Page 35

Alessa

Three Weeks Later.

The first wave of nausea hits before I even open my eyes. My body, apparently, has no interest in letting me forget what comes next. Life. Growth. A future.

A future I took back from my father three weeks ago.

“I fucking hate this.”

“I told you piccola, we didn’t have to go.”

Just when I thought I’d survived the worst shit these past weeks, my body decides to torture me in a whole new way. Morning sickness. Only whoever named it that clearly never had it, because mine hits all day—like clockwork. Nothing says congratulations on your pregnancy quite like hugging a toilet bowl.

The flight back to New York a week ago was a breeze, to say the least. Mostly because Dominic and I found plenty of ways to keep ourselves distracted. This pregnancy is making me a horny mess, and lucky for me, he’s more than happy to handle it.

When we landed, we drove to his Tarrytown mansion to rest up. Honestly, the change of scenery is a godsend. Especially after sweating it out in the Vegas heat, I’m beyond relieved to trade that desert for some fresh air and trees.

Our home.

With its sprawling yard and airtight security, I know this is the safest place to raise a family . And for the first time in a long time, that idea doesn’t terrify me.

I hover over the toilet, heaving up what’s left of my lunch—pickles wrapped in turkey slices, a combo that seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. And let’s not forget the ridiculous amount of ice cream I devoured for dessert.

The violent retching leaves my throat raw, my eyes stinging. Tears smear my face, but I’m too miserable to care.

“We can get you home, baby,” he says as he gathers my hair and holds it back into a makeshift ponytail, rubbing my back.

I pray I don’t vomit on the satin dress I’m wearing tonight.

“We can’t,” I complain as I flush the remnants in the toilet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s your night. You’ve been waiting for this.”

Dominic chuckles as he walks away, grabs my purse from the counter, and fishes out the breath mints I packed earlier.

“And I got it, amore .” He squats down in front of me on the marble floor. The bathroom smells like fresh orchids, and I can see my reflection in every gleaming surface.

“And it’s all thanks to you.”

“Remind me again how thankful you are for tonight,” I smirk, then immediately groan as my stomach flips again.

“should I make a note?”

Three weeks since I put that bullet in my father’s head. Three weeks since I used Mom’s gun to end the man who killed her. There’s something poetic about that, if you ask me. I spent so much time torn about Marco, trying to see the father beneath the cop, the parent… beneath the traitor. And what did I discover—A greedy, backstabbing coward who murdered my mother and would sell out his entire family without blinking.

Some people just aren’t worth saving. I’ve got my own family to think about now. No way I could sleep at night knowing their grandfather might show up someday with another scheme, putting my kids in danger. Sometimes a bullet between the eyes is the only solution that sticks.

And maybe I am a hypocrite for starting a family with the very man I used to run away from. But I’ve learned there’s a difference between the monsters in the stories and the man I wake up beside each morning. Just a couple months ago, I saw only the blood on his hands. Now I see the lengths he’ll go to protect what’s his. I used to fear this world—the power, the violence, the unspoken rules. Now I’m writing my own rules within it. How does that saying go? If you can’t beat them, join them. But it’s more than that. It’s finding strength in places I never thought to look.

It’s realizing the safety I’ve always chased wasn’t about running away—it was about finally having something worth fighting for. My entire life, I’ve been searching for somewhere to belong, somewhere beyond my father’s shadow, beyond the fear that’s followed me since my mother’s death. I built a career exposing other people’s secrets while burying my own. Bylines in major publications, investigative pieces that made careers and broke corrupt politicians—all while making sure no one knew the girl behind the Alessandra Russo name had La Falciante’s blood running through her veins.And I know my mother would have found some twisted kind of satisfaction in this moment. She had always seen something in Dominic, had always known he’d rise to the top.

Yet somehow I convinced myself that safety meant anonymity, distance, a life lived in carefully constructed headlines where I controlled the narrative. I thought being a respected journalist meant I’d finally escaped the family business, that the further I climbed up, the safer I’d be—created a life so separate from my roots that sometimes I almost believed the lie myself.

But true safety? It isn’t found in hiding. It’s in standing your ground. It’s in the network of people who would kill or die for you. It’s in knowing exactly who your enemies are instead of jumping at shadows. It’s in a man who looks at me like I’m the center of his universe, who knows every broken, damaged piece of me and loves me not despite those pieces, but because of them.

Sometimes you have to stop running to discover who you really are—sometimes you have to face the darkness to find your own light. And sometimes… the path you’ve been avoiding your entire life is exactly where you were meant to be all along.

Reversing that RICO case was no trip in the park, and let’s just say The Commission wasn’t so happy when they learned that I killed Marco before we could get any information on how to undo it. And the look on Dominic’s face when Fabio was threatening his position, I knew I had to do something. For Dominic.

