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Chapter fourteen

Alessa

“ J esus Christ, Alessa.”

Dominic’s face goes pale, and I can’t say I hate it. There’s a sick kind of satisfaction in watching him reel after learning I was in the backseat the night my mother died. But that satisfaction is short-lived. My stomach twists, the same nausea curling inside me like it always does when I let myself think about it.

I barely remember the crash. My therapist said my brain locked away most of that night just to survive.

“The brain is a complex thing,” she’d told me right after I woke up from surgery, my collarbone freshly fractured, my head stitched up. They’d rushed me into a psych consult before I even had time to understand what had happened.

“She’s repressing her memories because it’s too much for her to process.”

“Will she ever get them back?” My father had asked. Not me. I’d been too numb, too lost to ask for myself. I couldn’t remember anything, but I knew my mother was dead. And I could feel—down to my bones—the impact of the car slamming into concrete.

“I can’t say when. But she’ll have triggers along the way.”

That’s how it’s been since I was twelve. Waiting. Hoping for something to bring the missing pieces back. Instead, I get night terrors and flashes of fragmented images—never enough to give me answers. But now, thanks to Dominic, I finally remember one thing:

The car was speeding. Way too fast.

“Oh, spare me, Dominic. Don’t look at me like that.” I take another bite of steak, letting the smoky char and buttery juices melt on my tongue. It’s good. Too good.

“Like what?” He slides a glass of green juice toward me. I don’t even hesitate before grabbing it. The second his butler strolled in with a food cart, any shred of dignity I had evaporated. Hunger has stripped me of pride. And at this point? I don’t care if the food is poisoned. If this steak is my last meal, so be it.

“Like you suddenly pity me.” I down half the juice. “I don’t even remember most of it.”

Dominic frowns. “You don’t remember most of it? Then what makes you so sure the Commission is responsible for your mother’s death?”

Because without them, I have no one to blame. Because if they didn’t do it, then my mother’s death was nothing more than a freak accident. And that? That would be worse than murder. That would make all this anger, all this hatred—all of me—completely meaningless.

“Who else would want her dead?” I challenge. “She was a woman thriving in a man’s world. Even you admit she was better than most of the Cosa Nostra’s men. You think no one was jealous enough to take her out and make it look like an accident?”

Dominic watches me for a long moment, then takes the glass from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. My skin prickles.

“Think back,” he says. “Was anything off before she died? Did she seem paranoid? Like someone was following her?”

I exhale sharply. “I didn’t even know she was La Falciante until the night she died.” I dig through old memories, searching for anything strange in the days leading up to the crash. But my mother? She was just my mother.

She made me breakfast. She came to my school recitals. She tucked me in at night, her voice soft as she hummed lullabies.

“You never questioned why you were training?”

“I knew my family had ties to the mob, but my father was a cop—so I never realized just how deep she was in the Commission. And besides, my training ended when she died.”

Why am I telling him all this? Why am I giving him pieces of myself like this? But the words keep flowing, unchecked, unfiltered.

“My mother trained me early just to survive—to recognize danger, to defend myself, to never be a victim—but it was my father who kept pushing. Every lesson, every drill—was never enough. He was relentless.”

Looking back, I was so friggin young—I still don’t know what he was driving at, but it seemed he wanted me to be just like her. Then it all just stopped. He suddenly wanted me as far away from the Commission as possible.

Maybe losing her made him realize—he’d been forcing me down the same path that took her away.

Dominic leans back, studying me. “Wow, he was the one pushing?”

“Yeah. They argued about it all the time. I only went along with it to keep the peace—pretended to enjoy it so my mother wouldn’t worry.”

“You know you didn’t have to do it.”

I scoff. “I’m glad I did. Maybe if I’d trained longer, I’d be good enough to kill you and get the hell out of here.”

Something shifts in his expression, his dark eyes pulling me in, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s piecing together. Up close, he’s lethal. That sharp jawline, the shadow of stubble, and that dark hair falling just enough to frame his face. He looks effortlessly put together—like a predator who’s always in control.

I force myself not to look at his lips. One wrong look—one wrong move—and this will spiral into something very bad.

“If you’d kept training,” he murmurs, “you wouldn’t just be good enough to kill people. You’d be as good as your mother. Better.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. You’re smart. With a little training, you’d fit right in.”

I huff a laugh. “The Commission hates me.”

“The Commission doesn’t hate you.” His eyes flick over me, dark and knowing. “And me? Christ, Alessa, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Heat floods my face. Damn him. My body reacts before I can stop it. I grip my glass tighter, watching the ice melt, pretending like he doesn’t get under my skin.

“The Commission isn’t a place for a woman, Dominic,” I say, voice low. “Killing someone isn’t something I want on my conscience.”

“The Commission needs a woman’s touch. Testosterone’s too high. One wrong word and we’d all kill each other.” He leans in slightly. “And as for killing? You wouldn’t have to do it yourself.”

