg as he sinks to the floor. He yelps in pain as the blood drenches his dark pants and carpet.

"What the fuck, Mika!" Diablo exclaims, gnawing at his bottom lip with every movement.

Yanking him by the collar, I lift his body to have our faces within inches of each other. "You didn't understand. I wasn't asking. I am demanding. Take this as a little incentive to give me what I want. Or do you want to lose another limb?"

Diablo's lips quiver with bitterness. "Fuck you."

"Mmm," I hum, my lips morphing into a crazed grin. "Yes, fuck me. Now, be a little dear and tell me where Isabela is." I squeeze his cheek in a way to aggravate him further.

He extends his hand towards the drapes on his window. "Would you?"

Rolling my eyes, I tug the drape to the floor and hurl the fabric at his face. Diablo grunts bloody murder with his teeth gritted as he secures the drape over the bullet wound. The pistol swings back and forth in my hands as he moves like a snail to the couch, leaving a streak of blood. This is so pathetic.

"I can't give you Isabela," Diablo confesses, letting out a ragged breath.

Before I could align the gun with his other leg, Diablo shouts, "Wait! It's not that I don't want to give her to you. I physically can't."

My expression tightens. "What did you do with her?"

He bends forward, eyeing me with distress as he thrusts his fingers through his damp hair. "I sold her to Damien Moltisanti for ten million. A lot less for what his older brother offered for you."

My stomach plunges.

It's like the world is playing, guess who with the coincidences Isabela and I have. To think he kept in contact with these fuckers after they tried buying me. Not to mention the fact that he entertained the idea since Lorenzo Moltisanti offered fifty million for me. Shit was different back then. I hadn't fully grown into my wings, but I managed to convince Diablo I was better off here.

Lorenzo is a part of the piece of shit's list. Not anywhere near as submissive as Asiel is to me. I don't doubt I could've him wrapped around my fingers. I mean, he already wanted me for my body at fifteen. After fucking my pussy, Lorenzo would bend to my will like a straw, but I didn't want to think about being married to him.

As a long, deep breath leaves my chest, I grab the lamp on his coffee table and toss it at the wall, smashing it. "Why would you do that? Isabela is an innocent bystander in our argument. Why involve her? She had dreams, you know. To finish high school. College. You took that away."

"Jesus, you're so dramatic. She's going to be fine. I left her in good hands."

I scoff. "Damien is just as psychotic as Lorenzo. She's fifteen, Diablo. She had a whole life ahead of her. This discussion has always been between you and me."

"Really?" He stiffens, his irises gleaming with resentment. "Then why did you drag Asiel into this? How long did you think it would take for me to find out your discovery of the sixth floor? You said it's between you and me. So, why was he with you, Mika?"

"You have no right to fucking interrogate me right now," I exclaim, striding to the shattered pieces of the lamp, taking a piece. "Why do you have such a hard-on for Asiel? My playthings never bothered you before."

"Oh, so he is still a plaything?" Diablo chuckles, rubbing his upper lip. "I wasn't too sure since you went over to his house to meet his parents. Doesn't seem like something you do when they're meaningless to you."

My eyes narrow, and I sport a fake grin. "It's called playing the part, genius."

"Mmm," Diablo mocks, his eyebrows arching in doubt. "You have the boy wrapped around your fingertips. You don't need to go any further, but you want to. Is that what it is? Does he make you feel human, Mika? Like you mean something in this cold, wretched world?"

For a split second, the words slice through my skin, awakening the bloody scars of my past. Diablo embodies my past, the horrifying tragedies disguised in his sentences. We have known each other for so long, but only witness each other at our lowest point. Even if I ever get the ability to feel happiness, Diablo doesn't approve of it because he isn't included. He's like a child that cries about everything.

"Let me guess," Diablo says, clicking his tongue. "He says things, like you're, are so special to me. An inspiration. A Goddess. My muse. How you deserve to be loved and appreciated. That he cares about your feelings? That values you for who you are? I hate to break it to you..."

My fist clamps around the piece of glass, feeling it tear my palm apart and blood draining down my arm. Red midst clouds my vision, the pain soothing my spurting frustration. If anything, it gives me satisfaction to feel the liquid drip down my fingertips and the hate swelling in my gut.

"Mika, he doesn't care about you," Diablo states, grabbing a cigarette from his coffee table and igniting it with the lighter in his pocket. "He won't ever care about you. Do you seriously think a guy like him could love you after all the shit you've done? Paint me as the fucking villain, but I embrace it. You suddenly want to be all heroic."

"I am no hero, but I have certain morals to abide by."

His eyebrows jerk to his forehead, displaying his wrinkle lines. "Since when, Mika? When did you decide to grow a fucking conscious? You do horrific shit for 'him' or has your little fantasy with Asiel made you forget? You're a monster, Mika. You don't deserve love."

You don't deserve love.

Keeping my breaths still and calm, I walk over to his vulnerable body on the couch and jab the piece of glass into his wound, twisting the muscles in his skin.

"You don't know shit. Do you think I care?" A burst of insane laughter ripples from my chest. "Love is superficial. Only whiny, naive people like Asiel believe it exists. I don't need love, nor do I want it. What I do want is to be respected."

"Cut him off, Mika," Diablo demands, his breaths dragging out as I drive the glass in further. "It's supposed to be you and me, always. Remember? You want to throw everything away for some boy who will leave when he finds out the truth?"

