Diavolo

xli

PRESLEY

There were two different possibilities I had imagined in my mind if Silvio ever walked back into my life. The first was that I would be able to forgive him and give both of us the closing we needed in order to move on.

The second was simple. It involved twisted words coated in a cocktail of lust, pettiness and longing which would eventually lead to regrets and a toxic cycle of what he deemed as love.

Both possibilities had once seemed like a tale of daydream and now, the mere fact that he was back slammed into me. Gripped me in a vice hold and forced me to confront this head on. Him.

I'd left for my date earlier only to pause at a green light and in the thrill of it all, made a U-turn and curtly parked curbside outside my apartment. My gaze hovered towards the phone curled between my thighs that read 11:40 pm.

        Fuck.

I'd been sitting in my damn car for an hour stunned by the sudden appearance of Silvio and unable to comprehend coherent thoughts.

After a couple of minutes, I finally found the courage to step out of my car, standing on shaky legs and exhaled a rough breath. Let's do this.

I didn't know what to expect back at my apartment, didn't know if he would have left or stayed behind. Hell, I didn't know what I wanted him to do.

I got off the elevator walking down the long hallway, the click-clack of my heels against the soft plush carpet. Almost slipping on my own heels, I caught myself quickly just before I managed to land face down on the carpet except.

I recognized the heavy, rough palm burning through the fabric of my dress. Coaxing my hidden skin with warm touches and forbidden intentions. A breathless gasp left my mouth as he steadied me upright flush against his body.

Smoldering olive-green eyes burning into mine, his jaw clenched as his eyes flickered down and narrowed at my heels. Almost like he was angry at a piece of inanimate object for the cause of my trip.

"Hey."

A rough grunt in response of words. Hello to you too. He bent down slowly imitating the pose of a fiancé proposing to his future wife except he wasn't proposing, and I was everything far from a blushing bride.

I opened my mouth, about to ask what the hell he was doing yet words caught in my throat as I watched him adjust the straps of my black stilettos.

It was rather domineering oddly erotic to watch a man as powerful as himself at my feet merely to adjust my heel straps. God help me.

"Thank you."

"Yeah." He peered into my eyes as he slowly extended into his full height, standing a few feet away from me but still close enough I could feel the vibrating warmth of his hard body and smell his husky cologne.

"How—how was your date?" He'd nearly stuttered over his words and Silvio Rossi was never speechless.

He wanted to know about my date. He knew about my date.

"I—" I looked up at him, a little speechless and unsure of what to say. What kind of witchery is this? "Good."

"Good." He nodded curtly still staring into my eyes. There was no expression in those olive-green eyes, just the rigid movement of his jaw ticking slightly and offering me a bird's view into what he was thinking about.