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Chapter five

Dominic

B lood pulses beneath my fingertips as I press them against my thigh wound, the dull throb a reminder of Alessa’s parting gift. The basement air hits my lungs—metallic with old blood, sharp with bleach, heavy with fear. My kingdom of pain. Home sweet fucking home.

I shift my weight, careful not to show the limp as I approach the center of the room. Can’t look weak. Not here. Not with her watching.

She sits blindfolded under the single bare bulb. The light swaying gently as it casts shadows across her curves. Even in those baggy sweats, I can make out the dip of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the swell of her breasts rising with each defiant breath—all that fire and flesh straining against rope that’s cutting into skin I’ve tasted before. Even tied to the chair, wrists raw, she radiates defiance.

My men circle her like wolves, six of them stationed against concrete walls stained dark with memories of men who thought they could withstand what happens down here.

“I can hear you, you know.” Her voice scrapes out, sandpaper-rough from the drugs.

My pulse quickens at the sound. Even now—exhausted, disheveled, at my mercy—she doesn’t break. Something twists in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.

I catch TJ’s eye, giving him the nod to begin. My chief of security steps forward, leather shoes tapping against concrete, echoing through the silence. Alessa’s head tilts, tracking the sound like a predator. My mouth goes dry watching her. The same woman who came apart beneath me four years ago, now fighting for every ounce of control.

“Hello, Ms. Russo.” TJ’s voice booms through the room, startling even me.

Alessa’s spine straightens. Ready for battle. I bite back a smile. Most men piss themselves by now, but she’s gearing up for war.

“Who are you?” she demands, head turning toward the sound.

“I’ll be asking the questions, Alessandra,” TJ circles her, each step deliberate. He’s going soft on her, respecting my warning. No one touches her but me. “Why don’t you humor me and tell me a little bit about your father.”

“Untie me.” She yanks against the ropes, muscles in her arms flexing beneath pale skin.

My cock hardens instantly. Fuck. Her helplessness shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. I shift position, disguising discomfort as impatience. If the Commission even caught me sniffing around Russo’s daughter, they’d gut my chances at a button faster than I could take my next breath.

“Answer me,” TJ demands.

“Then please take the blindfold off.” Her voice softens, almost reasonable. “My hands are literally tied. Being able to see wouldn’t change anything.”

“What makes you think you’re in a spot to negotiate?”

“I’m in a spot to negotiate because I know you want answers.” She leans forward, confidence in every line of her body. “You want me to talk? Take the blindfold off.”

Beside me, Luca snickers, nodding with approval. Pride blooms in my chest before I can squash it. If she wasn’t the key to becoming made, I’d be laughing too. Isabella’s daughter through and through—pure fire.

TJ sighs, frustrated. “Ms. Russo, we’re not going to hurt you if you just cooperate.”

“Then take off my fucking blindfold.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Then good luck convincing me to talk.”

“You know we can do this without anyone bleeding, Alessandra,” TJ warns. “Otherwise, you have twenty nails I can pluck one by one, and about thirty teeth, just in case.”

My gut clenches watching TJ work. He loves the slow game—pulling nails, breaking fingers one knuckle at a time. Too fucking messy for my taste. I’m a bullet to the kneecap kind of guy. Clean. Gets results fast. Fucking ironic with Alessa’s bullet still burning a hole in my thigh. This bitch can shoot, I’ll give her that. People always talk when there’s enough pain involved. I’ve made grown men cry like babies with just a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. And for Marco Russo’s location? I’d have no problem getting creative with his daughter.

“The worst you can do is kill me,” she spits out. “Then good luck finding my dad without your bait.”

TJ leans in, voice dropping to that dead-calm tone that makes even made men sweat. “Sweetheart, death would be a mercy. I’ve kept men breathing for weeks while they begged me to end it. Your father’s location is worth at least five of your fingernails and maybe an eye.”

“Like I said, good luck making me talk.” The room falls silent, her defiance thick in the air. “Blindfold. Off.”