The solution was staring us in the face the whole time. Who better to take down a dirty cop than his own daughter?I mean, with my investigative journalist background, working alongside that private detective Dominic hired to dig into my mother’s death—I’m just saying, it’s the perfect combination.

Dominic hates the idea of me getting involved in his business troubles. “This isn’t your mess to clean up piccola.”

But I insist.“I spent years exposing corporate criminals and political scandals—this is literally what I do for a living... well, did.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you getting tangled up in any of this.”

“Listen, Dom, all I need are the documents proving what a corrupt piece of crap Marco really was, and I know exactly how to craft the narrative that will stick.”

That following morning, Dominic woke me up with kisses and an entire manila folder of what could potentially ruin him even in his death.

So, when we got to New York, I headed straight for the FBI office with the evidence in hand. The moment I walked in, they had someone talking to me. I knew I had to play the part—the grieving daughter looking for justice. That meant turning on the waterworks, and lucky for me, my hormones did half the work. If there’s one thing men hate, it’s a woman in tears. Makes them uncomfortable. Makes them want to fix things. And that was exactly what I needed.

I show them the envelope and weep about how I always had a feeling that something was suspicious about my mother’s death. I even brought my medical records from when I was young that showed Dissociative Amnesia caused by trauma to help my story be plausible about why I didn’t speak about it sooner. And when they asked me where my father is, no lie has to be made—that he and I haven’t spoken for almost a year.

“It was smart of you to come straight here, Ms. Russo,” the FBI officer says, flipping through the files. “Marco Russo was an influential officer. If he had friends in the bureau, they would’ve buried this.”

“Are you aware your father is backing a RICO case against the mob?” another officer chimes in.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him in over a year? I don’t even know where he is. I bow my head, shaking in disbelief. He was never the same after my mother died. Well—after he killed her.”

More tears. More sobs. I don’t even have to try. It’s almost too easy. And just like that, I’m dismissed. The officer buys every word.

How do I know? Because within days, everything smooths out. Business resumes like nothing happened. And Dominic… thanks to me, he pulls off the impossible.

A few days later, we get the call—he’s being made.

The ceremony is quick, more private than I expected. Just The Commission and Dominic’s brothers. Luca’s missing, though. He’s been AWOL for over a month now, but Dominic’s too preoccupied to go looking.

“Luca always does this,” Dominic says when I ask. “He’ll show up out of nowhere with a new haircut or some bullshit.”

I let it go. But then, two nights ago, I overheard a call that made my stomach drop.

“What do you mean she’s still with Grimaldi?” Dominic hisses into the phone, voice low, dangerous. “Luca needs to stand down. Emmanuel Grimaldi isn’t someone you fuck with.”

Gabriella Giovani. She’s patched me up more times than I’d like to admit. That’s the woman Luca obviously has a thing for. From what I understand, she’s promised to Emmanuel Grimaldi, the one rumored to have ties to the Russian mob.

But I don’t bother getting into it... Dominic has enough on his plate, and the last thing he needs is me questioning Luca’s whereabouts. But something tells me this isn’t just Luca pulling one of his disappearing acts. And now, with Dominic stepping into his new role, any wrong move could trigger a war.

“Please never let Rosaria cook salmon again,” I say, popping another breath mint into my mouth. “Pretty sure that’s what set it off this time.”

“Got it,” Dominic nods. “No fish. Ever. Banned from the house starting tonight.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Fish getting banned?”

“No.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Home.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Me too, Alessandra.”

Dominic moves closer, lowering himself onto the floor beside me. With our backs pressed against the cool tile wall and the toilet nearby—not the most romantic setting—he settles in like it’s nothing. Like sitting on the bathroom floor with me, post-vomit, is exactly where he’s supposed to be. I lean my head against his shoulder, inhaling that familiar mix of cologne and cigarette smoke, and just like that, the nausea fades a little. Replaced by something warmer. Something that feels an awful lot like home.

“Crazy, huh?” he mutters after a beat. “All the shit we’ve been through, and here we are. Sitting in a bathroom.”

“And we’re about to have a baby.”

“That too.” He chuckles, but there’s something off in his voice. A tightness.

I lift my head, studying him. “What is it?”

His jaw flexes. He hesitates. “Fabio pulled me aside earlier. The Grimaldis are getting restless. Emmanuel thinks we had something to do with Gabriella going missing.”

My stomach drops. “Missing? I thought she was with him.”

“She was. Until three days ago.” His eyes meet mine, dark and serious. “Same day Luca was spotted back in New York.”

