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Chapter twenty-five

Alessa

O ne ring, and the illusion we’ve built splinters—our fragile quiet shattered like a secret exposed.

I’ve felt this exact silence before—when I was twelve, lying in a hospital bed with my collarbone fractured and my head stitched up. I didn’t need the doctor’s grim expression to tell me my mother was gone. I knew it in the emptiness that carved itself into my chest as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I felt her absence like a phantom limb, even before they confirmed what I already knew. Time suspended then, just as it does now. The air growing thick and unbreathable. The world narrowing to a pinpoint of dread.

Death is coming for us again. For all the bodies Dominic has put in the ground, you’d think he’d recognize its approach. The Commission isn’t just an organization—it’s a living entity that consumes everything it touches. I should know. It consumed my mother, left me broken in that backseat with her blood on my hands, and now it’s coming to reclaim me.

Every rational cell in my body screams to run—to get as far from Dominic Gianelli and this world as possible. This isn’t love…it’s a hostage fantasy dressed up in stolen touches. I’ve spent my entire adult life building walls between myself and the Cosa Nostra. Yet here I am, my body still humming from his touch, my heart racing at his voice, finding comfort in the arms of the very danger I swore to avoid. What kind of sick irony is it that the man sent to drag me back into this nightmare is the one I can’t bear to leave? That his hands—hands that have ended lives—are the only ones that make me feel safe. I hate myself for this weakness almost as much as I hate how much I need him now.

These past ten days with Dominic have been borrowed time—a fantasy I knew wouldn’t last. I saw him transform during our escape from reality—the dark circles fading from beneath his eyes, genuine smiles replacing his calculated mask. For the first time since I was twelve, I felt like I could breathe without my past crushing my lungs.

But fantasy crumbled the moment Dominic stepped out of the shower to answer that call. The air shifted instantly, reality rushing back in like floodwater through a broken dam. One phone call, and our stolen paradise is gone.

Now I’m drowning in questions. Are they demanding results? Is Dominic’s position at risk because he’s been playing house with me instead of delivering my father? And Raffaele—my mother’s cousin, suddenly appearing after all these years. Another ghost from the past I never wanted to face.

“You should stop teasing me like that,” Dominic hums, the low vibration of his voice sending electricity skittering across my skin.

I catch his gaze in the mirror—dark, hungry, dangerous—as I deliberately slow the movement of my hands along my calf. The lotion leaves a slick trail that glistens under the lamplight. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble that’s grown in after days of not bothering to shave.

“I’m not doing anything.” I stretch my leg out, admiring my handiwork as I deliberately apply another layer of lotion.

“You’re a walking temptation, you know that, right?” Dominic shifts on the bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. He’s wearing nothing but boxers and a gray shirt that stretches across his chest as he moves his arm behind his head. The deliberate flex of his bicep doesn’t escape my notice—the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

Heat pools low in my belly as I watch him watching me. The predator lounging casually on my bed, his eyes tracking my every movement like I’m prey he’s already claimed but isn’t quite ready to devour.

“You can leave my room, you know that, right?” I suggest, running my fingertip slowly along the edge of my robe. “Just so you can avoid temptation.”

“Never,” he growls, the sound rumbling through the room, vibrating in the air between us. His possessiveness should feel suffocating. Somehow, it feels like an anchor instead.

“You’re going to leave sometime.” My fingers trace invisible patterns on the bedsheet, eyes fixed on the movement to avoid his gaze. “I know,” His voice drops, the resignation in it matching my own. We’re both feeling the clock ticking down. “Stop that and come here.”

Dominic taps the empty space beside him, and a raw neediness unravels inside me at the simple gesture. I move around the bed slowly, deliberately, aware of his gaze tracking every sway of my hips. The mattress dips beneath my weight as I settle beside him, instinctively seeking his warmth. My head finds its place on his chest, right where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His arm wraps around me, heavy and secure, fingers tracing idle patterns on my shoulder through the thin silk.

I close my eyes and breathe him in. The steady thud of his heart grounds me, each beat a reassurance that we’re both still here, still alive despite everything.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Tell me what the Commission wanted.” I press my ear harder against his chest, monitoring the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat that betrays the calm in his voice.

“It was Paolo who called.” His chest vibrates against my cheek as he speaks. “He called about Raffy.”

“What did he say?” I stretch my arms around him, pulling him closer, seeking more of his heat.

“He said he tried to get ahold of him, but it seems like he’s acting out on his own. Paolo didn’t order the bombing, nor is he planning on making him the next person in command.”

“He’s gone rogue?” My fingers twist into his shirt, knuckles whitening.

“Yeah.” Just one word, but laden with threat.

“That’s good, right? It means the Commission isn’t on your ass. Not yet anyway.”