Eugene always likes whipping out that phrase whenever he's losing in a battle. It doesn't weigh a significant amount of emotion like it once used to when I was underage. It must kill him to see his favorite star-student branching themselves without including him. I haven't even gotten to the best part yet.

The smirk spreads over my face as I pull out the documents from my pocket, flattening them out. "Let's see if you still want it to be you and me after our conversation. As you know, I let out all the people in the cages, and they're staying out. Just because you want to suck Asiel's cock doesn't mean these people should suffer."

Diablo grunts, biting onto a couch pillow as he pulls the glass piece out, coated in our blood. "And what if I don't want to? You're with Asiel ninety percent of the time. You won't be there to stop me."

I laugh, laying the document in front of him, and I prop down on the table, my skirt hiking up past mid-thigh. "I thought you would say something like that. So, I had this fancy lawyer find a clause in your original contract, terminating your rights to the club. If you want to keep any of your assets from the club, I suggest you sign this."

His eyes widen with shock as he speed reads through the pages. "What the fuck? I'm not giving you eighty-five percent of my club. This is my baby. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this!"

"It would be nothing without me, and I clearly know how to run it better than you," I state, painting my nails with my blood, admiring them. "Fifteen percent is a generous amount for all the troubles you caused." Bending forward, I whisper in the shell of his ear, "Take that as me, showing you mercy since we're friends."

"You're a fucking bitch, Mika," Diablo declares through gritted teeth.

Pride soars through my body. "That's goddamn right." Teasing, I ruffle his hair, leaving a cluster of brown knots on his head. "I'm the bitch that owns Diablo Paraiso, and I can get rid of you with the snap of my finger."

With an expression full of malice, Diablo signs his rights, his soul, his profession into my very hands. Should I throw him a bone? I'm feeling really generous tonight. A pet obeys its owner when they're awarded treats.

Collecting the paperwork, I grab Diablo by his chiseled jaw, his beard sneaking through the cracks of my fingers. "You know what, buddy? I'll let you keep playing the part of the pimp, but nothing goes through without my signature. Got it?"

"Fine." His frosty eyes dissolve like water over fire. "Just forget about Asiel. Okay? Steal all his money, use him for his army, break his heart, or whatever you want to do. But do it quickly. You're getting too deep, Mika. This won't end well. I'm warning you."

My eyebrows perk up. "Do you know something I don't?"

He shrugs absentmindedly. "You are the one with the brain, no?"

My hand flings across the air, connecting with his head with a -thump-. "Suck my dick, you moron."

With my middle finger up, I sashay to the door and do a quick glance at the neatly decorated home. Nothing has changed since my last visit here. Actually, maybe the new pot of bonsai trees. Everything else is identical to the tea.

"Goodbye, Mika." Diablo's strained voice hums as he uses his forearm strength to drag himself to the kitchen. "I'll call the Moltiansti family to ask about Isabela. See you tomorrow at Paraiso?"

"Actually, I'm taking a personal day," I state, a ghost of a smile on my face. "Hope you don't mind."

His tongue skates over his bottom lip before a grin forms. "Come over more frequently. Even if it leaves me with more scars."

His invitation lingers in the air and earns a response of me slamming his door shut. A sharp, burning sensation is gobbling my chest like predators starving for their next feast. Emotions are like a vertex, a forever spiral. A human can get lost in the way emotions control their choices, and I always, always retain control.

But something came to light tonight.

I couldn't put it into words.

Identifying an emotion is my weakness. The feeling is so foreign that I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. All I know is it burns my organs and agitates my stomach in the worst ways possible. Everything from earlier floats around my body like an external force, creating a ring of memories, words, the truth.

You're a monster, Mika. You don't deserve love.

The words are tattooed on my skin, a constant reminder of the truth. Where's the coke when I need it? I want everything to disappear, to cease to feel, to go back to the numb sensation my body is accustomed to. My fingers slip through my scalp, ruffling up my hair to silence the demons chanting in my ears.

Throwing my door with a bang, I march to the butterfly-shaped pendant stock with cocaine. The white powdery dust stares up at me, wanting to be inhaled, wanting the victory of uncontrollable will. One inhale, and everything will go away. Just like I want.

You're a monster, Mika. You don't deserve love.

But maybe I need to feel.

To channel the demon's powers into strength, my strength. I don't want to. Yet I'm standing in front of the heart-shaped lantern, hovering my finger over it. Should I? Would he stop whatever he's doing to come here? Or is Diablo, right?

An angel can't care about a demon, a monster, an abomination.

Ignoring the truths harmonizing in my ears, my fingertips poke the lanterns, instantly lighting up.

Do you care enough to come?

First thing first... do you think Asiel is going to drop whatever he's doing and go to Mika's aid? 👀

Ah, I love this chapter so much and has so much writing it! I just love to see how badass Mika can be even with Diablo trying to bring her down... do you guys think Mika is the true villain of this story like Diablo says?

Who else wanted Mika to just shot Diablo through the skull? Like the leg wasn't enough he deserves more!

Also how do you feel about Isabela? I really loved some of your theories and actually considered them before but for the character Diablo is and how he grows (or shrinks) throughout the book is why I chose this way...

Hopefully she is in good hands 🥺

Thank you guys for reading this chapter and getting my book this far! Wattpad is finally being kind and I'm doing pretty good on the tags! I can't wait to read all your comments and read your thoughts...

P.s. happy nine years to my babies BTS and steam their new song Yet to come 😏😉