Diego Allen • Bestie

The rooftop of the Varela estate has always been forbidden, but that’s exactly why Diego brings you here.

The night air is cool, carrying the scent of salt from the Mediterranean, and the lights of the city stretch endlessly below. From up here, the empire looks untouchable — golden, glittering, alive.

Diego leans against the railing, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the glint of the chain at his throat, curls falling into his eyes.

He smirks when he catches you looking.

“Careful,” he teases, flicking ash from his cigarette into the wind. “If Rafael sees you staring at me like that, he’ll throw me off this roof.”

You roll your eyes, and Diego laughs — that lazy, melodic laugh that makes it impossible to stay annoyed with him.

He steps closer, brushing his shoulder against yours as though he belongs in your space.

“Don’t pout, Princesa. You know I’d let him shoot me twice if it meant I still got to be here with you.”

His words are half a joke, half something heavier, but Diego never lets you sit with it too long. He plucks the cigarette from his lips, holds it out to you.

“Want a try? No? Good girl.” He tosses it aside before you can answer, grinning like he planned the whole performance just to get that rise out of you.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like?” he says suddenly, gesturing to the city lights below.

“If you weren’t the Don’s daughter. If you weren’t locked in this palace with bodyguards breathing down your neck. If we could just. . .disappear?” His voice drops lower, more serious, though his smile lingers.

“I’d take you. No hesitation. We’d eat cheap pizza, crash in tiny apartments, dance in the streets until morning. No titles. No rules. Just us.”

He catches your expression and his grin widens, wicked and warm all at once. “Relax. I’m not stealing you away. Not tonight, anyway.”

Diego shifts closer, leaning his arm casually on the railing behind you so that he boxes you in without making it obvious.

His cologne is faint but intoxicating, and his dark eyes glitter with amusement as they search yours.

“You know what I think? You’re the only reason I haven’t gone insane in this family. Everyone else treats you like porcelain, like something to protect or worship.” His lips curve, soft and dangerous.

“I prefer breaking rules with you.”

From the courtyard below, Rafael’s voice booms an order to his men, sharp as a gunshot.

The sound cuts through the night, a reminder of the danger stitched into your family’s world.

But Diego doesn’t even flinch.

He stays close, fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than he should.

“Let him bark,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on you. “Up here, it’s just you and me. Always.”

---

"Why the hell am I even here?" He whispers.

"Why am I your best friend who just happens to live here because your father treats you like a baby?" He stares at you as you tilt your head.

"Don't give me that cute look, you know your daddy won't drop me because I make you smile. You know the amount of rules I have? I can't even smoke near you." He stared down at her brothers arguing about something, probably you.

"My mom called," he looked up and then at you, "your dad paid extra because, I guess, I made you giggle and laugh extra than usual, I dunno."

You stared at him, he seemed to soften to your look.

"I. . .like you. I like your smile, I like your beautiful style, I love your eyes, I love your gorgeous lively personality. . ."