I don’t tell him what I’m really thinking… my mother earned her respect, not by being a woman, but by doing exactly what they wanted—killing when told, bribing when needed, cheating when necessary… she was complicit.

Did I ever even know her?

To me, she was warmth. Laughter. The scent of whatever she was cooking. But to them? She was a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.

“I’m a journalist,” I say, proud. “A servant to the public. I can’t preach about public welfare while secretly ordering hits.”

Dominic laughs softly. “You know what your problem is? Too much of a conscience. And for what? Your clean conscience is why I showed up at your door. You’re so desperate to escape the Commission, but you forget—they’re like dogs. Run, and they chase. They hunt. And they don’t stop until they tear you apart.”

I stare at him, wondering why he isn’t referring to himself as part of it. His words echo in my mind, and it physically hurts me to admit out loud that he’s right.

“The Commission isn’t going to stop until they stop this RICO case. And if they have to bring you down along with your father, they will. In their eyes, you’re Marco’s daughter, not Isabella’s. And you need to do something about that.”

“Don’t you get it? I want nothing to do with any of this fucking shit.”

“Then what do you want, Alessa?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You want to go home? They’re going to find you before you can even set foot in New York. You want to go to your daddy and ask for help? News flash, Alessa—he’s no match for the Commission.”

“Then what do you want me to do, Dominic?!” I slam my palm against the mattress. Appetite gone.

“I want you to fucking cooperate, Goddamnit!” He raises his voice, and I try my best not to flinch.

“And what?! Let the Commission kill my father, too?!”

“The Commission didn’t kill your mother, Alessa.” His hands drag down his face in frustration.

“You don’t know shit.”

“Oh, but I do. And you know what else I know? I know that your father isn’t going to come and save you. Not now, not ever. If he had some inkling of courage in his bones, he could have at least tried, right? A father should do anything to save his kid. At least that’s the mob way—family first.”

Dominic may as well just punch me in the stomach. This was his plan… Lure me in with food, let me drop my guard, and then hit me where it hurts.

“I hate you,” I hiss. And just like that, we’re back to square one.

“You’ve said that already. But you can hate me while staying alive. I’m offering you something to save you from being just another number in the Commission’s book of victims. You’re going to die a black sheep. An embarrassment. A disappointment.”

“He’s the only family I have left,” I whisper, and his look immediately softens.

“You said it yourself—you haven’t talked to him in almost a year. And let’s be real, Alessa… it’s not just time that’s kept you apart. He stopped being your father long before that.”

My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces on the floor. He’s not wrong. My father isn’t going to win some award for being the best father in the world, but even shitty fathers show up, right?

“Would you do it?” I ask. “If it were you in this situation, would you sell your father out?”

“In a heartbeat.” I blink up at him. “But then again, I wouldn’t be in your situation because I know my father would’ve eliminated anyone who dared threaten me.”

I turn my head, trying to hide the single tear slipping down my cheek. Shame burns hotter than ever before, and it’s all because of my coward of a father. Anger boils in my veins from the fact that I’m stuck in this mess because of his weakness. Because he was too scared to protect his own family, and now I’m paying for it.

“Look, Alessa,” Dominic sighs. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret—the Commission wanted you because they planned to use you as bait, hoping it would lure Marco out of hiding. They believed your father cared enough to surrender for you. After that, they left it up to me to decide what to do with you. It means I can get you out of this shit alive.”

Realization knocks the air from my lungs.

“Did you know?” My head snaps in his direction, eyes narrowing. “When you were at the Crimson gala four years ago?”

“Did I know that you were a Russo?” I nod, eyes stinging. “No, I didn’t even know you were from around here at all, let alone Isabella’s daughter.”

“But you bought me.” The memory hits me like a slap—finding that receipt on his nightstand after the most intense night of my life. Lot number seven. Gold mask. Three million fucking dollars. Like I was a prize thoroughbred at an auction.

His eyes darken, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You know what’s rich?” I laugh. “I spent that whole goddamn night at the gala trying to dodge whoever bought me. Hiding behind pillars, ducking behind groups of Wall Street assholes...” I set my glass down hard enough to make the ice clink. “And there you were at the bar, watching me squirm like it was all some twisted game. Making me think I had a choice when you’d already paid for me like some high-end hooker.”

The humiliation from that night burns in my chest all over again. I’d felt so powerful, so in control when I decided to follow him to his room. What a fucking joke.

Dominic’s jaw tightens. “It was a charity event, Alessa—”

“Bullshit!” I knock the food tray off the edge of the bed. “What was I to you? Some hooker you decided to fuck because you could?”

“You weren’t forced to be there,” he counters, voice dropping to that dangerous register.

“Shows how much you know. My father’s debt—his mess—that’s why I was there. To pay off what he owed. To clean up after him, like I always do.”

