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Chapter twenty-three

Alessa

P ain explodes through my skull before I even open my eyes like someone’s taken a jackhammer to my brain, each pulse sending shockwaves down my spine.

“Fuck you, Paolo!”

The male voice cuts through my fog, familiar and raw with rage. Dominic. My eyes fly open to blinding white, and for a second, I think I’ve died. But dead people don’t feel like they’ve been hit by a bus.

“You’re responsible for this. Raffy is your right-hand man. You sent him into my city and he bombs a church. A fucking church. Twelve people died, two of which were children. And Alessa—”

My name in his mouth triggers something primal. Relief floods my system, my body responding before my mind can catch up. My fingers twitch and connect with something warm—his hand, I realize, as his thumb traces circles on my skin.

“Alessa?”

I force my head toward his voice and immediately regret it. White-hot pain rips through my skull like a bullet carving a path through tissue and bone. A strangled sound escapes me, part gasp, part cry.

Dominic hovers above me, his face a mask of barely controlled panic. There’s blood streaked across his cheek like war paint, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes—usually calculating death with the cold precision of a hitman—now hold a raw terror that transforms his entire face into something almost human.

“Alessa,” he whispers again, voice sandpaper rough as if he’s been screaming for hours. His hand tightens around mine, the calluses on his palm scraping against my skin, anchoring me to the present.

The antiseptic smell hits me next, sharp and clinical. Hospital. The steady beep of monitors, the IV tugging at my arm, the sterile white walls closing in. Reality crashes over me in brutal waves—the church, the explosion, the heat and pressure before everything went black.

Every inch of me screams in protest. My back feels like I’ve been slammed against concrete, my muscles knotted and throbbing. My throat burns raw, like I’ve swallowed glass and smoke.

My hand trembles violently as I reach for my face, needing to confirm I’m still whole, not missing parts of myself. My fingers catch on something—the pulse oximeter clipped to my index finger. I tug it off, tossing it aside. The nasal cannula presses uncomfortably against my nostrils, and I claw at it too, suddenly desperate to free myself from all these tubes and wires.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, his voice unexpectedly gentle. It cuts through the chaos in my head like a knife through butter. “Relax, Alessa. You’re okay.”

I shake my head, desperate to escape the confinement. My back screams from being in one position too long. I need to move, need to feel in control of something.

“You’re going to rip your IV, baby,” he warns, still eerily calm. I glance down at the needle in my arm, feeling the tug as I shift. His hand hovers near mine, ready to stop me but not quite touching.

Finally, I meet his gaze. And the world stops spinning.

Dominic.

He’s not wearing his usual suits or even all black. Instead, he’s in a white shirt and faded jeans that make him look younger, almost human. It’s jarring—like seeing a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Yet his presence steadies me in a way that makes my stomach knot with confusion.

For a moment, I just watch him—the tension in his stance, the way his other hand kept clenching and unclenching at his side. I’ve never seen him look so... human. So vulnerable.

“Water,” I croak out.Relief flashes across his face before he schooles his features back into careful neutrality. But I’d seen it. Just like I’d seen the bloodstains on his white shirt, the dark circles under his eyes.

He stayed?

“About time, piccola,” he says, his voice gruff as he reached for the cup beside my bed. “Thought you were going to sleep through the whole damn week.”

His hand slides behind my neck, surprisingly gentle as he helps me drink. Our eyes met over the rim of the cup, and something shifted between us—something I’m not ready to examine.

The memory crashes back—the searing pain, Dominic’s voice calling my name, darkness closing in. I thought I was dying. Maybe I had, for a moment.

“You carried me out,” I whispered. It isn’t a question.

Something raw flickers in his eyes. “You’re mine to protect, Alessa. Even if I’m the one who dragged you into this mess in the first place.”

When did this happen? How did my captor become my comfort?

“What happened?” I asked when I could speak.

“After the bombing...” his jaw tightens. “Raffy happened.”Dominic sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He takes my hand again, bringing it to his lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Tell me.” I brush my thumb across his knuckles, feeling the roughness of scars I’ve never noticed before.

“You’re going to hate me.”

“Not as much as I already do, Dominic.” My lips curve into a weak smile.

Whatever this is between us, it isn’t hatred anymore

“How long was I out?” My voice scrapes against my throat like sandpaper.

“Almost the entire day.” He stands to adjust my pillow with surprising tenderness. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I sent Luca out to get something to eat—”

“I’m fine.” I force a weak smile despite how every nerve ending feels like a live wire. “Everything hurts, but I’m fine.”

