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Chapter twenty-four

Dominic

M y hands hover over Alessa’s body, afraid to touch what I nearly lost. The hospital room reeks of antiseptic, a smell I’ve gotten too familiar with over the years. Every wince on her face is like a knife between my ribs—a weakness I can’t afford to show. Twelve hours ago, she was lying unconscious in church rubble. Now she’s trying to stand on her own, stubborn as ever, while I’m fighting the urge to chain her to the damn bed until she’s healed. It should be a relief. It isn’t. Too many people I’ve given a damn about ended up in places like this and never walked out.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to matter.

“She’s not dying, is she?”

“My god, Dominic,” Alessa gasps as she slaps away my hand, her skin scorching against mine. The contact triggers that familiar hunger I’ve been battling since she opened her eyes—a weakness that could get us both killed if the Commission knew. She steadies herself, and I guide her toward the bathroom, my fingers itching to touch more than just her elbow.

Gabriella watches us with those clinical eyes of hers, dressed in lavender scrubs that do nothing to soften the steel in her spine. The stethoscope around her neck catches the fluorescent light as she shifts. She smells like hand sanitizer and bad news—the scent of every serious conversation I’ve had in a hospital.

There’s an unwritten rule between us—when she’s working, I treat her like a doctor, not someone on my payroll. In return, she tries not to kill me when I end up on her operating table. Fair trade.

“No, she’s not going to die, Dominic. I told you if the blast caused internal bleeding, she’d be at risk for an aneurysm, but I told you…she’s clear. Stop overreacting,” Gabriella rolls her eyes as she updates the chart. “Just a mild concussion, which explains the headache. The pain in her chest is from smoke inhalation, and her back hurts because she’s been lying in that bed too long.”

She was on her back the other night for hours while I buried my face between her legs and wasn’t complaining then , I think, shoving the thought aside before it shows on my face.

Not the time.

“She’s good to go,” Gabriella adds. “But you need rest, Alessa. Fluids. Food. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

“That’s it?” I press, watching Alessa’s eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. At least her attitude survived the blast. The color’s returning to her face now that she’s eaten—a vast improvement from the ashen corpse I carried out of that church.

Exhaustion drags at me like concrete boots, the adrenaline crash finally hitting. After they brought her here, I made calls for hours—for the families of the dead, PR teams to keep this off national news, lawyers to handle the inevitable lawsuits. Twelve dead, including two kids. I’ll be paying for funerals I never wanted to attend.

Then there’s Enzo, already spinning this tragedy into political capital. “ Questa è la mia opportunità , Dom,” he’d said, already seeing votes where I saw blood. Always about his mayoral campaign, his image, his fucking ambition.

Meanwhile, Matteo’s hunting Raffaele, and Luca’s helping TJ with their new assignment. My attention belongs to Alessa now. Something’s shifted in her—she’s actually listening to me, considering what I tell her. She gave me her trust, and I’m terrified of fucking it up. She trusts me to find Marco. To eliminate Raffy. She didn’t even blink when I told her my standing with the Commission.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You should be thankful it’s nothing worse. Will you take a fucking chill pill?” Gabriella snaps. “Just monitor her. If the pain doesn’t stop, if she gets dizzy or vomits—anything unusual, you call me.”

“Anything unusual. Got it.”

“Good,” Gabriella nods before turning to Alessa. “Can you make sure he only calls when something’s actually wrong?”

“I can,” Alessa giggles, grabbing her ribs. She fucking giggles . After everything today, that sound is like hearing a weapon discharge when you thought it was empty—shocking and somehow dangerous.

I open the bathroom door for Alessa, place her smoky clothes on the counter, and shut it behind her. I make a mental note to burn those clothes later. I don’t want reminders of how close she came to being another body in my ledger.

When it’s just Gabriella and me, her professional mask slips. Her shoulders fall just enough for me to notice before she catches herself.

“Do you know where Luca is?” she asks, voice dropping.

“He’s out.” We both know what that means… mob work, do not disturb.

“No wonder he hasn’t called all day.” I’ll never understand why those two pretend they’re not fucking madly in love. One day without contact and she’s ready to organize a search party. Not my business, as long as they both do their jobs.

“Why? Something wrong?” Gabriella hesitates. “Tell me. Luca can help, but I can eliminate the problem before it becomes a threat.”

“Christ, Dom, is killing your first instinct, or do you get off on murder?”