His expression shifts. “I didn’t know who you were then. I just saw you—trying so hard to blend in, to look like you belonged. Looking like you needed an escape.”

“So what, you were being chivalrous? My knight in blood-soaked armor?”

“I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“But you kept the receipt,” I say flatly. “Tucked away nice and neat next to my mother’s gun, like some kind of trophy.”

“A reminder. That some things can’t be bought, no matter what price you pay.”

I stare at him, throat tight. “So, you didn’t know who my mother was?”

“No,” he says, and for once, I believe him.

“Aren’t our mothers friends?”

“My memories of our mothers being friends are hazy. After my mother died, I was nine—I never saw Isabella again, till I was sent to help her as a young soldier. That’s when she gave me the gun. I never saw her much after that... she became more of a legend in the Cosa Nostra than a real person.”

He reaches over, fingers grazing my wrist. “I was just trying to help you out that night. If I hadn’t stepped in, maybe some random caretaker would’ve found you naked, bound and dead in one of those bedrooms.”

“You fucked me because I was interesting? That’s one hell of a justification.”

“I fucked you because I wanted to see how that red lipstick would look wrapped around my cock,” he says casually. A shiver crawls up my body. “Because you were a fucking vision in that dress. Like trouble custom-made for me. Those eyes had me the second I saw them, even behind that mask. But that smart ass mouth—“ He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “I wanted to fill it so full of me you’d forget every smart thing you were about to say.”

Despite my anger—despite my humiliation—my traitorous body still responds to him.

“And now?” The words escape before I can stop them.

“What exactly are you asking me, Alessa?” Dominic wipes the corners of his mouth, eyes gleaming.

Yeah, what are you asking the man who fucking kidnapped you and murdered people? I hate that I’m curious about what he thinks about me—or that I’m willing to block all the shit he’s done.

“I-I don’t know.” It’s the first time I sound so unsure around him.

“You don’t know?” He tilts his head. “Are you asking if I think you’re still beautiful? If I still think your eyes are gorgeous? If I still want to fuck you?”

Christ. His voice vibrates through me, his eyes locked on my lips.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Which one is it? Say it. Use your words, piccola.”

I shouldn’t. I should keep things hateful between us. But that nagging thought that a part of me still wants him despite everything, is messed up, and it says so much more about me and the life I’m trying to run away from.

“Do you still want to fuck me?” My hands shake, a slow warmth spreading through me.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night,” he murmurs. “And when I found out you stole my gun? Yeah, that pissed me off. But it also made me want to fuck you senseless—make sure you never forget why stealing from me is a bad idea.”

His gaze drops to my lips. The tension thickens between us, his eyes dark with hunger that matches the warmth pooling in my stomach.

I lick my lips, and his gaze flickers with something primal. Neither of us moves, but the space between us shrinks with each second.

Don’t do it, Alessa, my brain screams.

But desire blocks out rational thought.

He leans in slowly, giving me the chance to back away—but I don’t. I can’t. My breath catches, and my body betrays me, leaning into him, closing the distance.

His lips brush mine, featherlight at first, sending a jolt through my body. Then the kiss deepens—one hand cups my neck, the other threads through my hair, and I melt into him.

A moan escapes me, the sound echoing with the light drizzle of rain outside. His hands trail my skin like a paintbrush on canvas. His lips claim mine with a hunger that’s been simmering for too long, and my body responds, pressing closer.

And just as suddenly, he pulls away. I’m left breathless, my heart racing as his hand slides from my neck. He stares at me, his eyes flickering with something intense before he steps back.

“Just as sweet as I remembered,” he says, touching his lips.

“Wha—”I can’t form words as I watch him rise.

“The Commission is coming by anytime to ask for progress, and I want you to think about what I said—your father is not your ally, and he sure as hell doesn’t give a shit about you.”

He pulls the cart away, walking toward the door like the kiss didn’t happen. I shift my leg and feel the cool metal of the gun against my knee.

“You forgot your gun,” I call.

“Keep it.” Dominic pauses at the door. “You need to be able to protect yourself. Don’t let another Pavel touch you like that.”

“I can kill you with it,” I threaten.

“I’m not an idiot. The gun has one bullet, Alessa. You could try to use it against me—and I can guarantee you won’t succeed. Or you could save it and use it when you really need it. Your choice.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He looks at me one last time before walking out and shutting the door. I’m left on the bed, stomach full of the food he’s fed me, gun heavy in my hand. I should feel thankful, having something to protect myself with now. My mother’s gun, no less.

But all I can think about is the way Dominic’s lips felt against mine. For that quick, stolen moment, when we were kissing, the world went still. And in that brief flicker of time, despite everything, I felt safe. Safer than I’ve ever felt in my life.

The gun trembles in my grip, and my mind races.

I don’t know if I can trust him… and I’m not sure I want to find out.