I swallow hard. The unspoken words hang heavy between us. If Luca took her—if he crossed Emmanuel Grimaldi… we’re all fucked. Not just him. Not just Dominic. Our entire family. Our baby.

A thick silence settles between us. I let it sit, let it wrap around us like a quiet embrace, but my mind is racing. My eyes flick down to Dominic’s hand—the fresh bandage wrapped around his palm. A reminder of what he swore today. A blood oath that bound him tighter to this world. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even acknowledge the wound. He takes it like he takes everything else. Like he was built for this.

And I remember how he looked when it was over. Standing there among all those old-school gangsters, blood dripping from his palm, like he was made for this shit. Not just another crime boss. The boss.

And the craziest part?

Those same hands that swore some ancient blood oath an hour ago were holding my hair back while I puked my guts out twenty minutes later.

I exhale, breaking the silence. “You know… I was thinking.”

Dominic lets out a dramatic groan, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Christ. Should I be worried?”

I roll my eyes, but let the warmth of his lips linger.

“I didn’t get to say it back.” His words when we went to confront Marco still lingered in my mind until now.

His eyes darken, something unreadable swirling beneath the surface. “You don’t have to, Alessa. You don’t owe me that. Just know that I’ll do everything— everything —to protect you and our kid.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I whisper, turning to face him fully, wanting—needing—him to see the truth in my eyes. “But I want to say it. And I know this isn’t the most ideal place to—”

“Say it,” he rasps. Low. Rough. Desperate. “I need to hear it.”

My heart pounds. My throat tightens. But I don’t hesitate.

“I love you, Dominic.”

His pupils dilate. His grip tightens on my thigh. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing the words like he’ll never hear them again. Like he’ll burn the world down to make sure I never stop saying them.

I don’t wait—I kiss him. Hard.

“I love you.”

Another kiss. Deeper this time.

“I fucking love you, Dominic.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lips before he crashes his mouth to mine, his hands gripping me tight like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. He lifts me effortlessly, placing me on the counter, his body pressing between my thighs. His mouth is hungry, demanding, claiming me with each stroke of his tongue.

“Say it again,” he growls against my neck, his teeth penetrating my skin.

“I love you,” I gasp as his hands slide up my thighs, bunching my dress around my waist. The cool marble against my heated skin makes me shiver—or maybe it’s the way his fingers hook into the band of my lace underwear, tugging impatiently.

“Mine,” he rasps, his breath hot against my ear as he rips the delicate fabric clean off my body. The sound of tearing lace echoes off the walls, a primal declaration of his need.

I should be embarrassed—we’re in a public bathroom at his Making Ceremony, for God’s sake—but the look in his eyes, that feral possession mixed with absolute devotion, makes me forget everything but him. My hands fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him.

“Dominic, please,” I whimper as his fingers find me—already wet, ready for him. He groans, a sound that reverberates through my entire body

“Look at you,” he says, his voice strained. “So fucking perfect.”

His fingers work magic, circling, teasing, dipping inside just enough to make me chase his touch. My head falls back against the mirror, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure builds, coiling tight in my core.

“Look at me Alessandra,” he demands, his fingers gripping my jaw. “I want to see your face when you come.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as his thumb works me, making everything go fuzzy. My hips buck against his hand like I’ve got no control over my own body.

“Fuck, Dom,” I gasp, my nails digging half-moons into his shoulders as everything tightens, then shatters. Wave after wave hits me, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood—trying not to scream and let everyone at this friggin ceremony know exactly what their newest member’s doing in the bathroom.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s unfastening his pants, freeing his cock, positioning himself at my entrance, the tip of him hot and hard against my already pulsating pussy.

“I need you tesoro ,“ he growls, his voice thick, desperate. “ Every fucking piece of you. ”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, breathless. And that’s all it takes—his restraint snaps. A feral sound rumbles from his chest as his hands grip me like I’m the only thing keeping him sane. Heat floods my veins, my body already his before he even takes me. Wetness from my previous release pools between my thighs, anticipation coiling tighter. My puffy, quivering walls clench, desperate for more.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, possessive.

“I’m yours, Dominic,” I moan. And then he’s on me—devouring. Claiming. Owning.

Dominic teases my slick entrance, dragging the thick length of his cock along my opening before driving all nine inches into me in one hard, deliberate thrust. We both groan at the perfect friction as my walls undulate, still reeling from my orgasmic high. His rhythm is relentless, each stroke hitting that spot deep inside, making stars dance behind my eyelids, sending chills cascading up and down my spine.

“This is forever, Alessa,” he pants against my mouth. “You’re mine. Forever.”

