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Chapter three

Dominic

“ F uck!”

I grit out, white-hot pain tears through my thigh as I double over, blood seeping through my fingers. The bullet lodged in my flesh burns like hellfire, but the wounded pride stings worse. Shot by a woman. Not just any woman—Alessa fucking Russo.

It’s not supposed to be this messy. We’re supposed to find her in her sleep, drug her with whatever my brother, Luca, had concocted, and drive her to the airport where my private plane has been waiting for the past four hours.

When we broke in at the butt crack of dawn, we didn’t anticipate that she was a goddamn morning person or that she would be out and running at four-fucking thirty in the fucking morning. I found her little planner on her bedside table. Six-mile run, 4:30 AM.

Creatures of habit are creatures waiting to be hunted.

I could’ve waited for her outside and grabbed her in the shadows of that overly bloated lobby, but something made me want to see her face when she found me here. Wanted to watch those green eyes widen—see if they still darkened the way they did when I made her forget her own name, begging for more while I buried myself to the hilt.

There’s power in watching someone’s face when they realize they’re not in control anymore.

The Commission wants her alive and talking, sure. But they don’t need to know I’ve got my own reasons for keeping this personal.

But then she walked in with a fucking gun—wielding it like she was born with steel in her hands. Those French-tipped fingers wrapped around the grip with perfect form, her stance a textbook example of someone who’s fired more than just practice rounds.

For someone supposedly not wanting anything to do with mob life, Alessa Russo handles a piece like she was born to. That stance, that grip—you don’t learn that at some bullshit self-defense class. That’s in her blood.

And God help me, but seeing her curves in those jogging tights while holding her gun with such lethal confidence made my cock stir.

Part of me wanted to cross the room and taste the fear on her lips, see if she still moaned the same way when I pressed her against the wall that night.

“Shit, man,” Luca adjusts her unconscious body in his arms, her red hair cascading over his forearm like spilled wine. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t you think the best way to do this is to disarm her first?” I snap, the pain making me vicious. Even as the words leave my mouth, I can’t tear my eyes from her face. Peaceful in unconsciousness, dangerous when awake.

Luca’s my fail-safe for jobs like this—not for his subtlety. God knows my brother stands out like a bull in a china shop with his hulking frame. But he’s a fucking savant with chemicals. Give him a basic lab and he’ll create something that can knock out an elephant without leaving a trace.

Which is exactly what’s flowing through Alessa’s veins right now.

“What do you want me to do with her?” Luca asks, cradling her against his chest like she’s made of glass.

“Put her on the bed.” I limp toward the en-suite bathroom, each step sending lightning strikes up my leg. “How long will it last?”

I force myself into her bathroom—all marble and luxury and fucking girly touches. Blue accents everywhere, everything in its place. Organized. Controlled. Just like she tries to be.

“This bad boy?” He chuckles, the juvenile fuck. “A couple of hours. A day tops.”

Blood slickens my hands as I rifle through her drawers, looking for a first-aid kit. This isn’t my first bullet wound. In my world, they’re practically business cards—painful reminders of deals gone wrong. I find what I need and brace myself against the sink. This part’s never fun.

With a grunt, I tear my pants open wider, fabric ripping against bloodied fingers. The wound is deep, but I’ve had worse. Sweat stings my eyes as I swipe an antiseptic wipe over the raw flesh, the burn hitting like a live wire. Good. Keeps me sharp. Pain means I’m still in the fight… still calling the shots.

In this life, the second you start feeling nothing—you’re as good as dead.

“Fuck!” I throw my head back as I dig my fingers into the wound, searching for the bullet. “Goddamn son of a bitch!”

“Did you really lose the gun?” Luca calls from the bedroom, the sound of rustling papers telling me he’s already going through her shit.

“It’s not lost. She fucking stole it.”

“Yeah, when you fucked?” His snicker echoes against the walls.

“Luca.” My voice drops to a warning growl.