“ Gabriella .” My voice carries enough warning to make lesser people piss themselves.

Her shoulders sag. “My father left a message saying Emmanuele’s in the city. He wants me to have dinner with him.”

“ Per l’amor di Dio —please don’t tell me you went to dinner with that stronzo and broke my brother’s heart. He’s a man, but he’s pathetic where you’re concerned.”

“Do I look stupid? I’d rather stab my eyeballs with a scalpel.”

“Emmanuele was in the city,” I admit, feeling a twinge of guilt for not telling her. Then again, she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the man her father sold her to.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“No, because he was here to see me.” Gabriella stiffens, betrayal flashing across her face. I don’t owe her explanations, but she’s saved our lives more times than I can count, and Luca would die for her. More importantly, I don’t want to see her hurt on my watch.

“You’re giving me away, aren’t you?” One of the perks I offered when she signed on as my doctor—no Giovani could touch her, and as long as she works for me, the Grimaldi family can’t either.

“I’m not giving you away,” I assure her, glad Alessa isn’t hearing this conversation. “He was here on Commission business, representing your father. He flew out the next day.”

“On behalf of my father,” she scoffs. “He did it, didn’t he? He chose that Grimaldi bastard as his successor.”

I can only shrug. Fabio Giovani is one slippery figlio di puttana —unpredictable, unreadable, dangerous. I don’t know if he sent Emmanuele to torture Gabriella or if he really picked him over his own sons.

“He won’t be a problem,” I promise. “Neither will your father. Fabio respects the Commission too much to cross lines. It’s why he tolerates our arrangement. It’s why he hasn’t moved against you.”

“I’m not scared of my father,” she admits, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m scared of Emmanuele. He doesn’t follow rules. He could go rogue any day without consequences.”

“Are you sure about that?” I challenge. “He’s a bastard. I could walk into his estate right now, put a bullet in his skull in front of the Commission, and they wouldn’t blink.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Because it’ll be more satisfying if you do it yourself.”

Gabriella opens her mouth but stops when the bathroom doorknob turns. She quickly straightens, wiping her eyes as Alessa emerges.

“I’ll have Luca call you tonight,” I whisper. “If Emmanuele contacts you in any way, you tell me immediately.” I step back as Alessa approaches.

Mingya . Even in those smoke-damaged clothes, she’s stunning. Her hair’s a tangled mess despite her attempts to tame it, making her look even more fuckable. It reminds me of how she looks after I’ve had her all night—thoroughly claimed.

She’s barefoot as she returns to the bed, eyes narrowing as she studies us, sensing the tension lingering in the air.

“So,” Gabriella clears her throat, checking her watch. “I’ll be on my way. Surgery in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Gabriella,” Alessa says with a tired smile.

“Of course.” Gabriella gives me one grateful look before walking out, her worries about Emmanuele seemingly forgotten.

“What was that about?” Alessa asks, frowning as she reaches for her heels beside the bed. I move faster, dropping to my knees before her. I pick up the first shoe, sliding it onto her foot, my fingers brushing against her skin. She watches me silently, neither pulling away nor encouraging as I fit the second heel. The moment feels heavy, charged with things neither of us is ready to name.

“Luca hasn’t called her all day,” I answer, which isn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. Alessa’s been through enough without taking on Gabriella’s problems too.

I rise once her shoes are on, towering over her as she looks up at me. I should stop smiling around her. It feels wrong, this comfort, with the Commission situation hanging over us.

“Did he say why?” she asks as I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch, her eyes soft in a way that makes my chest tighten.

“Not our problem,” I say, tracing the curve of her cheek. “In fact, how about we forget all our problems for a while? Forget the Commission. Marco. Raffy. All the shit from today. Just until you’re fully recovered.”

“Playing hooky?”

“How does that sound?”

“Hmm,” she hums. “I quite like it.”

For the first time, I consider locking us away somewhere—turning off my phone, barricading the door, letting the world burn outside. No obligations, no pressure. Just her and me. It’s the first time my mind strays from the path I’ve killed for. Since I was a kid with my father’s blood still warm on my face, I’ve had one goa— become made, rise through the ranks, eventually take my seat as Don. I’ve sacrificed everything to deserve to be in line for my button—family, friendships, a normal fucking existence. Now I’m looking at Alessa and wondering what life might be like if I walked away from it all. A life where I check for threats out of habit, not necessity. A life where I’m not constantly calculating which capo might be plotting against me, which soldier is ready to put a bullet in my skull for a chance at my position. It’s a dangerous thought—more dangerous than any hit I’ve ordered.

