Morituro - Book 1

16

| CHAPTER SIXTEEN |

Layla

WE GOT TO his office much quicker than I expected. Partly because of his long legs able to keep up a pace of a cheetah and his ability to drag me along. During the entirety of the short trip, my conscious was battling my voice. I knew that a sorry was in order and could possibly save myself from the hands of the devil himself, but my voice just didn't seem to work. I would open my mouth to let all excuses leave its hollow opening, yet that was as far as I got; an open mouth.

Upon entering the office, more like being thrown into the room, Raphael slams the door with a loud bang shaking the painting that hangs from the wall. My legs are shaking erratically, from either the cold or the fear that has taken over my body, I'm guessing from both. The demon that possessed me earlier was long gone and left me powerless against the consequences of its actions. Of course, this demon leaves me when it's faced with a monster much bigger than them; Raphael Salvatore.

He storms around the room. First, walking up to his desk, throwing off his jacket, and unclasping the cuffs on the sleeves of his pristine satin red shirt. I've never been so scared, yet so yearning. I didn't lie to him earlier, being killed by him would be a blessing. To see the masterpiece of God's work as my last vision is truly bittersweet. He wears his torment on his face as the dark shadows of the room contrast his deep frown marks, I wish to press my thumbs into his skin to smooth those lines like an artist to his sculpture.

Second, he stomps to his minibar, each step shaking the floor with thunder. Of course, he reaches for the short glass to fill with the finest of brandies. I don't dare say a word. I don't even dare breathe too loud in the everlasting silence that has reaped upon the room. But, he breaks it with a long drawn out sigh. His hand moving to lean against the wall, his back facing me, and even though I can't see his face I can feel his energy. It's so dark and erratic. Like a caged lion that hasn't been fed in days, waiting for the moment someone opens the door to pounce and sedate the hunger.

I hold the key.

"Raphael?" I whisper because I'm afraid if I'm too loud I will set off the beast within himself. I realize that it isn't him who I am talking too as he takes a long sip from the glass. Instead, I was talking to a much more fragile being, a man about to be swallowed whole by the demons he repressed for far too long.

I also come to an understanding that we aren't so different after all. We both run from the demons in our world, hoping that we can find clarity and peace of mind in other people and vices. While I've been persecuting him as the father of all things evil, I know that he's just the prince, the son of the image he created. While he is evil, he's separate from the front he tries to lead on. In return, tearing himself apart.

If only he knew that I was in the same boat, different ocean. Therefore, I can see right threw the Mafia Don. You can't trick the trickster.

My legs stop shaking along with my hands and joints. I can't believe that I caused this, no I know this wasn't my doing. Maybe, it was a good push off the cliff, but I definitely didn't lead him to the edge. Something happened and I have a feeling it's about his illegal business.

When he doesn't say anything I try again. This time upon hearing my voice he looks over his shoulder at me. My breathing hitches as I see the hungry lion, the beast, so close to the surface of his being in those angry eyes. I can tell he's about a hair's width away from losing himself, which means the loss of my life.

I scan my brain, trying to think of the best thing to say in this precious time frame. I don't have time, in fact, I don't have time at all it seems as he pushes off the wall and slowly makes his way to me. My legs starting to shake once again as my feet slowly retreat away from Raphael. He looks as angry as ever, I can only recall one other time I have seen him like this. Will was here then and unfortunately, no one could save him from the inevitable. Matter of fact, a very similar glass rests in his hand and no one was coming to save me.