TJ glances at me, questioning. I nod once. Let her have this small victory. I want to see those eyes again.

TJ yanks off the blindfold, Alessa squints against the light, those green eyes adjusting before locking onto mine like heat-seeking missiles. Fuck. Something feral passes between us, that same raw electricity from when I had her pinned under me.

My cock stirs — remembering how she writhed, back arched—twisted fists as she fought against coming four years ago. Her teeth clamped into my shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds I forced from her throat—taking what she pretended not to want... ’til she begged for more.

I shake my head, forcing my attention back to the room as Cardo steps up—the new kid swaggers forward like he’s got a pair bigger than his brain. No uniform, no respect—just another punk thinking his knife skills make him untouchable. Sure, he can carve someone up pretty as a fucking Christmas ham, but his head’s so far up his ass he can’t see daylight. Piece of shit shows up drunk half the time, mouths off to TJ when he should be keeping his trap shut. One of these days I’m gonna put a bullet in him just to make a point. But for now, I need bodies that can follow orders—assuming this one lives long enough to figure out who the fuck is in charge.

“Who are you?” Alessa’s lip curls as she takes in Cardo.

“I get to ask the questions, sweetheart.” He spins a knife on his finger, showing off. Amateur move.

Alessa’s eyes track the blade, and for a split second, real fear flashes across her face. It vanishes instantly, replaced by manufactured courage, but I saw it. The first crack in her armor.

“Let me tell you something, Alessandra. We’re not bad people.” Cardo’s attempt at good cop makes me wince. He doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with. Isabella Russo’s daughter knows exactly what Cosa Nostra is capable of.

“Did Dominic send you?” Alessa’s voice drips with disdain. “I didn’t know he was taking in novices.”

Cardo’s face twitches. The kid’s twenty-one, a dropout with nothing but TJ’s misplaced faith keeping him alive. He’s spent his whole life trying to prove himself, failing every time.

“Careful how you talk to me, bitch.” He lunges forward, knife-first, ignoring my explicit orders. My jaw locks, rage building. “I can kill you right here, right now.”

My silent warning fills the room like a death sentence. Nobody fucking touches her. If that piece of shit draws even a drop of her blood, I’ll carve him up and feed him his own fucking fingers. She’s MINE to break. MINE to hurt. MINE to question. Fuck—where’d that come from? She’s just another job, another body I need information from—But my dick’s already staking its claim. Every muscle in me goes rigid watching that little prick put his hands on what belongs to me. It’s like watching some mangy stray try to mark my territory. I’ll gut him where he stands if he doesn’t back the fuck off. In this basement, I’m God, and Alessa is my property ’til I say otherwise.

“Then do it,” Alessa challenges, chin tilting up.

“Don’t fucking push me, Alessandra.” Cardo’s voice shakes. “We all know what your traitorous father did.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Marco Russo. New York City’s Chief of Police. Ratting out Cosa Nostra to the authorities. Backing a RICO case. A fucking coward of a father if you ask me.”

“At least I have a father.” Her smile is razor sharp.

Pride pulses through me again. I should be pissed we’re getting nowhere, but watching her stand her ground is... impressive. If time weren’t against us, I’d happily watch her verbally dismantle my men all day.

“What did you say?” Cardo seethes, white knuckling the dagger.

“Arrogant and deaf? Pick a fucking struggle, kid.”

“I’m not a fucking kid.” His voice cracks, making him sound exactly like the child he’s denying being.

“Okay, sweetie.” She’s going for blood now. “Why don’t you get your big boss and tell him I’m not going to speak to his adopted boy.”

“No!” Cardo shrieks, looking seconds from tears. “You don’t get to demand. I call the fucking shots!”

“Then call it.”

“Where the fuck is Marco Russo?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fucking liar.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs like she’s discussing coffee preferences, not fighting for her life.

“Don’t play with me.”

“Aw. But I like playing with you, kiddo.”

“I’m not a—”

“A kid. Yeah, yeah. You said that already.”