“What? I heard-”

I grab that metal bastard buried in my leg and yank it out, biting down a scream. Blood pours out, but I slap gauze on it, pressing hard enough to make my knuckles white. Wrap it tight, tape it down, job done. Good enough ’til I can get real stitches. Ain’t my first rodeo with lead.

The pain dulls to a throb as I rinse my hands, watching blood stain her fancy sink. In the mirror, I look like what I am—a guy who underestimated his target and paid for it. But a bullet hole’s just another day at the office in my line of work—sweaty face, gritted teeth, and eyes that’ve seen this shit before.

R espect? Maybe.

Pissed off? Definitely.

But a battle scar from Alessa... I almost like it.

“Go find the gun,” I order as I limp back into the bedroom. “We’re not leaving until we find it.”

“And the mess?” Luca asks, eyebrow raised. My germaphobe brother, somehow surviving in a business where blood is basically a signing bonus.

“You want to clean that shit? Be my guest.”

I make my way to the bed where Alessa lies unconscious, her hair a fiery halo against the blue sheets. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.

She’s fucking gorgeous—all dangerous curves and delicate features that hide her killer instincts. Those hips, and that ass could make a priest fucking sin.

The memory of that night together slams into me—how I tasted every inch of her, her nails drawing blood down my back, the way she bit down on the pillow to muffle her screams when I took her from behind, her body arching and shuddering as she came around me. The perfect mix of fire and surrender.

Fuck .

Wish I could just hate her for stealing my gun. Treat her like any other job—a stepping stone to getting made. But Alessa Russo crawled under my skin that night, and she’s still there, creating a fucking shitstorm.

“This is it, Luca,” I murmur, eyes fixed on her face. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Remind me again what’s going to happen?”

I grab the papers Luca’s found, every secret that will make her talk—bank shit, daddy’s letters, photos, her diary.

Dirt.

Leverage.

Ammo.

“I told you. Her father’s backing a RICO case against us, and the Commission wants me to fix it.”

“They got more to lose than you,” Luca says, rifling through another drawer. “Why the fuck they sending you?”

“You sayin’ I can’t handle it?” The challenge in my voice is automatic, territorial.

“Nah.” He grunts. “I’m saying they got more guys, more guns, more cops in their pockets. If this shit’s so dangerous, why not do it themselves?”

It’s a good question.

Too good.

But I’m too close to my goal to back away now.

Three powerful families with armies at their disposal, and they send me to handle their problem?

“Well…you think it’s a setup?” Luca’s question hangs in the air.

I run a hand through my hair, considering. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re testing how I handle power. They need to know if I can be trusted with more than just a button. I lower my voice. “Vince won’t be around forever. Neither will Paolo or Fabio. They’re looking at who’s next—who has the stones to lead, not just follow.”

“Mingya… What the fuck, Dom—you think that fucking far ahead?”

“Always, you think I plan to take orders my whole life? Fuck that.” I stare dead into Lucas’s eyes, reciting our father’s words, “Loyalty might be the core of the Mafia, but betrayal is its greatest downfall,” a mantra that’s kept me alive this long. “It’s not complicated, Luca. Kidnap Alessa, interrogate her, and find wherever Marco’s hiding.”

“Did you know?” He closes another drawer empty-handed.

“Know what?”

“That she was tangled in all this when you fucked her.” “No, shithead.”

The night at the Crimson plays back like a highlights reel—her body pinned under mine, those green eyes glaring up while she clawed at my back.Bought her at the charity event. Had I known she was La Falciante’s kid, I would’ve kept my dick in my pants. You don’t touch Isabella Russo’s daughter and expect to keep breathing—no matter who her rat father is.

“That’s what you get, paying for pussy like that, even if it’s for charity. I mean, what are the chances? She walks off with your gun and leaves you standing there with your fucking balls in your hand.”

His smirk makes me want to break his jaw. “What’s the play now?I mean, if you ask me, it’s bad business, mixing pleasure with the job—that’s like a conflict of interest, isn’t it?”

“What interest?.. I didn’t fucking ask you.”

