41. Dominic
41
Dominic
I lie on the floor of my penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The whiskey bottle sits empty beside me. I don’t remember finishing it. Don’t even remember leaving the bedroom.
Sleep won’t come. Whether my eyes are opened or closed, I see her face. The shock. The disgust.
You tried to trade me. To hand me off to your brother like some sick peace offering.
The digital clock on the wall reads 3:17 AM. I’ve been lying here for hours, my body a leaden weight on the imported marble floor. I should get up. Should try to sleep. But what’s the point?
Finally I drag myself up, swaying slightly from the whiskey. The penthouse is too quiet. Too empty. I walk to the kitchen, thinking maybe I’ll find another bottle of something strong enough to knock me out.
That’s when I hear it.
A soft click. So subtle most people would miss it.
But I’ve been expecting this sound my whole life.
The front door. Someone’s at the front door.
No.
I freeze, my blood turning to ice water in my veins.
Not again.
Memories flood back, unbidden.
Hot summer night.
Age fifteen.
The creak of our front door.
Dad away on business.
Mom at her sister’s.
Just me and Nico at home.
The footsteps. The voices.
Me hiding behind my bed.
My security system should have alerted Jake. He’ll be here shortly. All I have to do is wait. Then I’ll be safe.
More clicks, then the padding of feet.
They’re inside now.
I retreat to my bedroom silently, heart hammering so loud I’m sure they can hear it. My hands shake as I reach for my phone, but it’s not there. I can’t find it. Don’t remember where I put it.
From the foyer, I hear hushed voices. Two, maybe three intruders.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but instinct takes over. I drop to the floor, scrambling behind my bed like the terrified teenager I once was.
Hidden.
Safe.
Pathetic.
Nico screaming as they beat him. “Where’s the safe? Where’s the money?” Their fists connecting with his face. Me watching from beneath my bed, paralyzed with fear.
I curl into myself, trembling.
Come on Jake, come on! Where the fuck are you when I need you most?
Then a thought hits me like a bullet.
Tatiana.
She’s here. In the guest suite.
Right fucking now.
Vulnerable.
My responsibility.
No!
Not again.
I won’t fail again.
I won’t fail her .
Jake’s not going to get here in time.
I have to act.
Right fucking now.
The thought burns through my fear like acid, leaving nothing but cold, clear purpose.
I get up from behind the bed and slide open my nightstand drawer. I remove the handgun I keep there. The weight is familiar. Reassuring.
The footsteps grow closer. They’re in the hallway now.
I move silently toward my bedroom door, straining to hear their positions. Three distinct sets of footsteps. One approaching my room. The others moving deeper into the penthouse.
Toward the guest suite.
Toward Tatiana.
“Tatiana,” I call out, loud enough to be heard through the walls. “Shut and lock the door.”
A startled “Wha” comes from the guest suite.
“Shut the fucking door!” I yell, not waiting for her response.
The intruders freeze, then their footsteps quicken.
They know I’m awake now.
The element of surprise is gone.
For them, not for me.
I flatten myself against the wall beside my bedroom door, gun raised. The door pushes open slowly, and a shadow falls across the floor. A man steps in, dressed in black, a ski mask covering his face. He’s armed, a gun with a silencer held low.
I don’t hesitate. I swing the butt of my weapon down hard on his wrist. There’s a satisfying crack of bone. His gun clatters to the floor as he howls in pain. I follow with a strike to his temple. Another crack. He crumples.
I see Nico’s blood spraying across our childhood bedroom wall. See his eye swelling shut as they hit him again. Again. Hear his screams.
Voices from the hallway.
The other two.
Coming fast.
“Jerry? What the fuck?”
I grab the fallen intruder’s gun, and now hold a weapon in each hand. I step into the hallway just as a second man rounds the corner.
He’s bigger than the first. Bulkier. He raises his weapon, but I’m faster. I aim my main weapon at his center of mass and squeeze the trigger. The shot is loud, but I barely hear it.
The man staggers back.
“Fuck,” he gasps, bringing his gun up again.
I fire another time. Again aiming for his center of mass. He drops, screaming. “I’m hit! I’m hit!”
I hear frantic footsteps. The third man is trying to get away.
I race into the hall, leap past the fallen man, and hurry into the living room. I catch the third man at the door.
“Freeze!” I shout.
The third man stops, his hand on the door handle.
“Drop it,” I command, aiming my main gun at his center of mass, and holding the second weapon in his general direction.
He doesn’t. Instead, he spins around.
Everything slows down.
I fire wildly. This time he returns fire, and I feel a searing pain across my ribs as a bullet rips through my side.
I don’t stop. Can’t stop. I dive behind my couch.
Suddenly a big, bulky body is landing on top of me.
We crash into the wall. My guns skitter across the floor. I pivot so that I’m on top of him, and pin him to the floor.
“You picked the wrong fucking penthouse,” I growl, wrapping my hands around his throat.
He struggles, bringing a knee up sharply. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I hang on, slamming his head back against the floor.
“Who sent you?” I demand, digging my nails into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. “Was it Weiss? Morgan fucking Weiss?”
“Go to hell,” he spits.
I see his pistol lying abandoned on the floor not far from his head. I grab it and pistol whip him across the face. Blood sprays from his nose, splattering my shirt.
“Tell me who sent you,” I repeat.
He laughs, blood bubbling between his teeth. “No one. We just wanted to rob a rich fuck.”
I don’t entirely believe him, but I don’t have time to continue the interrogation. I hear movement behind me, past the couch that’s shielding me from the rest of the room.
With the butt of the weapon, I hit the man one last time in the head.