“When I saw you lying on that floor, I thought you were dead,” he admits, vulnerability raw in his voice. “And it put a lot of things into perspective. I’m sick of people in my life dying. I’ve seen it in the past, and I thought that if I just played my cards right, if I put up with the Commission, I won’t have to go through any of that shit again.”

“Dominic, no one’s dying.” I squeeze his hand, needing to reassure him as much as myself. “I’m okay.”

“Gabriella said otherwise when you were first brought in.” His jaw clenches, a muscle working beneath the skin.

“Don’t ever do that to me again. Do you hear me?” His fingers drum against the metal railing of my bed, betraying his restless energy.

“Okay.” I roll my eyes, wincing at how it aggravates my headache. “Next time there’s an explosion in a church—the one you dragged me to, by the way—I’ll be sure to dodge it.”

“Good.” His shoulders relax slightly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Because being on edge like that isn’t what I signed up for.”

“You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

I exhale a soft laugh, but a sudden, searing pain shoots through my abdomen, cutting it short. It feels like someone’s taken a hot poker to my insides.

“Fuck,” Dominic mutters, his face darkening as he leans closer. “Are you okay? I’m going to get Gab—”

“No!” I grab his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong despite my weakness. “Don’t leave me.”

It’s pathetic, this weakness. But right now, he doesn’t feel like my enemy. He feels like something solid when everything else is slipping away.

“I haven’t been honest with you.”

“You think I have?” I arch an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I want to, though.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “I want to tell you everything. The Commission, the bombing. Fuck! I—I don’t know what we are, but whatever it is, the Commission isn’t going to like it.”

“And what is that?” My pulse quickens, the monitor beside me betraying my reaction. “What are we, Dominic?”

“Hell if I know.” He runs his free hand through his hair, disheveling it further. “But I don’t want you to get hurt, Alessa. I don’t want the Commission touching you. I don’t want to be the person to drag you into all this shit.” I’ve never seen him look so... human. So vulnerable.

The words hang between us, heavy and jagged. This man—this dangerous, violent man who kidnapped me, threatened me, turned my entire life upside down—carried me through fire and chaos just to make sure I survived.

“Why?” I ask, needing to hear it. Whatever it is.

He looks away, jaw tight, throat working. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Alessandra.”

“What if I do?”

His gaze snaps back to mine, dark and intense. “Then you’re even crazier than I thought.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you,” I whisper. “For any of it.”

His hand finds mine again, our fingers locking before I can pull away. And the worst part? I don’t want to pull away. His touch grounds me. Makes the pain shrink just enough to breathe.

I should hate him. God knows I have every reason. He stole my freedom, threatened my father, dragged me back into the very world I’d spent my life running from. But lying here, seeing the barely contained anguish in his eyes, feels so confusing.

“Rest,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I want to argue, to push him away, to remind us both that he’s my enemy, not my damn protector. But exhaustion pulls at me, and his hand’s warm in mine, and for just this moment, I let myself believe the lie that I’m safe with him.

Tomorrow, I’ll remember who we are to each other. Tonight, I’ll take comfort where I can find it, even from the devil himself.

“I’m already in this shit with or without you, Dominic. I swear it’s a curse I carry because of who my mother was and what my father’s become.” I search his face, watching him gather his courage. “I overheard you say twelve people died.”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slump slightly. “Two children. Most of them from impact, some from smoke inhalation. If you had been inches away from where you were, you could’ve suffered the same fate. And I don’t know what I would have done.”

“And what does Paolo have to do with all of this?”

“He sent Raffy here.” Dominic’s jaw tightens again. “Raffy was the one who bombed the church.”

“Raffy?” I blink, the name taking me by surprise.

“Raffaele Russo. Your mother’s cousin.”

“He’s here?” My body tenses despite the pain. “What did he want?”

“Given your reaction, I take it you’re not so fond of him as he thinks?”

“I don’t know how I should feel about it, but I’m sick of being my family’s collateral.” I shift, wincing as pain shoots through my side. “But I remember Raffy being close with my mom when I was younger. Then he disappeared, stopped going to family gatherings, and all that. I thought he and my mother had a fallout.”

“When I had to leave in a rush the other day, it was because the Commission was demanding an update on Marco.”

“You went and saw the Commission? Are they in the city?” My fingers unconsciously tighten around his.

