Deviant Love

18 - HIS

[Chapter 18]

The door swung open with a certain audacity that was unmistakably Roman.

"Come in, Roman," I said, my attention divided between the clutter of papers on my desk.

"How did you know it's me?" he quipped, his trademark smirk evident. He was the lone ranger in the office who would dare enter my office without an invitation.

"Did you do it?" he asked, getting straight to the point as I continued to work.

"Alex~" he sang, circling me. "Stop working."

"Goddammit, Alex, answer me," he huffed, a storm brewing in his usually composed demeanor.

I finally looked at him, setting the papers aside and removing my glasses. "What are you talking about?" I asked, inviting him into the heart of the matter.

"That fucking murder," he replied, with no hint of hesitation in his tone, throwing the heavy topic into the space between us.

"He touched her," my words came out cold, each syllable a dagger.

"This is not our domain. Italy and the US are different countries. You don't want the FBI tailing your ass," he grunted, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

"What if you got caught? Yes, we can grease the palms of the government, but you would still get highlighted," he continued, concern etched across his features.

"What if our people looked at the real reason you came back? What if they found out about Daisy? What if they harm—" he began, his words a cascade of worries.

"They won't be able to touch her," I growled, the words dripping with wrath, cutting off Roman abruptly. "Why do you think I stayed away from her all these years?" I locked eyes with him.

Had it been my choice, I wouldn't let her out of my sight for a moment. But alas, thanks to that wretched bastard, I had to remain apart from her. Countless days without her felt like a relentless assault on my soul. Each passing day tore away a piece of me, the ache intensifying, a yearning to run to her, stay with her, be with her. Forever and ever.

I had kept my distance from Mio Fiore for six long years, my dark obsession with Daisy dictating a shadowy dance of dark emotions.

The urge to employ people to keep an eye on her lurked beneath the surface, restrained only by my internal conflict, a struggle against the possessiveness that threatened to consume me. Fear gripped my soul, not of external threats, but of my attachment to her bringing harm.

I am no good man; I never will.

Daisy, innocent and deserving of someone far better than the shadows that cling to me, is my beacon of normalcy. Yet, the darkness within refuses to loosen its grip. She should find solace in the arms of someone untouched by the stain of my existence.

But the very thought of her slipping away, of finding happiness in the arms of another, sends shivers down my spine. I am not afraid of death, but the thought of her leaving me sounds worse than death itself.

She is mine, entwined in the twisted tapestry of my desires, and the idea of her being anyone else's is an unbearable prospect.

In the depths of my soul, a haunting mantra repeats – she is mine, and forever will be mine.

The conflict within me, the duality of wanting to set her free while desperately needing to keep her chained to me, creates a tempest beneath the surface, tearing at the edges of my sanity.

That night, as I beheld that man with audacity, his hands shamelessly encircling her waist, it sent me into an uncontrollable fury.

A surge of possessiveness swallowed me, compelling a wild desire to rip him for daring to touch her, for tainting her with his presence. And so, I did. The first parts of his anatomy I severed were his hands—those audacious appendages that dared to lay claim to my woman.

She is mine.

Mine.

MINE.

"Calm down," Roman's hand pressed on my shoulder. "Your body is shaking."

I took a deep breath, forcing those thoughts away.

"She cried, you know," he said, and I knew. I had watched her for hours, witnessed her descent into a mess because of me, and I didn't have a damn clue on how to put those pieces back together.

"I don't know how to fix it," I admitted my voice a low murmur, a confession tainted with the bitter taste of my inadequacy.

Roman sighed, with sympathy and frustration etched on his face. "You've got to figure it out, Alex. You can't keep letting her drown in the mess you made."

"Don't you think it's better if we leave—"

"NO," I hissed, my eyes narrowing at him. "Daisy is going to stay by my side. I'm going to have her." Even if she says no, she is bound to me.

"Oh no, no, no. You're only going to push Daisy away with this maniac behavior," Roman countered.

"Stop playing the good guy for her," I clipped.

"At least one of us has to be sane here!" he huffed. "We've ruined ourselves, turned into monsters to survive. I don't want you to destroy the little innocence you have left in your life by pushing her over the edge."

"She is mine."

"NO. Daisy belongs to herself. You lost the right to call her yours six years ago when we both messed up," Roman hissed.

"And I'm warning you, you will not do anything to her without her consent. If you do, I will protect her, even if it means ruining our fucking friendship. Daisy is like my sister, the closest thing I have to family, and I won't let you mess her up even more."

"If you want her, fine. But make sure it's not through some toxic method. Be a good man for her, not a crazy, obsessive one." With that, he stormed off.

I know. I know I may never meet the standards mio fiore deserves. Yet she remains tied to me. Night after night, I've observed her, a glass of wine in hand, tears tracing delicate lines down her face.

My heart tightens witnessing this, an overwhelming desire to envelop her, to kiss away the pain, even though the bitter truth persists—I am the source of her suffering.

But I will give her all the happiness in the world. I will make all the wrongs right, even if it means getting on my knees and begging for forgiveness all my life.

A gentle knock echoed through the door, and I felt the subtle push that followed. The air seemed to vanish from my lungs as I looked up, my chest tightening at the sight. It was as if those obsidian eyes held a power, stealing my soul and making me hers.

"We need to talk, Mr. Russo."

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