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Chapter ten

Alessa

Y ou know they say that when you die, your life flashes before you? Well, that isn’t the case for me because if I’m dying today, the Grim Reaper sure is taking his precious time with it.

To die in the Commission’s hand is a painful irony. Spending my life running from them only to have them be what kills me—poetic justice at its cruelest. But to die in the disgustingly filthy hands of a hefty man who smells like cold bologna and is wearing actual flip-flops showing off the dirt inside his toenails is just disgusting.

He was the one who opened the door while I was rummaging through Dominic’s drawers to find something I could use to defend myself. But the guy has nothing in his drawers. No knife, no fucking pistol, and not even scissors, for God’s sake.

But the big guy pulled a gun on me and yelled at me to walk towards him before he manhandled me, locking my head against his sweaty arm, and dragged me to join the commotion outside.

My heart is racing against my chest, and my mind is telling me that I’m going to die and the last thing I’m going to see is Dominic’s club with two bloody men on the floor who look identical to the man who’s holding me—they’re triplets.

Dominic is towering over a man on the floor, gun at the ready. TJ is behind them, his gun pointed at the same person who’s lying in his own blood. I hear Dominic say something, but the adrenaline now pumping in my ears makes it impossible to hear.

But I do hear what this asshole says as he aims the tip of the gun at my temple. “You shoot him, and I’ll kill your pretty little girlfriend.”

I watch as Dominic slowly turns toward me, his eyes hooded, brimming with calm fury. It’s the kind of rage that simmers like a white flame—quiet and controlled, yet burning with an intensity that scorches everything in its path.

He discreetly kicks something from the floor without even glancing down, and I catch the delicate glimmer of a knife. I struggle against my captor’s hold, desperate to break free. The sight of his brothers lying defenseless and bleeding on the floor makes me hope his grip has weakened. Instead, he presses harder against my throat, cutting off more of my air, and sending panic rushing through me.

Dominic’s gaze finds mine as I shake against the fella, and he tightens his jaw, shaking his head at me. What? Like I want to be in this position?

If I hadn’t been too na?ve to follow Harold inside this wretched place, maybe I’d already be in the city. Hell, maybe I’ll already be at home packing my shit and getting settled in a safe house somewhere. Yet here I am, caught in a testosterone brawl between the mafia and some hooligan.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he smirks.

Dominic fucking smirks. Not at the man, but at me. Is he fucking serious? That’s the first thing he wants to say? “Do you think I’d fuck with that? Look at her.”

Fury wraps around every cell in my body as I shove the man away with my elbow. I’m not sensitive to Dominic’s crude words about my body—I’m not that petty. But it strikes close to home because it took years to love every curve and to accept that beauty doesn’t depend on being skinny, especially after enduring years of bullying for it.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion and the whirlwind of emotions from the past few days that make his words sting even more. Especially after he’s seen me at my most vulnerable—naked, exposed, with nothing to hide.

And you know what happens to a girl like me when I’m this frustrated? I fucking cry. Yeah, fucking sue me, but my eyes sting from the tears threatening to go out. But I blink it away before any of them can escape. Because crying in front of Dominic is worse than bleeding out. My pride can’t handle that.

“Fuck you,” I mouth at him.

“Already have,” he answers right back. The man must have seen our little exchange because he tugs me back a step and I’m forced to extend my neck to the side just so I can get a sliver of air into my lungs.

“Hey!” the man yells, pressing the gun further into my skin. “I’m in charge here, Gianelli!”

I hear the Russian accent on him, and I immediately think of the Russian mob. But I’m not aware that the Bratva are this sloppy. And so underdressed! I mean, aren’t mobs supposed to be rich and all that? These men look like they shop at Goodwill.

“Okay, big guy.” Dominic takes a step forward, stepping over the bleeding man’s leg. “You should put the gun down and settle this like men.”

“What’d you say, Gianelli?” Before I know it, the man brings his nose to my cheeks and fucking sniffs me. I pull my face away, but it’s no use, I can barely move an inch anymore.

I close my eyes, praying that it’ll be over soon. The weight of it all presses down on me, and I hold on to that fleeting thought, wishing the storm would pass before I break.

I never felt so disgusting in my life, and as someone who’s working as an investigative journalist and diving into the underbelly of society, digging through the filth of humanity’s worst, I have my fair share of feeling like the most repugnant person in the world. But this—this is different.