“Yes and no,” he says, his body tensing beneath mine. “Paolo says the guy’s unhinged. Word is, he swiped a cache of weapons from the Russo arsenal—without clearance. Security thought he was running on Paolo’s orders, so they handed over a solid haul of firearms.” His hand stills on my shoulder, gripping slightly harder. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, he made off with a few IEDs—enough firepower to bring the Empire State Building to rubble.”

A chill races down my spine despite the warmth of his body. “The Russos have that many firearms just lying around?”

“You should see the Giovanis. They’ve got enough firepower to take out the entire East Coast,” he replies with chilling casualness. “Paolo’s already given the green light to take him down if necessary, so did the Commission. The bastard’s in my city, and I have no idea what he’s planning to do with that kind of firepower.”

His use of my city doesn’t escape me—the possessive claim of a man who sees the world as territory to control. I should find it repulsive. Instead, I find myself understanding it, even as fear coils in my gut.

“You haven’t found him yet?” I trace the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, seeking reassurance in his strength.

“I still haven’t called Matteo. I’ll do it in the morning.” His hand resumes its path along my shoulder, dipping lower to trace my spine through the silk. Each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

“And what did TJ want?” I press, unable to stop myself from seeking more information.

“What’s with all the questions, Alessa?” Dominic’s nose brushes against my hair, inhaling deeply.

I lift my head to meet his gaze, confusion washing over me in waves. Why am I asking all these questions? Why do I suddenly care about the Commission’s politics, about Raffy’s weapons, about TJ’s reports?

The answer burns in my chest, undeniable and terrifying—because I want Dominic to win. I want him to survive this. I want us to survive this—even if “us” means stepping back into the very hell I’ve been fighting to escape.

“I don’t know.” I turn my face into his chest, hiding the lie before it can reach my eyes.

“TJ was giving me some updates about Marco.” His fingers brush the nape of my neck, tracing circles on the sensitive skin there. My body responds instantly, leaning into his touch even as my mind races with the implications of his words.

“Did they find him?” The question emerges breathless, caught between hope and dread.

“Not yet. They’re setting up base in Maine and they’ll go through the plan with me tomorrow.” His eyes track my reaction, missing nothing.

“If he’s in the cabin, what’s going to happen?” My nails dig slightly into his side, an unconscious pressure.

“Well, Luca’s leading the operation,” he says, skepticism coloring his tone. His thumb traces my jawline, leaving fire in its wake. “But TJ’s there to keep him from screwing it up. Let’s be honest—he’s the one really running the show.”

A soft laugh escapes me, surprising us both. “He’s not going to kill him, right?” The question slips out, my voice smaller than I intended.

“No,” Dominic answers, his tone cooling to ice. “They’ll try to negotiate with him first, see if he goes with them willingly. Otherwise, Luca will sedate him. It’s usually a last resort.”

Like what they did to me, I think, remembering the disorientation, the helplessness.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dominic murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“What?”

“The night that we retrieved you from your penthouse?”

“Oh, is that what that was?” I arch an eyebrow, heat crawling up my neck and into my cheeks. “A retrieval?”

“What did you think it was?” A dangerous amusement dances in his eyes, and it strikes me as absurd—that weeks ago I couldn’t look at this man without hatred, and now I’m pressed against him, joking about my own abduction.

“Just off the top of my head? I don’t know, breaking and entering? Assault? Kidnapping? Attempted murder?” Each crime falls from my lips like a caress rather than an accusation.

“Attempted murder?” He gasps with mock offense. “Killing you that night wasn’t on my list of things to do, alright? And if Luca wasn’t there, and if the assignment wasn’t so critical, things might have turned out differently.”

“Really,” I challenge, pulling away from his embrace to sit up. The silk robe slips off one shoulder, but I make no move to fix it. His eyes darken as they track my exposed skin. “Enlighten me.”

“Well, I would have accidentally bumped into you at work, maybe at the tiny coffee shop you go to every morning.” His voice drops an octave, rough and intimate.

“You know where I work—”

“Investigative Journalist at The New York Times under Jennifer Van der Woodsen who’s nepotism herself,” he recites with perfect recall. “You know you’re better off working alone than with her, right?”

“What’s the point? I don’t think I have a job to return to anyway.” The reality of how much my life has changed crashes over me.

“And the coffee shop?” I press, unable to stop myself from wanting to know just how closely he’d watched me before that night.

“ Caffè Cultura .” His lips curl around the Italian words with native precision.

“Is this a matter of public record, or is it just internal Commission documentation?” My reporter’s instincts rise to the surface, curiosity overriding caution.

“The latter.” His fingers trace the edge of my exposed shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Did you know Isabella had you through a C-section?”

“Did she, now?” My breath catches as his touch moves to my collarbone, tracing the faint surgical scar there.

“She did.”

“So, you know all this about me and I don’t know jackshit about you?” How the hell does this man know my funking birth story, my work habits, my coffee preferences, while I know almost nothing about him beyond what I’ve picked up in captivity.