“Relax, they’re not here. Even if they were, they’re not touching you.” Dominic’s thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, his touch unexpectedly soothing.

“At first I thought I was meeting with them, but they sent their seconds. Raffy was one of them, there on behalf of Paolo. I couldn’t read him, never really knew him. But he asked about you. He said he did everything to follow Isabella’s wishes. That he helped keep you out of Cosa Nostra. He said he wants to make things right for the Russos, whatever that means. And I get the feeling that now he wants you in the Cosa Nostra to do it.”

I dig my nails into my palm, anger building inside me like a pressure cooker. “I’m not going to be part of it. And Raffy didn’t do shit to help me. He wasn’t even at my mother’s funeral. He showed up at my apartment once when I was already doing something good for myself, and the Cosa Nostra was nowhere in my life. I was in the university, I had an excellent track record and good enough grades to land me a job at The New York Times. No connections, no help from anyone—not even from my own father. I did it. And I was thriving.”

“He said he was going to be staying in the city for a while. The next thing I know, he blows up a church. He rang a few seconds before the explosion, said it was his little surprise.”

“What did he want?” My stomach clenches in anticipation.

Dominic hesitates, his eyes flicking away briefly. “He wants me to return you to him.”

Because somehow, against all logic, against every survival instinct I’ve honed since I was twelve, the only person I trust besides myself is Dominic. The man who kidnapped me. The man who’s threatened everything I care about. The man who’s shown me more honesty in captivity than my father has in freedom.

“Let me talk to him.” I straighten slightly, ignoring the pain that flares across my body. “As long as you’re there to make sure I’m safe—”

“Over my dead fucking body.” Dominic’s fingers stop their gentle caress, suddenly rigid with tension.

“Well, if he wants me in, it means he’s not going to hurt—”

“Like fuck he won’t! He knows you were inside that church and bombed it anyway. He’s fucked in the head, Alessa. Like every man in that family. No offense.”

“None taken.” It’s strange how you can love someone and still acknowledge their poison.

“And you don’t know what his plans are. What if he’s working with Paolo to fuck with me? To take you? What then? I couldn’t guarantee your life once the Commission takes you.” He pulls his hand from mine, pacing the small hospital room like a caged animal.

“Why do you say it like you’re not part of it?!” I push myself higher on the pillows, my body protesting with every movement.

“Because I’m not part of it!” He slams his palm against the wall, making the medical equipment rattle. “I’m not part of the Commission, Alessa. Not yet. This assignment—finding Marco, shutting down this goddamn RICO case—it’s supposed to be the deciding factor. If I pull it off, I get made. Officially. That means a seat at the table. Calling shots. Earning respect from men like Raffy. And only then I’ll be on my way to Don and control everything. So no—I’m not part of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The revelation lands like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs.

“Because you’re my captive, damn it!” He rakes his fingers through his hair, messing it further. “You were supposed to be a goddamn assignment, Alessa. A means to an end. Not—” He cuts himself off, breath ragged. “This should’ve been simple. Grab you, break you, use you as bait. That was the fucking plan. But here we are, and I’m bleeding out my secrets because I can’t stand the way you look at me like I’m one of them. Like I’m the fucking monster under your bed.” His fist connects with the wall again, the impact echoing through the room. “And the fucked up part—I don’t know if I even want their precious respect if it means you’ll hate me for it. What the fuck is happening to me?”

His words knock the breath from my lungs. For once, I’m completely speechless, my usual sharp retorts deserting me. His walls have come down, revealing something raw and unexpected beneath.

I don’t want you to despise me.

My chest tightens with emotions I can’t—or won’t—name. One thing crystallizes with sudden clarity—I don’t want him to lose this battle with the Commission. Not because of me. Not when he’s been fighting his whole life to get here.

“You’ve come this far,” I trace the edge of the hospital blanket with my fingertip, not meeting his eyes. “There’s no point in backing down. Not from the Commission. Not from Raffy. Let me talk to Raffy.”

“No.” The word falls heavy and final between us.

“Somewhere safe. With you, with TJ—”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest, creating a physical barrier between us.

“Why not?” I lift my eyes to challenge him directly.

“It won’t matter. Because Raffy is a dead man walking. He messed with the wrong person. Once I get Paolo’s blessing, I’ll have his head on a plate.”

I see it then, in the cold calculation of his eyes—the man my mother saw all those years ago. The predator beneath the charm. The killer he was born to be.

And the most terrifying part? It doesn’t make me want to run.

It makes me want to stay.