It’s at that very moment I realize I’m wearing nothing underneath the clothes that Dominic made me wear, and if the pervert moves his hand the wrong way, it will only take a matter of time before I get molested.

“How about you share her with us?” he teases before I feel something wet gliding down my cheeks, and when I open my eyes to check what it is, the asshole is fucking licking me. “We can call a truce for that. Take turns with her.”

An image of them taking advantage of helpless little me appears in my head, and bile immediately rises in my throat. Is this how my life is going to be? Being taken advantage of by men? It makes me so sick that TJ’s threat of pulling out my teeth and nails sounds so good in comparison.

My eyes look at Dominic, and I don’t know why I keep on hoping that he’ll be the one to protect me right now. He’s as evil as this guy, right? Except that his clothes are expensive and he needs something from me. A part of me can’t help but wonder what would happen if I gave him exactly what he wanted. Would he leave me to fend for myself and let the triplets rape me?

But his eyes don’t meet mine, and I silently plead that it does because, for whatever screwed-up reason, they give me comfort. And it’s most likely because, between the guy who’s holding me against my will, Dominic is the lesser evil. But an evil nonetheless.

“If you’re going to kill me…” I grunt, and the desperation in my voice even surprises me. Dominic blinks at me, his lips twitching at the corners. “Do me a favor and just do it.”

“Oh, and she’s a little feisty thing, isn’t she?” the man chuckles, his belly bouncing against my back as he licks my face again. “And she tastes good, too. Like… vanilla.”

“Coconut,” Dominic corrects. “But who gives a fuck?”

“You know he wants me dead, right?” I challenge, my eyes never leaving his. Of course, I don’t want to die like this, but the look he’s giving me is priceless. And honestly, at this point, a quick bullet to the head isn’t so bad. “If you pull that trigger now—”

“Shut the fuck up, Alessa.” Dominic takes a step towards us, and I realize that TJ isn’t behind him anymore. Something in me relaxes, knowing that it will only take a matter of time before this all ends. Either the big guy behind me falls with a bullet in his head, or I do.

“Alessa,” the man hums. “Is that your name, dorogaya? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I’m Pavel.”

How suitable… a horrible name for a horrible man

“That’s enough, Dumb Dumb,” Dominic interrupts, and starts casually walking towards us. “Let her go.”

Pavel roughly pushes me back and cocks the hammer before he chuckles.

“Take another step,” Pavel challenges. “I fucking dare you. One pull and she dies.”

“She dies, your brother dies,” Dominic promises. “And when I get my fucking hands on you, I’ll cut your limbs and feed the rest of you to the maggots. Make sure you’re alive to feel all their little teeth chew on your flesh.”

“You know what I’m thinking, Dominic?”

“I’m surprised you’re thinking at all.”

“You can do whatever you want with me and my brothers, but I have a feeling that if I kill this pretty bitch of yours, you’re going to lose everything. If not everything, then something important.”

He just hit the hammer right on the nail.

This is hopeless, I realize. There’s no other way to get out of this without disarming Pavel, and with his gun this close to me, it’s impossible to do it without killing me in the process. Even Dominic’s desperation to get me back alive won’t save me. At least, I’ll die knowing that he won’t get what he wants from the Commission.

I feel tears roll down my cheeks. Dominic’s expression shifts—worry, anger, and something that almost looks like guilt flicker across his face.

I take one last breath before closing my eyes, my lips trembling as I think about the people I’ll be leaving behind. I think of my father, and I pray for nothing more than for him to get out of this thing alive—and maybe, just maybe, feel a little bad about how I ended up, thanks to his stupid life decisions.

I focus on my breathing, trying to block out Pavel’s mocking chuckle and Dominic’s chilling promises. At least I won’t be the one to suffer that fate, right? At least mine will be quick. Clean. One bullet through the head, and it’s over. No drawn-out torture, no slow death. Just... nothing.

No more pain. No more trying to force a relationship with my father. No more trying to tolerate my editors.

I remind myself, trying to slow my racing heart, but my body isn’t listening. Each breath feels shallow and shaky—BANG!

I flinch, my heart skipping a beat as the ear-shattering noise reverberates through the room, the sound of the gunshot vibrating through my entire body like a shockwave. My chest tightens, and for a second, everything goes still.

Then I’m falling.

Is this how it feels when you’re shot in the head? Painless and numb? Perhaps I’m already dead.

