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Chapter fifteen

Dominic

I tilt my head, watching Alessa’s chest rise and fall as she sleeps. Least this troublemaker’s still breathing and not at the bottom of the ocean.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I gotta admit she almost looks innocent like this. Peaceful. But after last night, I can’t stop thinking about her. I need my fix.

And before you start, no, it wasn’t some bullshit peck on the cheek. It was like coming up for air after nearly drowning. A shot of top-shelf whiskey burning down my throat. An ice bath in a heat wave. I know, sounds so fucking poetic, right? Well, I’m not exaggerating. I’ve been craving those lips again since I woke up years ago to an empty bed.

Last night, I rubbed one out in the shower. Twice. Then again in bed. Didn’t make a dent. I was harder than a rock, aching with it. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s got me so pent up. Her mouth is a drug and I’m hooked. She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but Christ do I need another taste. A little lip lock nearly killed me, imagine what doing more would do. Spontaneous combustion, guaranteed.

Clenching my jaw, I knock once, loud enough to shake the silence, then open the door. I stalk to the window and rip open the curtains. Sunlight floods in like last night never happened. Dewy grass, blue skies, dogs’ll have a field day out there later. But first...

“Rise and shine, princess.” I call over my shoulder, drinking in the view. Her answering groan makes my pants tighten. Definitely should’ve had coffee before this.

“Fuck off!” Ah, there she is. I turn to watch her yank the duvet over that copper hair, curling away from the light.

Smirking, I check my watch. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I’m not eating with you,” comes her muffled bitching. “Now get out.”

“Not happening, sweetheart.” I tug the covers off her scowling face. She blindly grabs for a pillow instead. “My cook’s slaving away as we speak. Let’s not waste the effort, yeah?”

“I said I’m not eating with you, Dominic.” Stubborn as ever.

Christ, not this again. “Alessa, baby, we had such a good night. Don’t ruin it now. You got three seconds before this duvet disappears, clothes or no clothes.”

She makes a strangled noise and burrows deeper. Like she can smother me quiet. Fat chance.

“One...”

“Dominic, I’m tired! I hardly slept—“

“Two. Keep talking while you drag that sweet ass out of bed.”

She throws the pillow with a huff, whipping around to glare daggers at me. It’d be scarier if she didn’t look so damn edible, all sleep-warmed and rumpled. Even pissed as hell, she’s a goddamn vision. And she’s put back on a little weight, not the half-starved wreck I brought home anymore.

“God!” She kicks off the covers and stomps for the bathroom, short nightie riding up her thighs and just begging to be peeled off. I shake my head at the sway of her hips.

“Would it kill you to do what you’re told without the attitude for once? Fucking hell,” I mutter, watching her leave.

“Screw you!” The door rattles when she slams it.

Chuckling, I walk to the window, listening with half an ear as the shower kicks on. Riling her up might be my second favorite pastime these days, right after keeping her alive.

Her room’s still depressing as shit though. Nothing like the posh setup I had done for her. Meant to be a cozy nest, decked out properly. But nah, it’s a mausoleum, dark and empty. No life, no personality. I’ll get my guys on that pronto. Call it a thank you for her spilling her guts last night. I’m a man of my word.

And speaking of ancient history...I went digging. Had my PI sniff around her mom’s accident, real hush-hush. Wasn’t my smartest play, casting doubt on the Commission’s version of events. But hey, my gut’s rarely wrong.

Something stunk about those bastards from the start. Dangling power in my face, letting me twist, knowing it’s my bloodline that keeps me around. Nothing personal, they claim. Bullshit. Making me wait for their table scraps, for the ceremony, for a little goddamn respect. And now this mess.

Sending me to handle Alessa was expected. But lying about offing La Falciante themselves? I thought they finally slipped, shown their true colors. Another knife in my back.

But then my guy’s report came in. And wouldn’t you know - they had jack shit to do with the crash. At least, nothing obvious. Isabella was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, according to the official story. An accident after picking up her little princess from that snooty private school.

Same one me and my brothers stayed out of thanks to. Good old St. Laurents.

But even a blind man could poke holes in that flimsy-ass police report. I still got questions. And Alessa’s gonna give me answers, like it or not. Because if the Commission’s hands are clean in this, then whose aren’t?

I’m jolted out of my thoughts by the bathroom door creaking open, a billow of fragrant steam betraying her. And oh, fuck me, there she is. “Freshly scrubbed and barely decent, a tiny towel the only thing between me and her fantastic tits. I’m aware I’m staring like a dog at a pork chop, but can you blame me?” The way that terrycloth clings and shifts with every breath... Dio Mio .

She startles when she notices me. “What the hell, Dominic!”

Scowling, I pin her with a stern look. “Can it, princess. Be grateful you’re vertical and not weighted down in the river, capiche ?”

She clutches the towel tighter—a damn shame. She glares. “Not sure which is worse, honestly.”

Is she trying to give me a heart attack? I adjust myself discreetly while she turns on her heel and flounces to the closet.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna sit there and watch me dress like a creep?”

I tsk, eyes glued to her retreating backside. “Nothing I ain’t seen before, sweetheart.”

