Why didn't I think of this before?
This world wasn't mine. This novel revolves around two people. This world belonged to Riccardo and Salvo, their twisted, predestined battle written in blood and fate. And Alfio—aka me—was nothing more than an afterthought. I am just Riccardo's love interest in this novel.
A prop. A disposable main character to spark their war. My existence was nothing more than a footnote, a tragedy scrawled in the margins of their epic.
And I had seen it—over and over. No matter how much I tried to ignore Riccardo and Salvo, no matter how desperately I fought to rewrite my fate, I kept getting dragged back into the script.
The story would not let me go.
But...If I couldn't rewrite the story… if I couldn't escape Alfio's fate…
I turned my gaze to Salvo, the devil dressed in human skin. His dark eyes latched onto me, unreadable, endless. A black hole waiting to swallow me whole.
Maybe… maybe he could change my fate instead.
But… would it be a fate worse than death?
"So?" Salvo's voice slithered through the air, smooth like velvet stretched over a blade. "What did you decide?"
My throat clenched. I could feel my own pulse, frantic and erratic. "Can… I get some time to think?"
His lips curved, slow and deliberate. A smirk that wasn't just amusement—it was ownership. He was already sinking his claws in.
"Of course."
Relief rushed through me. Thank God. Now I could step back, clear my head, weigh my options—
"Five minutes."
I blinked. "What?"
He pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket with deliberate ease, slipping one between his lips. The flick of his lighter cast a brief, golden glow over his face as he inhaled, smoke curling like whispered sins around him.
Exhaling slowly, he met my gaze and said, "You have five minutes to decide."
WHAT?!
Is he out of his fucking mind? How am I supposed to—
His eyes flicked to the antique clock ticking ominously behind his desk, its steady rhythm echoing like a countdown to my doom. "Your time starts now."
Does this lunatic think I'm ordering fast food? What the hell kind of decision-making process is this?!
Panic clawed up my throat. I feel like I was standing at a crossroads, staring down two paths. One was bright, open, filled with the illusion of freedom. But at the end of that road? Obliteration. If I chose it, I wouldn't just die—I'd be erased, forgotten, a smudge on history's pages.
The other path? A dense, tangled forest, swallowing light, suffocating. If I walked into it, I would disappear in another way. I would belong to him. My choices, my freedom—gone. There would be no love. No tenderness. Only control.
But that darkness… it would protect me.
It would shield me from those who sought to harm me. It would keep me alive. The monsters wouldn't come for me if I already belonged to their king.
"TIME'S UP, LITTLE BOY."
A cold shudder snapped through me. Salvo was watching me like a predator savoring the moment before devouring its prey—a rabbit, foolish enough to step into the wolf's den.
"I hope you've made your decision." His voice was smooth, indulgent, like he was enjoying my suffering. "Now tell me… what did you decide?"
I swallowed, but my throat was sandpaper.
I had never felt smaller. Never felt more fragile. Like my entire existence hung by a thread, suspended in the grip of his whims.
"Don't waste my time." His voice dipped lower, sharp as a blade pressed to my throat. "I don't have all the time in the world. Just answer. Yes or no."
The air thickened, suffocating. My fingers dug into the armrest, nails sinking into the fabric. My skin tingled under the weight of his gaze, under the phantom grip of the chains I was about to clasp around my own wrists.
"Are you willing to be mine? Yes… or no?"
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.
And yet…
"…Y-YES."
The word came out fractured, a jagged thing that tore through me the moment I spoke it.
Salvo's smirk deepened. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray with lazy satisfaction, like he had just closed a business deal. Or claimed a prize.
"Good…" he murmured, his voice silk wrapped around steel. "You made the right choice, tesoro.[1]"
For whom? I wanted to ask.
But it didn't matter anymore.
I had already sold my soul.
Salvo leaned back against the sofa, eyes dragging over me, slow, assessing. I felt stripped bare without him even touching me. Then—
"Come here."
I blinked. "Sorry?"
His gaze darkened, lips curving in something too pleased, too knowing. "I said… come to me, tesoro."
I hesitated for half a second before standing, moving stiffly to stand in front of him.
Then he said it—no, ordered it. "Kneel."
My breath hitched. My pulse slammed against my ribs. I stared at him, wide-eyed, hoping—praying—that he was joking.
He wasn't.
Of course he wasn't.
I had made my choice, hadn't I?
So I sank to my knees.
Salvo's smirk stretched wider. He exhaled slowly, like he was savoring the sight, like he was admiring a masterpiece he had just acquired.
My heart pounded so loudly it felt like it might burst from my chest. And then—his fingers tilted my chin up. Slow. Deliberate. Cruel.
"So pretty," he murmured, tracing his fingers along my lips, his touch featherlight, possessive. "Truly, you belong to me."
Liar.
I knew the truth. To him, I was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game. A prize—not for love, not for desire, but to make Riccardo suffer. A tool for his revenge, a means to an end. And yet…
I didn't mind.
Because I didn't want to die.
I didn't want to burn in that fire, reduced to nothing but ash and regret. If survival meant belonging to a devil, then so be it.
Better to be owned by a monster who would keep me breathing than to be forgotten by the flames.
And that was how I chose the devil.
Or rather—how the devil chose me.
[1] Tesoro, It means treasure. For salvo...Alfio is nothing but a treasure...a prize.