“Shut—”

“On second thought, I’m bored with you now.”

“This isn’t a fucking game—”

“Go get Dominic and I’ll talk. Maybe.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Before I can reach my holster, Cardo lunges, pressing his blade against her throat. The room freezes as he drags the tip across her skin, drawing a thin line of crimson.

Red floods my vision. Not Cardo’s rage—mine.

Alessa’s breath catches, her head tilting back as far as possible, her eyes widening with genuine fear for the first time. Her gaze finds mine across the dim basement, and relief flashes across her face.

She trusts me to stop this.

The realization hits harder than any bullet.

“That’s enough.” My voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

Cardo turns, his arrogance evaporating as he registers my expression. Sweat beads on his forehead, eyes darting like a cornered animal.

“Walk away, Cardo.”

“Sir, I–I–I didn’t mean—”

“Walk. Away.”

Cardo backs the fuck off, and I stalk toward her like a predator closing in. My eyes fix on that trickle of blood snaking down her neck, disappearing beneath her sweatshirt. Goddamn waste. If anyone’s gonna mark that smooth skin, it should be me. Her hair’s stuck to her face with sweat, her lips cracked and pale. She looks like hell, and I still want to taste her. Fucked up how even now—filthy, exhausted, hating me with every fiber—she makes my cock jump. That fire in her eyes hasn’t dimmed a bit. Those same eyes that looked up at me, wide and wanting, now burning with murder. Christ… that shouldn’t turn me on even more, but it does. I want to break that defiance, just to see her yield to me again until she’s begging—not out of fear, but need.

“What will it take, hmm?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. “What will it take for you to fucking cooperate, Alessa?”

I’m ready to own that fire without extinguishing it completely.

“A little respect would be a good start.” Her eyes lock on mine, unwavering. “You want me to talk? Then fucking talk to me like I’m a human being. I have questions, too.”

“I’ve tried that, and it didn’t work.”

“Breaking into my home, drugging me, and flying me to God knows where isn’t talking, Dominic. Intimidation wouldn’t work, either. Because I fight back.”

“Oh, I know you fight back, Alessa.” The endearment slips out before I can catch it. “How about this—you answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours. I’m sure you have hundreds.”

“Thousands.” Her lips twitch, almost a smile.

“Is that a deal?”

She studies me, gaze traveling from my face to my shoes and back. “Fine.”

Relief washes through me. Progress, finally. Maybe I won’t have to hurt her after all. The thought shouldn’t matter—I’ve fucked up plenty of people for less—but the idea of marking her perfect skin makes my chest twist uncomfortably. I’ve never hesitated before. Never questioned what needed to be done.

Mercy is a liability in our world.

Yet here I am, searching for alternatives—looking for ways to get what I need without breaking her.

“Say it,” I press.

“I answer your questions as long as you answer mine.”

“Great. Because I don’t like being made a fool, Alessa.” I step closer, letting her see the danger in my eyes. “And you know what happens to people who don’t play by my rules?”

In one fluid motion, I draw my gun, the metal cold and familiar in my palm. Cardo’s eyes widen, that cocky smirk freezing on his face as I aim at his forehead, understanding dawning too late.

The gunshot cracks through the basement like a thunderclap in the confined space. The stench of gunpowder fills my lungs. I don’t flinch. Don’t blink. This is what I was born to do.

Alessa startles as Cardo drops like a puppet with cut strings, skull exploding in a shower of red. His body twitches once, twice, then goes still as blood pools beneath what’s left of his head. His knife skitters across concrete, landing at Alessa’s feet like an offering.

Her face—that perfect fucking face—now wears a splatter of blood and brain matter across one cheek. A baptism in violence. Her plush mouth parts, shock stealing her breath, but those green eyes never leave mine. Not for a second.

She sees me now. All of me... The monster and the man.

The air between us charges with something beyond fear or power—something that feels dangerously like recognition.

But I can’t tell if that look in her eyes is revulsion or respect.