The world shifts beneath me, and for a moment, I’m weightless. My body stumbles forward, legs buckling. I don’t understand what’s happening, just the crushing weight against my back, dragging me down.

It’s not until I hit the ground on my knees, gasping for air, that I realize—Pavel’s dead weight is on me. His body slams into mine, slumping over me like a sack of bricks. My hands slip in something wet, and when I look up, I see him—face to face.

His arm is draped over my body, cheek pressed to mine, eyes wide open and glassy. Blood trickles from the bullet hole in his forehead, dripping down his nose, speckling my cheek and hair. The metallic stench hits me hard. Bile burns the back of my throat.

His face is inches from mine. Lifeless. Cold. Too close.

Before I know it, the weight is lifted from me, and TJ pushes Pavel’s lifeless body off mine. I sniff, trying to blink away the tears, my heart pounding in my chest.

Two more gunshots ring out, sharp and deafening. I know exactly who those bullets are meant for—Pavel’s brothers. A part of me feels grateful that I’m spared the sight of Dominic ending their lives because the image of him shooting Cardo, stone-faced and indifferent, is already seared into my mind.

“I said get up.” Dominic nudges my side with his shoe.

There’s no energy left in me to move. Maybe it’s the hunger gnawing at my insides, or the overwhelming relief washing over me. My body feels heavy, like it’s given up on fighting.

I look up at Dominic with his frown. There are specks of blood on his face, and stains of scarlet on his hand where he wears his brass knuckles.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fuck you, Dominic!” I turn to my side, landing my hand right in a puddle of Pavel’s blood, warm and sticky against my skin. A shiver runs down my spine. “Fuck!”

“I’m going to let that slide because you look pathetic right now.”

“Well, I’m sorry for being an inconvenience.”

“Apology accepted,” he answers casually. “Now get up.”

I force myself to stand, even though my knees are trembling. When Dominic extends his hand to help, I swat it away without hesitation.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“You know, for someone who should be fucking thankful you’re acting like a brat.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say sarcastically. “Thanks for fucking holding me against my will and starving me to death and telling me to stay in your office so big fat meanie over here can come and take me as his prisoner. And while we’re at it, thanks for not accidentally killing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he watches me finally get up. “And for your information, I wasn’t going to miss. I knew I was going to shoot his head one way or another.”

Dominic closes the distance between us, and I freeze. His intoxicating cedar scent blocks the metallic stench of blood and sweat. He surveys me from my head down to my toe, and I suddenly feel so exposed.

And up close, I see how disheveled his hair is, how his eyes burn with a disturbing excitement as if he’s reveling in the chaos and violence. He’s achingly gorgeous—criminally beautiful—and it feels almost taboo to acknowledge it.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, reaching for a loose strand of my hair before tucking it behind my ear. The tip of his finger brushes against my skin like a ghost. My nipples harden against my will.

“God, where do I begin?” I remark with irony, hoping that it will kill the electricity between us. It doesn’t.

“Alessandra, are you hurt?” he asks again, voice dropping to a dangerous register.

I shake my head.

“Good, now let’s go.”

He grabs my wrists and pulls me towards him as he marches toward the front door. The fleeting impression of him genuinely caring vanishes, replaced by hardened frustration.

I keep my mouth shut and try not to trip over the bodies that TJ is now dragging to one side. Dominic doesn’t say anything to his second in command as if the latter already knows what to do. As if this is just another Tuesday for the Gianelli residents.

Dominic pushes the double doors open and the light from outside almost costs me my eyesight. There’s still no sun out, and the sky is covered with angry thick clouds, pouring rain. He doesn’t even bother to wait for it to calm when he drags me out of the establishment.

“You still think you’re safer back in your house than with me?” He pulls me toward his sleek black Maserati Alfieri. His grip is firm and tight against my skin.

“Everywhere away from you is safer, Dominic,” I challenge.

“Really, Alessa?” He halts abruptly and whirls around, his face just inches from mine. I catch a whiff of mint on his breath, sharp against the tension between us. “Dumb Dumb and his brothers over there aren’t even part of a mob—they’re fucking hooligans—and you look like you’re about to shit your pants. What makes you think you can handle the Commission? That’s right, you can’t.”

“Give me a gun, and you’ll think differently,” I challenge. We reach his car, and he drags me to the passenger door before opening it with a harsh yank. He practically tosses me inside, my body collapsing into the seat like a ragdoll.

“Don’t hold your breath, baby,” he chuckles, voice icy, before slamming the door shut in my face.