Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"She was something beautiful, something ethereal and otherworldly divine. But most of of all, she was all mine."
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- H A R L A N - E M E R I C - M A R C H E T T I -
"Please don't tell me your hurt her." Ramiro spoke when I threw him a withering glare and he put his hands up in mock surrender.
"Just making sure, I knew you wouldn't hurt a woman." He stepped away from my table with a sheepish look as I blew out a long breath.
"So she really threw red wine at your face, huh?" Ramiro asked again and an annoyed sound escaped me when my father snorted.
"What a sight it was." He chuckled to himself before downing his drink in one go while I ignored the two and flipped through the pages of the file.
"Tommy told me she doesn't know how long you've been after this girl." Papa spoke after a few moments when I leaned back in my chair, keeping my eyes on the files in front of me as I twisted a pen between my fingers.
"She does not need to know." I spoke calmly.
"She does, Harlan." He said sternly but I only spared him an indifferent glance.
"I'll tell her when I want to." I looked at him, my tone final and he quirked a questioning brow at me when I looked back down.
"And what about her family?" He asked and I waited for him to elaborate.
"Does she know—"
"No," I narrowed my eyes at the two in warning, "And it will stay that way until I decide. End of discussion."
I chose a random file from the pile and flipped through its contents, all contracts I had to go through and then sign off had to be handed over to—
"Where's Tommy?" I asked when Ramiro looked around the office before shrugging.
"Said he had to take care of some things at home." Papa answered me and I drummed my fingers on the mahogany desk, rolling my shoulders back cracking and neck as a few cracks were heard.
"When was the last time you slept in your bedroom?" Ramiro asked me when I looked up at him.
"When's the last time you slept?" Papa corrected and Miro chuckled but I ignored him.
"More than a week ago." I muttered in annoyance, frustrated that I couldn't sleep next to my butterfly and hold her close to me like I was supposed to, but a certain someone also known as my mother forbid me from doing so until the girl herself let me in.
I was sure that would never happen for quite some so tonight, I would sleep in my bed, in my room, next to my girl. And no one could stop me from doing so anymore.
