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Chapter twenty-one

Alessa

T hey say the devil doesn’t belong in a church. So how is it he’s sitting in a pew right beside me? The scent of burning wax and old sins lingers in the air, thick enough to choke on. I shouldn’t be here. And neither should he.

“Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life,” the priest says from the altar, raising his hands.

“Thanks be to God,” everyone responds.

This mass has been pure torture. For me, at least. Everyone else seems into it, laughing at the priest’s lame jokes about marriage during his homily while I fight to keep my eyes open. The only thing keeping me awake is Dominic’s thigh pressed against mine and the memory of what those hands did to me just an hour ago.

We barely made it on time, and honestly, it’s a miracle we made it at all. If Dominic’s security guys hadn’t been in the car with us, we probably would have ended up in the backseat instead of the church pews. Three men in dark suits are scattered around the church, pretending to be regular worshippers but constantly scanning the crowd. Nothing says “I trust you” like an armed escort, right?

When we first walked in, it was like a scene from a movie. Every head turned. People whispered. An old guy practically jumped out of his seat to give Dominic his spot near the front. A woman clutched her rosary like she’d seen the devil himself. These people weren’t just impressed by his wealth—they were terrified of him. It hit me then that in this town, Dominic isn’t just some rich guy. He’s THE guy. The boss. The one everyone answers to.

Dominic stopped to greet the priest, Reverend Giuseppe, before mass started. They chatted in rapid Italian while I stood there awkwardly. I caught a few words—something about donations and family obligations. Dominic slipped him an envelope that disappeared into the priest’s pocket faster than you could say “tax-free contribution.” Then Dominic introduced me as Isabella Russo’s daughter, and the priest’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He asked me to stay after mass to talk.

The walk down the aisle felt endless. Dominic took my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I swear I could feel every eye on us. I straightened my spine and channeled my inner celebrity, pretending I was used to this kind of attention instead of wanting to crawl under a pew.

The gossip started immediately. Two women behind us weren’t even trying to whisper.

“I’ve never seen her before,” one said. “She must be visiting.”

“That’s why Mr. Gianelli is back in town,” the other replied. “I knew there had to be a reason.”

Petty? Me...Never. But when it came time for the sign of peace, I turned and planted a kiss right on Dominic’s lips. His surprise lasted half a second before he caught on, pulling me closer as the old biddies behind us gasped loud enough to drown out the choir. Worth it.

Now the mass is finally ending, and Dominic sits relaxed on the pew, waiting for people to clear out. I’m still stuck on the image of him taking communion, dropping cash in the collection basket. Who knew mafiosos were so damn religious?

“The last time I went to church, my mother was still alive,” I say quietly, watching the priest chat with parishioners. “She never seemed particularly spiritual, but we were here every Sunday without fail.”

We’re not touching anymore—the show’s over—but I’m hyper aware of him next to me, his warmth, his scent. It’s pathetic how much I want him to touch me again, like I’ve become addicted to him overnight.

“It’s some sort of misguided sense of redemption if you ask me,” he says with that smirk that makes my stomach flip.

“So, why do you show up? Don’t tell me you actually believe in all this.”

“I grew up with parents who were serious about church. It’s less about believing and more about obligation.” I can’t help picturing mini-Dominic in his Sunday best, fidgeting through mass, getting scolded for not paying attention. It’s too humanizing, and that’s dangerous territory.

“A misguided sense of redemption,” I echo. “That makes sense.”

“Exactly.” There’s something softer in his voice—a glimpse of the person he might have been in another life. “This church was one of my grandfather’s first major projects when he settled here. The Gianellis have been patrons ever since.”

I look around with new eyes. Blood money built this place. God’s house funded by the devil’s work. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

“So, about this talk with the reverend. He’s not going to ask me to confess my sins, is he? Because we’d be here all day.”

Dominic laughs quietly, and I hate how much I like the sound. Before he can answer, his phone buzzes. He checks it, and his face immediately darkens. Just like that, the spell breaks. Reality rushes back in—we’re not normal people on a normal date. We’re captor and captive playing house.

“I need to make a call,” he says, standing and adjusting his jacket. He hesitates. “I think Reverend Giuseppe knows your mother. That’s probably what he wants to talk about.”

“Really?” My pulse quickens. I have so many questions about my mother, about her life before me, about who she really was.

“I’ll be in the car,” he says, then stops. “No funny business. I have guys everywhere.”

I roll my eyes. Does he think I’m stupid enough to make a break for it in a town where everyone clearly works for him? “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he grins, leaning closer, his voice low and rough against my ear. “You can use that one again while I fuck that sweet pussy of yours.” My face burns. “You think I keep you close because you’re a pawn in this game? No, baby. You’re the queen. And in my world, the queen belongs to the king.”

My stomach tightens, my pulse pounding in my throat. The worst part is, some reckless, traitorous part of me likes the way he says it. Like I belong to him, whether I accept it or not. I should be pissed. I should throw his words back in his face. Instead, they linger, sinking into the cracks of my resolve like poison I’m too tempted to swallow.

Before I respond, he’s already walking away, phone to his ear, issuing orders in rapid Italian. I watch him go, then turn back to Reverend Giuseppe. He’s smiling with a young couple and their baby in a frilly pink dress. Something tugs in my chest at the sight—a life I’ll probably never have.

I’m aching for answers—whatever the reverend knows about my mother, I need to hear it. What was she hiding? How deep did her secrets go?

I push myself up, ready to step forward.

And then the world detonates.

The explosion is deafening, a force so violent it rattles the foundation of the church.

The walls shudder, as if the building itself is gasping for air.

The stained-glass windows—Dominic’s family’s so-called offering to God—burst apart, sending jagged, jewel-toned shards cascading down like a shattered prayer.

Heat and smoke rush in, choking me.

Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe. But I can’t. My lungs burn. My eyes water.

My legs give out, and I hit the floor hard.

Everything spins. People are screaming. Running. Trampling each other to escape.

Through the chaos and smoke, I see a figure running toward me—Dominic. His perfect suit is torn, face streaked with dirt. He’s got a gun in his hand, shoving people aside to get to me. He’s shouting something, but my ears are ringing too loudly to hear.

What catches me off guard isn’t the gun or the blood on his shirt. It’s his eyes.

I’ve seen Dominic pissed, smug, cruel, even amused. But for the first time since I’ve known him, I see raw, unfiltered fear. A terrifying thought grips me—if Dominic Gianelli is scared, I need to run for my life.

I try to call his name, but no sound comes. Darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision.

The last thing I see before everything goes black is Dominic, fighting through the crowd. His gun is already drawn, his mouth a sharp line as he shoves people aside like they’re nothing.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he snarls, voice pure fury as he storms toward me. One man stumbles in front of him, too slow to move—Dominic doesn’t hesitate. A brutal punch to the ribs. A body hitting the floor.

He’s coming for me.

And God help anyone in his way.

Before I can pull myself up, a second explosion rips through the air. Heat. Pressure. Silence. The last thing I feel is Dominic yanking me against his chest before darkness swallows me whole.