Page 91 of The Don's Secret Heir

I should hate her for that, for leaving me, for letting someone else touch her while I was still reeling. But there’s no hatred in my heart, just a heavy, empty feeling deep in my chest.

A void that I’m on a mission to fill with booze and women.

A driver takes us to a local club, and it’s loud and senseless and everything I need to not think.

I sit at the bar next to Rocco and take shots with him until the music starts to sound less annoying and more upbeat.

“What are you drinking?” a bottle redhead asks me, her hand lighting on my arm.

I choke on the shot, coughing before pulling myself together.

“Rocco? What the hell are we drinking?”

“Top shelf tequila,” he answers, and I groan.

That’s probably why the room is already spinning. I usually stick to sipping scotch, but tonight I wanted to not be on this planet, and I trust Rocco with that task.

The redhead giggles. “My name’s Viola. You don’t like tequila?”

“Not particularly, Viola,” I drawl, and then she’s perching on my lap and I don’t care.

I don’t see Liana’s gray eyes behind my eyelids every time I close them. I don’t hear her words, “I hate you,” over and over in the back of my mind.

Finally the redhead gets up to go to the bathroom and if she beckons me to go with her, I don’t notice. I’m focused on looking down at the gold liquid in my glass, trying not to think of the last time I had Liana naked and writhing beneath me.

“So you’re not going to get laidagain,” Rocco says, too loud, next to my ear and I startle.

“I’m not?” I look up at him, blinking as I have double vision.

Rocco sighs. “You’ve got it bad, boss. I hate to say that, I really do, but it’s true.”

He heaves me up and then we’re back in a car and I’m losing time, in and out of consciousness. I protest as the driver goes to my house.

“Not there,” I mumble. “Take me to my penthouse.”

Not that it’s much better there. That’s where all my memories with Liana are stored, that fucking penthouse. Because I took her there like she was just going to be another notch on my headboard.

Idiot.

I wish I’d never met her. I wish I’d never looked into those gray eyes and seen my whole future.

“My payment for carrying your drunk ass inside is crashing on your couch,” Rocco mutters as he helps me up to the elevator.

“Fair enough,” I say agreeably. I probably would agree to damn near anything, in the state I’m in.

“You’re still in love with her,” Rocco says with a grunt as he throws me onto the couch.

I let my head fall back against the couch cushion, sighing.

“Yep.”

“And you don’t want her to go.”

“Nope.”

“Even though she hates you?”

“That’s pretty much the long and short of it, yeah.”