Then I swivel around and peer past the couch. I see the second man, crawling on the floor, trying to grab one of the weapons I dropped earlier.
I fire a shot that spiders the marble floor inches from his outstretched fingers. “Move again and the next one goes through your skull.”
He freezes. It’s a lie, of course. My accuracy with a pistol isn’t that great. I’d have to aim for his center of mass, like they taught in training, if I want to have any chance of hitting him at all. But a bullet to the chest can be just as deadly as one to the skull.
The front door crashes open. Jake Thompson bursts in, weapon drawn, followed by three other security team members. Their eyes sweep the scene, and they see the blood and bodies scattered across my formerly pristine home.
“Sir,” Jake says, taking in my blood-soaked shirt and the gun still held in my hand. “Are you all right?”
“Took your fucking time,” I snarl, not releasing my grip.
“You dismissed us for the night, against protocol, remember?” Jake explains. “When the silent alarm triggered, we had to rush back.”
Right. I sent them away. After everything with Tatiana.
Tatiana.
“Check on Tatiana,” I order, standing. I take a step back from the closest intruder, letting my security team take over. “In the guest suite. Now.”
Jake cocks his head. “Sir?”
“The guest suite,” I repeat impatiently. “Make sure she’s safe.”
Jake exchanges a glance with one of the other security members. “Mr. Rossi, there’s no one in the guest suite.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? She’s there. I called out to her. She answered.”
Jake approaches me carefully, like I’m a wild animal. “Sir, your wife left last night. At the restaurant. She’s not here.”
I stare at him.
Left last night. At the restaurant.
The night comes rushing back. Tatiana walking out. Her face twisted with disgust and hurt. Calling off the security detail. Telling me she never wanted to see me again.
“Check the guest suite,” I say anyway, my voice hollow.
Jake nods to one of his men, who disappears down the hall. I watch, blood dripping from my side, as he opens the door to the guest suite.
Empty.
No Tatiana.
She’s gone. She was never here.
“I heard her,” I mutter. “She answered me.”
Jake doesn’t contradict me, but the pity in his eyes is worse than any argument.
I imagined it. Wanted so badly to protect her that I conjured her voice from nothing.
Or maybe it was one of the intruders and I mistook his voice for hers.
I don’t know anymore.
I stumble back against the wall, suddenly aware of the burning pain in my side. My shirt is soaked with blood, some mine, some the intruder’s. The adrenaline that carried me through the fight is fading, leaving only pain and emptiness.
“Sir, you need medical attention,” Jake says, stepping forward.
I wave him off.
“Deal with them first,” I say, gesturing to the intruders. “Find out who sent them.”
“The police are on their way.”
“No police,” I snap. “Handle it internally. Get them out of here. I don’t need press on this. Find out who they are, who hired them. I want answers.”
Jake hesitates, then nods. He knows better than to argue. He gestures to his team, who begin securing the intruders.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, and press a hand to my bleeding side. The bullet only grazed me, but it’s deep enough to need stitches.
I don’t care about the wound. Don’t care about the intruders. All I can think about is Tatiana.
When I thought I was protecting her, I found courage I never knew I had.
I wasn’t the coward who hid while his brother was beaten.
I fought.
I won.
But she wasn’t even here.
I was too late. I failed her already, in the worst possible way.
A laugh bubbles up, bitter and broken. Here I am, bleeding on my floor, having finally found the courage to fight, to protect, to be the man I should have been when Tatiana needed me. And it doesn’t fucking matter.
Because she’s gone.
Really gone.
And too late, I realize once again I love her. Like, really fucking love her. Not just as an acquisition or a means to an end. I love her intelligence, her stubbornness, her competence. The way she challenges me, doesn’t put up with my shit.
I never even told her.
I deleted my fucking voicemail.
“Sir,” Jake says, cutting through my thoughts. “We need to get that wound looked at.”
I look up at him, suddenly exhausted. “Who cares? It doesn’t matter.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rossi, it does matter.” He kneels beside me, examining the wound with practiced efficiency. “You’re going to need stitches.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “Call Dr. Keegan. Have him come here.”
Jake nods, then hesitates. “Sir, about your wife—”
“Don’t,” I warn, my voice sharp. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Understood.” He stands, speaking quietly into his comm unit, ordering the team to remove the intruders.
I watch as they drag the men out, leaving streaks of blood across my imported marble floors. Furniture is damaged. There are gunshot holes in the walls.
I should care. This penthouse cost millions.
But I don’t give a shit.
All I can think about is her. How I betrayed her. How I lost her.
You tried to trade me... hand me off to your brother like some sick peace offering.
She was right. I did try to trade her. Because deep down, I was still that scared little kid hiding behind his bed while someone else got hurt. Still trying to appease Nico in some twisted attempt to make things right.
But tonight proved something. I’m not that same coward anymore.
I can fight.
Can protect what matters.
Too little, too late, Dominic.
I press harder against my bleeding side, welcoming the pain. I deserve worse.
The crushing weight of what I’ve done to Tatiana hits me full force again. How could I betray her like that?
I failed her when I should have protected her from Nico.
And now I’ll pay for that failure forever.
“The doctor is on his way,” Jake says, returning to my side. “And sir?”
I look up, barely seeing him through the haze of pain and regret.
“It looks like you were targeted randomly. They claim no one paid them.”
That penetrates the fog. “Has to be Weiss,” I mutter.
Jake shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll find out. But right now, let’s get you patched up.”
I let him help me to my feet, wincing as fresh pain lances through my side. We walk slowly to the living room where he deposits me on the couch.
I close my eyes, seeing her pained face again.
And I sigh.
Forgive me, Tatiana.