“ Perfetto ,” I say, stroking her cheek. “Let’s go.”

“ Oh, cristo santo ,” I groan as I gather Alessa’s hair in my fist, watching my cock disappear between her lips. I brace against the shower wall, water cascading over us both as she kneels on the tile floor, looking up through wet lashes.

She’s gloriously naked, on her knees where I like her best. Though, if I’m honest, Alessa without clothes is always my favorite view, regardless of position.

It’s been a week and a half since she left the hospital. Ten days of pretending our problems don’t exist. Ten days of ignoring calls, postponing updates from TJ and my brothers. Ten days of skin against skin and making her come until she can’t remember her own name. Ten days of having Alessa all to myself. I never want it to end.

“You’re gonna make me come again, tesoro ,” I grunt as her tongue swirls around my length, her throat tightening around the tip. Her hand cups my balls while the other grips my ass, pulling me deeper into her mouth.

This woman doesn’t quit. I’ve never lost control like this—not with anyone. In my world, control is survival, but with her mouth on me like this, I’m fighting a losing battle. Four rounds in and my legs are shaking, my body raw and oversensitive, but I still want more. She’s dismantling me piece by piece, finding weaknesses I didn’t know existed. If my enemies could see the great Dominic Gianelli right now, they’d put a bullet in my head while I’m too fucked up to notice.

My toes curl against the tile as the sensation builds, my body overrun from hours of this. For the first time, I let myself lose control completely, whimpering and shuddering against her mouth like some virgin kid. And it’s the hottest fucking thing.

“You look so good like this.” Alessa pulls back, her lips swollen from sucking me for the past hour. She strokes my cock with both hands, spitting on the tip for more lubrication. What’s even hotter? She’s kneeling there with my earlier load still running down her thighs.

“Your mouth is fucking perfect, bella ,” I whisper, swiping my thumb across the corner of her lips. “You can talk shit to me all day as long as I get to fuck you in this mou—”

My phone interrupts, its ringtone cutting through the steam. It’s TJ’s tone, and despite my explicit orders not to bother me, he still tries once a day, hoping I’ll finally answer.

“You know you should answer that,” Alessa says, flicking her tongue over my tip.

“Forget it,” I demand, growing irritated at the persistent ringing. I keep telling myself one more day in this bubble with Alessa. But days turned into a week, now almost two, and I have zero intention of returning to reality. Alessa seems just as content to stay here. If I ignore the call like all the others, it’ll stop.

“You should get back to work,” she whispers, but her actions contradict her words as she takes me fully into her mouth again, her hand slipping between her own legs.

“ Porca Miseria , Alessa.”

The phone keeps ringing. It stops briefly, then starts again. And again. And again. It won’t quit, but neither will I. TJ can go fuck himself—I’m occupied.

“I’m close, baby,” I groan, my knees actually buckling. A first for me. Alessa doesn’t slow down—if anything, she works harder, sucking like her life depends on it, hands twisting around my shaft as she slurps the mixture of cum and saliva. “Faster.”

She hums in response, the vibration nearly finishing me.

I grip her head, guiding her movements. In and out, savoring the approaching load building like a storm. She doesn’t stop as I shudder, cursing and moaning like some submissive bitch, but I don’t care, I empty myself down her throat.

Alessa gags momentarily, then breathes through her nose, gripping my thighs for stability. Like the good girl she is, she swallows everything in one go.

I don’t have time to enjoy the afterglow. My phone rings again, but the tone changes—one I never thought I’d hear. I stiffen immediately, pulling out of Alessa’s mouth. She doesn’t notice at first, rising to her feet and wrapping her arms around my neck. She kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on her tongue.

I return the kiss, but half my attention is on that ominous ringtone.

“That’s different,” she says against my lips. She’s right. They never call personal phones unless something critical has happened. It’s always business through proper channels—an email, maybe a text on a bad day. “Who is it?”

I swallow hard, frustration and anger simmering below the surface. I hate that this ends our escape, and I hate even more how it’s ending. I pull away, giving her one last peck before stepping out of the shower.

“It’s the Commission,” I answer, reaching for the phone, paradise officially lost.