Diavolo

xxxvi

SILVIO

        New York. The city that never sleep. Giant billboards. Ridiculous skyscrapers. Loud honks, toxic fresh air injected into your bloodstream like drugs and the thrilling adrenaline from glancing down at the bobble heads below which were probably arguing about something nonexistent.

        Insignificant in comparison to the inner tumoil inside of me.

        Three letters words that'd been floating inside of my head, playing over and over like a broken record. Flashes of the scene washed over me like a rerun of my favorite show.

        I'd gone through a pack of Marlboro just in the last four hours, needing the buzz and every bit of high to prevent myself from slipping into my car and fucking driving till dawn because that would be idiotic.

        Not only was I drunk and a little high on the inner turmoil bursting through me like unconfined rage but I was running on nothing but pure adrenaline and deep hated from my past nightmares.

        Soft brown eyes flashed in my mind, my chest aching with longing and I pushed it away. Just like I'd pushed her away back at the penthouse like a fucking coward.

        Logically, deep down inside of me, I knew the answer to her statement. I knew I couldn't love her back and I knew that whatever fucking feeling she'd slapped a title on and labeled love wasn't real. It was a figment of her imagination because that wasn't possible.

        "Silvio. Buddy. Don't tell me you're thinking of jumping?' Familiar, deep voice called out and I heard the door to the rooftop slam shut.

        A deep ironic chuckle left my throat. "Nah, not the suicidal type." I shifted my head slightly, blowing out a thick line of smoke and watching mischief bloom in those icy blue eyes. "How'd you find me?"

        "Your girl told me what happened." He stated. The corner of my lips tipped at the words your girl. "And Octavius."

        Irony filled me at the nickname because I was ninety-nine percent sure that the woman wanted nothing to do with me anymore. The one percent came from my deluded sense of daydream hoping she would brush this under the rug.

        I nodded in response. Of course. I wasn't surprised that Beast showed up especially since they were close friends and I knew the woman was probably worried.

        After the fucking terror I had when I returned home earlier, I knew she'd seen everything. Every single part of me, and I still didn't understand what she was doing with me. Why she didn't pack her fucking things and flee the minute I didn't respond to her love confession.

        I couldn't love her back, didn't understand the fucking feeling and the thought of her loving me was hell. Didn't want it, didn't need it, couldn't see it happening.

        I love you.

        The word left a cooling ache in my chest that moved outward without prohibition and gripped my heart with icy fingers.

        "She's worried about you." He told me as I handed him a cigarette and fished out the Zippo lighter from his jeans pocket. A tight smile appeared on his face. "You gonna tell her you love her back or what?"

        My jaw clenched. "I can't."

        "Right." His tone was dry and had traces of sarcasm like he saw right through my bullshit. "Explain this to me though? You care for the woman, almost put a bullet in her fucking ex because you saw her laughing with him and would do anything for her? Even bought her that expensive ass pink Valentino bag. Is that not love, no?"