The violent clatter of hangers tells me she’s not in the mood for a walk down memory lane. “You’re deranged. Has anyone ever told you that?” Her voice is muffled by fabric.

“Not twice.”

“By the way, did you pick out these rags? There’s not a single pair of pants.” More clattering and rustling.

“Tragic,” I deadpan, buffing my nails on my shirt. “Guess you’re going sans pants today. You’ve got bigger problems, trust.”

She snarls something I don’t quite catch over the sudden roar of the hair dryer. But I get the gist. No fucking sneakers either. I file that intel away for later.

When the dryer cuts off, I clear my throat. “We need to talk about your mom, Alessa.”

The loaded silence from the closet is telling. I can hear her swallow from here.

“What about her?” Soft and wary now.

“I had my guy pull her file. The crash report, scene photos, witness accounts. Everything.”

More suffocating quiet, but I press on.

“I really think you oughta take a look. Get the facts for yourself, babe. See it with clear eyes for once.”

Something thumps in there, but she’s quick to cover with irritated rustling. “I’m not interested in rehashing ancient bullshit today, but thanks.”

Rehashing bullshit, she says. Like I’m not trying to do her a favor here. Like I’ve ever jerked her around or lied about important shit. I may omit details now and then, for her own good. But outright lie to her face… Not my style.

I sigh heavily. “Alessa, I’m not asking. We’re doing this, with or without your blessing. But I figured you’d wanna know the truth about what went down that night.”

The clicking of her heels announces her return before I glance up and— mingya , I nearly bite my own tongue.

She’s a fucking vision in white lace, the kind of dress that’s demure and sinful. It gloves every dangerous curve, hugging tight from collarbones to calves, and oh, what delicious curves they are. Just begging for my big hands to hold, to pet, to leave marks. The neckline ain’t exactly leaving much to the imagination, lifting those perfect tits like they’re begging to be touched. And those legs—don’t even get me started—she’s wearing fuck-me pumps like she’s ready to be bent over and fucked from behind.

Makes me want to drag her to the nearest flat surface and make her forget how to walk in those heels—ready to worship that fica on an altar until she’s hoarse from screaming my name. Cristo … I’ll commit all kinds of sins on every inch of that creamy heaven she’s flaunting. And she fucking knows it too. La mia testa rossa knows my tongue’s damn near dragging the ground, watching her fiddle with some earrings, acting oblivious. But I see that sly little quirk at the corner of her mouth.

Minx.

She’s lucky I don’t trust myself to speak proper without busting out something crude enough to make the devil blush right about now. Some shit on par with “sit on my face and let me die happy”

Yeah, not my finest pillow talk, but I’m operating on half a brain here. The blood’s rushing decidedly south of my belt buckle, sue me.

Finally, after letting me stew long enough, she puts a hand on her hip and gives me a flat look. “Well? Go on then. Hit me with these so-called facts of yours. But I reserve the right to call bullshit.”

My teeth grind together. “I don’t peddle bullshit, Alessa. Not about this.”

She waves a hand. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Right. Enough dancing around it. She needs to hear this. Whether she wants to or not.

I stand up slowly, holding her gaze hostage. I can see the moment it dawns on her that playtime’s over.

Good. Because I’m done pussyfooting.

“What if...” I take a step toward her, keeping my voice real calm, soothing-like. “What if it was your dad?” There it is. I watch it sink hooks into that smart brain of hers, watch her eyes go wide and face pale. Watch the horrible truth blossom like nightshade, poisoning the fantasy of her saintly father.

“No, that’s... You’re wrong, he loved my mother, he wouldn’t —”

I’m on her before she can finish shaking her head in frantic denial, cupping her cheek, thumbing away the single tear that slips free.

“Use your head, baby,” I murmur, tipping her chin up until our eyes lock. Letting her see the conviction in mine. “He’s the only one with means and motive. At least that the cops knew about. It’s all there in black and white for anybody with half a brain to see.”

I can tell she wants to jerk away, shove me, scream in my face that I’m a liar. But I hold firm, caging her in with my body. Forcing her to be still and listen.

“I know it ain’t what you wanna hear. Don’t take my word though.” I trail my fingers along her jaw, her throat, feeling the frantic thrum of her pulse. “Read his file. See the ugly truth for yourself.”

I step back and her knees almost buckle. But she’s strong, my girl. Too strong to fall apart so easy.

“Then we’ll talk,” I promise softly. I turn before I do something stupid, like yank her into my arms and kiss her tears away. Comfort her like I want to.

But she needs to do this bit alone, I know. Let the poison work its way through her system in peace. Let the pieces fall into place in that too-clever brain.

So, I leave her slack-jawed and trembling, and head for the door.

She’ll stew on it for a while. Curse my name, cry, break shit maybe. But then?

Then she’ll remember I’ve never lied when it counts. She’ll see the facts don’t add up to the fantasy she’s clung to for so long.

She’ll stop seeing me as the villain of this piece. The one who shattered her world beyond repair.

Maybe she’ll even see the method in my madness. The mercy in my cruelty.

Because that’s love, baby. The true kind. The kind that’ll drag you kickin’ and screamin’ into the light, whether you like it or not.

And I do love her. Fucked up as it is.

Lord help anybody who tries to get in my way.

Even her.