Page 42 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

LORENZO

I flew back from Europe as fast as I could, but at the same time, disgusted. Disgusted at what had happened. Not just at the chaos, and universe, but how I handled it.

I should have known better, but I am still unsure exactly what I did wrong. I likely should have acknowledged Sophia’s behavior a few days ago, and closed her down. I should have seen the signs, and told her to back the hell away, or fired her on the spot.

I could sense Storm’s radar had picked up on Sophia, but I thought Storm, and I, had it under control. Now, we are screwed.

We are broken, and we are no longer.

After trying to take off lightening, fast, from the small airport in the South of France, I hit a glitch.

The last night of the movie market had every man and his dog’s private jet booked to depart.

I finally paid three people off, and I spent a small fortune. After, I flew my jet recklessly low across the Atlantic. They will fine me over that, next week, but money is the last problem I have.

I have lost her.

Lost the love of my life, and maybe forever.

After landing in JFK airport, I drove at a ridiculous speed, and I slide into the penthouse carpark. After running into my empty penthouse, I stopped out of breath. “Fuck!”

She’d done it, she had taken all she owns.

After pouring a strong whiskey, I knock it back fast. I avoid calls, messages, and emails from my US staff welcoming me back, and asking if I need anything. I notice nothing left by Storm, and I don’t like it.

I suddenly remember the falcon.

Even if Falcon is nothing like a child, it feel like he is ours. I feel he needs respect, and love, for lack of a better term, and I should respect what we have done by saving him, together.

As I prepare food for Falcon in the kitchen, I find a note. My body tenses up, and my jaw tightens.

As I lean against the kitchen island, that we’ve had sex on, eaten on, cooked on, even had food fights on, I force myself to breathe.

It is a handwritten note, and cold. As cold as I was, way too often.

I thought we were special.

I thought I meant something.

We, us…

We are dead.

Find another.

My heart sinks and I stop breathing.

There is one other thing on the paper, a water mark, or a dried drip. Maybe, just maybe from a tear. I pour another large, needed whiskey, and I head up to the rooftop with steak for the falcon.

The peregrine falcon walks along the ledge near me, and it cries out as if in greeting. I mumble a few words, and I reach out. I tried to feed it from a gloved hand pre film market, and it had not worked.

After a few seconds, the falcon comes closer, and it pulls the steak from my fingers. We look at each other, and as the sun sets, he eats steak, and I sip the aged whiskey. As it flaps its wings, it looks around.

I look closer at it, and Falcon looks like he has gained strength in the week we’ve been away. The wings look almost the same, and he is favoring one, far less.

I leave the rest of the steak near him, and he eats it from a bowl, almost like a large dog.

I sit on the white sofa, that I taught Storm how to kiss on, and after, to fuck on. I sigh and I look at the falcon. “Well, it looks like we’re both fucked, now.”

It’s hard to think straight.

The falcon looks over, as if understanding, and it hisses.

I am unable to comprehend just how messed up things have become. I shake my head and hold my face in my hands. I feel like vomiting, but I have nothing left.

The flight across the Atlantic, was exhausting, and I have not slept for like thirty hours.

After endless years of trying to find her, and finally finding the woman for me, she was taken in a cruel twist of fate.

I cuss, and tell the universe that I hate it. Every atom of it. I hate it for screwing my life up, and every part of it.

I never had a family, and I never had a lasting girlfriend.

But finally, I got one.

I played my cards well, carefully, and perfectly. I worshipped her, loved her, and I protected her. Then the universe rips the one thing I truly love, from my grips.

Her.

I never expected to find true love, and I never expected to find her. My parents rejected me. And now she has done the same.

As I pace on the roof, the last rays of the sun kiss the horizon across Manhattan, I try to work out what is going on. I notice the falcon near the strong eagle statue, and I think about my messed-up life.

I suddenly laugh like a lunatic.

The universe is clearly messing with me, but I am still unsure how. I am also unsure, how things will play out.

The falcon is a sign, Storm brought into my life. I try to think about what the falcon represents, and something dawns on me. The broken falcon represents me.

The broken man .

Deep down, I know I have problems. Determined alphas who stop at nothing to get what they want often are.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I’m scarred from a tough childhood.

I had to grow up ruthlessly fast. No parents. A horrific foster experience, and I was bullied, beaten, and tortured, before I hardened the fuck up.

Before I became untouchable.

Feeling alone, and worthless, from such a young age, had likely driven me towards chasing validation.

To prove I have worth. To prove I am worth keeping. That I have value.

I had been discarded as a child and given up for adoption. I have never tried to find my parents and I never would. They had me, and they tossed me out.

I’ve been cast aside, again.

I walk to the corner of my rooftop, and I crouch to vomit. There is nothing to throw up, so I knock back the whiskey. I look at the rock-solid eagle, then back to the damaged falcon flapping its wings.

I walk up to it, but I keep my distance. “Keep stretching that wing!”

The wild predator makes a strange cry, and I nod, as if we have some crude kind of communication.

We do not, I am just imagining things.

I head below, and inside, I roll my neck. I pace, like a caged tiger in the moonlight, trying to work out my next move.

Finally, I know what may help, but it is not flying, chasing her down, or confronting her. I need to fix me.

I message the NYC shrink that I used back in the day. I try to word the request with grace, but it is hard. I erase my overly complicated message, and I simply ask her for an early morning session.

It has been five years since I’ve discussed my situation, and how fucked up I am.

She is the only person I’ve ever opened up to, and I have no idea if my abandonment issues are textbook, or far from it.

Last time, we worked out my intense craving for being with women, was not sex addiction. It was more a quest for validation.

Even if I would never let women into my heart, I wanted to be valued. It took another year, before I finally learned to control myself. I had basically become hooked on sex and fucking.

I got so used to fucking, it was almost all I did, every evening.

My desperation to be loved sickens me, now that I know what it is. I am disgusted. Angry. And ashamed. I am no good to anyone.

As I pace, I realize I need someone to talk to.

For some reason my dragon tattoo itches again, and I remove my white shirt. I rub my back, and tattoo against the stone eagle statue and I calm.

I then close my eyes as the memories flash. The pain. The torture. The tears, and the blood.

Alfred drives me downtown the next day. I rarely work in my company’s office, and I prefer my penthouse. In saying that, being alone at home feels wrong.

As I read legal documents for the movie deals, we weave through NYC traffic. We are not travelling far, but the traffic is a bastard.

I catch Alfred looking at me a few times. I love the guy, but I am in no mood for a lecture. I know I’ve done wrong, because I’m broken. The last thing I want, is an argument.

Even if a heated debate may release some of my toxic energy, I need to stay away from that kind of thing. The old man is a gentleman.

“She came back, and asked me to take her to the airport,” he says in his elegant accent.

“You did the right thing.”

“She’s a good woman,” he says.

“She is,” I say. “Just too good for me.”

We drive in silence, and he looks in the rear vision mirror. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

We share a look, and it is bold of him. “Well, you just gave yourself a raise.”

We both laugh, and it’s good to let some energy loose. It is the most we have bonded in a year, and it is healthy.