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Devil Woman

Within the dark corners of the mafia underworld, a prominent billionaire's fate becomes linked to a lethal and captivating woman. Renowned for her cold-blooded efficiency, she thrives in a realm of opulence and violence. When their dangerous worlds intersect, a chaotic romance sparks among deadly secrets and intense power plays. Together, they must endure a high-stakes game of devotion and treachery where one wrong step leads to a fatal end.
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Chapter 3

If you want to identify someone, look at the way he treats those who are inferior to him and not his equals.

He was a man in his thirties with a plump face and small square glasses.

He spoke to me in Russian, but I did not understand a single word of his tirade.

"I don't speak Russian," I say in my language.

No problem, I speak English! "Exclaims the chubby fellow with a hideous Russian accent."

I smile stupidly at him, not knowing what else to do.

Are you lost? he asks me.

somehow

Follow me, my little lady; my Inga has prepared a beef treat!

Even though I've always learned not to trust strangers, this stranger seemed less dangerous to me than Ivan and his men.

Neither one nor two, I followed him up and followed him to a small row house not far from where I jostled him.

He opens the door of his house and hangs his coat on the coat rack.

Inga, we have a guest! he shouted.

A woman came out of what must have been the kitchen; she had an apron on and was doing the dishes by hand.

She called out to me in her mother tongue, but her husband told her that I spoke English.

Well, young girl, did you get lost?

More or less

Don't worry, you're going to explain all this to us, but before you go sit down, you must be hungry.

On her soft and maternal words, I pulled out a chair to sit down on. The house was small but very warm; it was decorated in a very kitsch way, yet we felt good there.

When the so-called Inga came into the dining room, it was to carry a large saucepan. She lifted the lid, and a tantalizing smell escaped. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I had not eaten since I was in company. couch.

Inga served me a plate of ratatouille while her husband asked her why she hadn't made beef.

You're never happy, Donatello. Inga sighed.

We start to eat; I hold myself back so as not to throw myself on the food. I'm so hungry.

Hey, Knopka, You look hungry. How long has it been since you've eaten?

Since Monday

Olala It's Wednesday night! What happened to you?

An intuition told me to trust this family who had taken me in, and then, as if I had known them for a long time, I told them everything.

From the beginning to the end of my story, neither of them interrupted me; sometimes Inga let out "ohs" or "ahs," but she never interrupted me.

That's how I ended up on this street; I finished.

My God, Elisabethchka, that must be atrocious, my little darling! She said, taking me in her arms.

I'm sure it's a trick of these delinquents!

"Donatello, shut up, don't push her around like that," his wife reproached him.

Enough to? I asked.

Nothing at all; we'll talk about that tomorrow. For the moment you must be exhausted. Come with me; I'll show you the guest room and give you some clean pajamas.

I smiled at her and followed her.

After climbing a cramped old white wooden staircase, she led me through an old hallway decorated with yellowish patterned wallpaper.

She opened a cracked white door and turned on the small lamp. The latter illuminated the room filled with a small, simple bed with a mattress bordered on the left side by a bedside table.

Sorry, it smells a bit musty; it's been a long time since anyone slept here. Apologies, little lady.

No problem, it's so nice of you to host me!

She smiled at me and took a pair of folded pajamas out of the only wardrobe.

There are some clothes in this closet. "It belonged to my daughter," she said, putting the pajamas on the mattress.

When she bends down with difficulty, I notice for the first time that this woman, who at first glance seemed so strong to me, is actually weakened by age and by life.

Rest

She rubbed my arm before leaving. This gesture reminds me so much of my mother. She and I have never been very close, and her only marks of tenderness were summed up in these arm rubs. But that was only with me.

My sister was her pride. With her eldest daughter, she was truly a mother. I always grew up in her shadow. No matter how hard I tried, she never noticed me.

I wasn't good enough compared to his first daughter.

I sighed at the memory. No matter how tough I was answering teachers and drinking alcohol on the sly, I had lacked maternal love.

I tried to appear strong, with a heart of stone, so as not to show that this heart had been broken.

I drew the little yellow curtains, busying myself to avoid thinking about all those injuries, and put on my pajamas.

I slipped under the cold blanket and fell asleep in this unknown house, in this country that was not mine.

I woke up to the sun filtering through the thin yellow curtain. I got up and went down to the living room as I was used to. I had been staying with Inga and Donatello for a week. They had been so kind to me. welcoming me when I had nothing.

On the stairs I stopped by the loud voice of Inga to draw two words.

My first name is Mafia.

It didn't take me more to make the connection. These delinquents whom Donatello criticized yesterday were the mafia; they were those who were looking for me. In any case, it wouldn't have taken long for me to understand. Who, on the other hand, as a member of the mafia, could thus possess girls and force them into prostitution?

I went back into the living room; when they saw me, they stopped arguing.

"Oh my little Elisabeth, I hope you slept well. Come over here; I prepared breakfast," she said, leaving the living room to go to the dining room.

I had lunch with them in a good mood. I was really beginning to appreciate this family, which was still unknown to me a few days earlier.

When I had finished eating, Inga showed me the bathroom, and I washed.

When I stopped the water in the shower, I wrapped myself in a bath towel and went to the room where I had slept. In the wardrobe I took inventory of the few clothes that were stored there and managed to combine an outfit that I put on once the curtains were closed.

Once dressed, I fell into the closet on a notebook, certainly the diary of the famous girl, and hung above a pink ballpoint adorned with a pompom.

At the sight of the notebook, I had finally found a plan to get Inga and Donatello out of this mafia affair, which could harm them.

I seize the object.

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