“How about this?” Dominic’s lips curve into that devastating smirk that makes my stomach flip. “When we survive this shit, I’ll sit down with you and tell you everything you want to know.”

“There’s a ‘we’ now?” My heart stutters at the casual inclusion, at the assumption of a shared future.

“There is.” His voice drops to a near-whisper, dark and possessive.

“What are we, Dominic?” The question that’s been haunting me finally spills out, hanging in the charged air between us.

“You’re mine, Alessandra,” he growls, the words vibrating through me like a physical touch. “Not my assignment, not my captive—you’re mine. And I don’t give a fuck what the Commission has to say about that, but whoever dares to lay a finger on you will suffer. We’re in this together now. Whether you like it or not.”

A sinking feeling spreads through my stomach at his words. “You’re dragging me back to the Cosa Nostra, Dominic,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been running from it since I was a child.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he challenges, his eyes burning into mine. “I can’t change who I am, Alessa. And the Cosa Nostra, the Commission, all this shit—I’ll soon be part of it, so if you don’t want to have anything to do with it, tell me. Because once we get through this, I’ll return you to New York, I’ll make sure you get your job back, and I’ll make sure the Commission will never utter your name again. You’ll finally get what you want.”

What I want?

The question echoes in my mind. Do I want my old life back? The monotonous office hours, the endless caffeine, the empty penthouse where I’d sit alone on Friday nights with nothing but memories of my dead mother and absent father?

A life without Dominic?

The thought alone makes my chest constrict painfully, as if someone’s reaching inside to squeeze my heart.

“I—I don’t even know what life is anymore without you,” I confess, the words torn from some deep, vulnerable place I didn’t even know existed. My voice trembles, raw and unfiltered.

It’s more than just physical attraction, more than the undeniable chemistry between us. Dominic has never forced himself on me, never raised a hand to me in anger. He’s protected me, shielded me from threats I couldn’t face alone. With him, I feel truly seen—not as Marco’s daughter or Isabella’s legacy, but as myself.

In this moment of crystal clarity, as my heart thunders and my mind reels, I know one undeniable truth—Dominic has become my safe harbor in a storm I’ve been fighting alone for too long.

“Then don’t try and find out.” His words are both plea and command, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Dominic—”

“Please, Alessa, I’ve spent my entire life chasing the title of a made man, but none of it—none of it—makes sense without you,” his voice cracking with rare vulnerability. “I want you beside me when I succeed. I want you standing next to me as my equal.”

“I’m not a fan of the murders, Dominic.” My attempt at lightness falls flat, the tremor in my voice betraying me.

“I’ll take care of it for you, tender, ” His thumb strokes my lower lip, the tender gesture at odds with the casual promise of violence.

“I don’t want to end up like my mother.” The core of my fear finally emerges—that I’ll be consumed by this world as she was, leaving nothing but a shattered legacy and unanswered questions.

“I promise you, you won’t. I’m not like Marco. I protect what’s mine.” The absolute conviction in his voice makes me believe him, despite every rational thought screaming caution.

I take a shuddering breath, feeling as though I’m standing at a precipice. Then, slowly, I nod.

“Okay.”

His expression transforms, a genuine smile breaking through the hard lines of his face like sunlight through storm clouds. He leans forward, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s possessive, tender, yet demanding.

“Okay,” he echoes, the word a seal on our pact. “Okay.”

“I want to trust you,” I whisper as we part, my lips still tingling from his kiss. “So no more secrets, no more lies. I don’t want you to keep me in the dark.”

“Alright, cara mia,” he nods, his expression growing serious. “I guess there’s no point hiding what the second thing the Commission wanted then?”

My stomach drops, ice spreading through my veins. “What?” I straighten instinctively, creating distance between us.

“They wanted an update on our progress,” he answers, watching my reaction carefully. “And they’re coming down to see me tomorrow for brunch.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I pull away completely, the silk robe slipping further down my shoulder.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His voice hardens with sarcasm. “I want you to be there tomorrow with me and show them that you’re not just another one of their collaterals.”

Fear and adrenaline spike through me, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “I don’t have balls like that!”

“But you do,” he insists, eyes gleaming with dangerous confidence. He reaches for me, fingers curling around my wrist with gentle yet firm pressure. “And the moment they so much as lift a finger against you, I’ll make sure they regret ever being born.”

His next words land like stones in still water, rippling through me with their implications.

“Fuck the button and fuck the Commission. They can all bleed out before they touch what’s mine.”

The weight of his declaration hangs between us—this man who’s sacrificed everything for power just offered to throw it all away for me.

My heart pounds wildly, caught between terror and exhilaration. I’ve just chosen to step back into the world I’ve been running from my whole life and now I might be the reason Dominic loses everything he’s worked for.

Whatever happens tomorrow, there’s no going back for either of us. The thought settles in my bones with terrifying certainty.