I drag my bleeding ass to the bedside table, needing to find that piece, and shut my brother’s mouth. Where would a woman like her stash something hot? Something that precious? Somewhere she could grab it fast if trouble came knocking.

“I don’t know… I’m just sayin’, she ain’t some usual whore you paid to forget. It just seems like you two have... chemistry. I mean, look at the fucking way you look at her—like you wanna break her and fuck her at the same time.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

There’s a line even brothers don’t cross.

“So, does the Commission know about your… history? Cause if the boss finds out you’ve been inside the package…”

“No.” My word’s razor-sharp. “And I’d appreciate it if we keep it between us. I want to do this my way, Luca. I need to ensure I’m going to be made when this is all over. And I need to be ready in case they change their minds.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Bullshit…I trust Luca with my life.

But some things stay locked down—like how bad I want that seat at the table, how much I need our family name to mean something again. Show that hunger in our world, and the sharks start circling. Next thing you know, you’re wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson.“

“So what’s the play?” Luca asks, checking under the bed.

“Taking her to the Vegas house.” The thought of heading back to my territory puts steel in my spine. “Home turf advantage.”

“You think she’ll talk?”

“She fuckin’ better.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then we do things the hard way.”

“What... kick the shit out of her like some douche bag? She’s a woman.”

“So?”

“So...” he presses, reaching under her pillows while Alessa breathes steadily, oblivious to our debate over her fate. “It’s below us to beat her to a pulp. We don’t do that shit.”

He’s right, and it makes my teeth grind. Dad was a cold-blooded bastard in business—broke more bones than I could count—but he’d put a bullet in any of us who raised a hand to a woman. ‘A Gianelli man knows the difference between a target and a lady,’ he’d say. The other families might not draw that line, but the Gianelli’s do. Some lines, once you draw ’em in blood, you can’t cross without becoming something else. Something I promised the old man I’d never become.

Women were to be respected, protected even. It’s a weakness in our profession, but one I’ve never been able to shake.

“There are other ways, Luca, I don’t like it, but we have to get creative with this one if it comes down to it.”

I reach under the pillows, fingers searching methodically. Then I feel it—cold metal, the weight instantly familiar in my palm. I pull out the silver pistol, its fleur-de-lis engraving catching the light.

Her mother’s gun. The one Alessa stole from me after that night together. My throat tightens as I run my thumb over the engraving, memories crashing through me—Isabella pressing it into my hands after I saved her, the weight of her approval heavier than the weapon itself.

Isabella saw something in me worth a damn when she handed me this gun. Only person who ever did. Then Alessa grabbed it like it was hers to take. Like my one fucking trophy meant nothing.

“Fucking finally,” Luca sighs.

I tuck the gun into my waistband, its weight against my spine like coming home to a place you’ve been exiled from.

“Let’s go.” Luca nods before gathering Alessa in his arms. I grab the manila envelope along with all her secrets and follow behind, my injured leg protesting with each step.

The scent of vanilla and coconut lingers in the air as we leave—her scent, now imprinted in my memory alongside the taste of her skin, the sound of her voice, and the sting of her bullet.

We leave blood and chaos in our wake, but I’m taking something far more dangerous with me to Vegas. The woman who’s already left her mark on me twice.

Isabella Russo’s daughter.

The key to my future.

This job should be simple—find Marco, earn my button, secure my family’s future. But nothing about Alessa Russo has ever been simple.

Part of me craves seeing those green eyes flash with defiance, hearing that sharp tongue challenge me. Another part wants to break her, to make her pay for the gun, for the bullet in my leg, for the way she’s haunted me for four years.

What the fuck would she think if she knew the truth? That I don’t just want a seat at the table—I want the whole damn thing. Isabella Russo saw it in me—the kind of hunger that carves kings out of killers.

Now I have her daughter, the final move in a game that ends with me on top. Maybe that’s why she’s under my skin. In another life, she wouldn’t be my captive—she’d be my queen. But in this world…she’s just collateral.

And this time, I won’t let her slip away.