“Forever,” I agree, my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coils tight inside me. Another orgasm builds, as his hand slips between us, his thumb finding my clit—I’m done for. I come hard, my body shaking, his name a desperate cry on my lips, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

He holds back, his cock squelching in and out as he fights for control, head thrown back as he drags it out as long as he can. But then it hits—his restraint shatters, his hips stuttering as his cock jerks in waves, spilling deep inside me. My name slips from his lips in a rough, guttural growl.

For a moment, we stay like this, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hand rests on my stomach—a protective, possessive touch that makes my heart fucking explode .

Then, reality creeps back in. My dress is still bunched up around my waist, his pants are barely hanging onto his hips, and the faint sound of clinking glasses and laughter outside reminds me we’re not alone.

I exhale a breathless laugh, reaching down to smooth my dress. “Well,” I murmur, “I can officially check defile an upscale restroom off my list.”

Dominic smirks as he tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up like he wasn’t just wrecking me against a marble sink.

“I wouldn’t call it defiling,” he says, voice still rough from what we just did. “More like... making it memorable.”

I snort, adjusting my straps. “Yeah, I’m sure the cleaning staff will agree.”

He straightens his jacket, then reaches out, fingers brushing against my jaw. “Alessa.” His tone shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper, heavier.

I look up, and my breath catches. He’s still slightly disheveled, but his expression is all intensity—serious, unwavering. He pulls away slightly, reaching into his pocket retrieving a small velvet box.

My heart stops .

“What are you—”

“Alessa,” he says after a minute, his voice steadier now but still thick with emotion. “Something I should have already done.”And then, without warning, he drops to one knee, pulling away just enough to open the box between us.

Inside rests a massive princess-cut diamond, its sharp lines catching the light—brilliant, untamed, just like him.

“Dominic,” my hands shaking as I bring them to my mouth.

“The thought of our kid coming into this world without my name—of you not being mine in every way—” Dom’s jaw flexes, his grip tightening around my waist like he’s afraid to let go. “Ain’t gonna fucking happen.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“I want the world to know who you belong to,” he continues, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I want our enemies to know what happens if they even think about touching what’s mine. I want our child to be born a Gianelli.”

He takes the ring from the box, holding it between us. “Alessandra Colette Russo, be my wife. Be the mother of my children. Be the queen to my kingdom.”

Tears slide down my cheeks as I nod, unable to form words.

“Tell me baby,” he urges, his voice husky.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, staring at the ring. It’s massive. The kind of ring that screams my man doesn’t take orders…he gives them.

“Is that a yes?” His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the undertone of uncertainty. Like he actually thinks I might say no. This powerful, dangerous man who’s killed for me, who’s giving me a home, a family, protection—somehow, he’s the one who looks vulnerable right now.

“Of course it’s a fucking yes,” I say, half-laughing, half-crying. “Who else would put up with me puking in their bathroom and still want to marry me?”

Relief floods his face, quickly replaced by that possessive look I’ve come to crave. He slides the ring onto my finger—it’s heavy, substantial. Real. Like everything about us.

“Boss,” a voice calls—TJ, Dominic’s head of security. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an incident.”

Dominic’s expression hardens instantly, the lover replaced, his expression sharpening into something lethal. A Made Man stepping into the weight of his name.

He straightens his tie, checking me over to make sure I’m presentable before opening the door. “What is it?” he asks, his voice calm but carrying an underlying threat.

“It’s Luca,” TJ says, his eyes flicking nervously to me before returning to Dominic. “He’s been spotted at the harbor. With Gabriella Grimaldi.”

“That fucking goomba. And?”

“Emmanuel’s men are closing in. It’s going to be a bloodbath. We need to move now.”

Dominic turns to me, his eyes softening for just a moment. “Go home with TJ. I’ll handle this.”

“No,” I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. “I’m coming with you.”

“Alessa—”

“I’m going to be your wife, Dominic,” I say, touching the ring on my finger. “The mother of your child. The queen to your kingdom, remember? That means I’m in this. All of it.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I can see it in his eyes—that tug-of-war between wanting to lock me away somewhere safe and knowing I’d never forgive him if he did. The man wants to protect me, but he also knows better than to treat me like I’m made of glass.

“Fine,” he finally says. “But you stay in the car. And if I tell you to leave, you leave. No arguments.”

I nod. Got it... Boss.As we walk out, his hand stays glued to my back, guiding me through the crowd. It hits me then - this is my life now. Danger, blood, passion. Family meetings that could end in gunfire. My kid’s going to grow up with a father who has blood on his hands and a mother who pulled the trigger on her own dad. And somehow, as fucked up as it sounds, it feels right. Like I’ve finally stopped running from who I was always meant to be.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my choice. This is my family now.

And if anyone has a problem with that… well, I’ve already proven I know how to use a gun.

Thanks for reading Savage Don's Captive!