43. Dominic
43
Dominic
T he knock on my door comes at exactly 9 AM, pulling me from a haze of pain and exhaustion. I haven’t slept a minute since the home invasion. Dr. Keegan stitched me up around 5 AM, gave me painkillers I haven’t taken, and warned me to rest.
Fat fucking chance.
“Mr. Rossi?” Jake’s voice calls through the intercom. “There’s a moving crew here. They say they’re authorized to collect your wife’s belongings.”
Of course. Efficient as always, my Tatiana.
Not mine anymore.
“Let them in,” I say, my voice a rasp.
I watch from the kitchen as three men in uniforms move methodically through the guest suite. Three men, like last night. Trouble always comes in threes, doesn’t it?
They pack her clothes, her laptop, the few personal items she brought with her. With each outfit they remove, I recall where she wore it. The emerald silk gown at the gala. The navy Armani pantsuit at the investor meeting. The casual jeans she wore that Sunday when she caught me sick with fever.
One of the movers grabs her suitcase, the one she never fully unpacked because she always knew this was temporary. Always knew she’d be leaving.
I grip the kitchen counter so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Is there anything else, sir?” the head mover asks when they’ve finished.
I shake my head. They leave with pieces of her, with the tangible evidence she was ever here at all. The door closes behind them with a soft click that feels like a gunshot.
It’s done.
It’s final.
My phone buzzes. Arthur Sterling.
“What is it?” I answer, moving stiffly toward the living room. My side throbs where the bullet grazed me last night.
“Ms. Cole was here first thing this morning,” he says without preamble. “She’s signed the annulment papers. We need your signature to finalize.”
Of course she was. She couldn’t wait to be free of me.
“I’m coming in,” I tell him, and hang up.
I shower quickly, careful of my stitches, then dress in a crisp black suit with a white dress shirt. The outfit of the wealthy and powerful. I look like my usual self in the mirror, except for the haunted eyes staring back at me.
Jake meets me in the lobby downstairs, professional as always despite the events of last night. “Your car is ready, sir.”
I nod, noticing the extra security detail positioned subtly throughout the building. After last night, they’re taking no chances. Not that I care. The only thing worth protecting is gone.
The drive to Rossi Developments is silent. Ric keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, but knows better than to speak. When we arrive, at least there are no paparazzi. Jake would’ve made certain that security kept them well off the property today.
Eleanor greets me with a stack of messages and a concerned frown. “Mr. Rossi, you have calls from the Costa Rica development team, the PR department wants a statement about the annulment, and Mr. Sterling is waiting in your office.”
“Cancel everything,” I tell her. “Tell PR to hold off on any statements.”
“Sir?”
“Just do it, Eleanor.”
Arthur rises when I enter my office, annulment papers neatly arranged on my desk. “Dominic. I have everything ready for your signature.”
I glance at the papers, and see Tatiana’s neat signature already in place. My throat tightens.
“Have you been in contact with her?” I ask.
Arthur’s expression remains carefully neutral. “Yes. She was here. Ms. Cole was professional and efficient. She expressed a desire to complete the paperwork as quickly as possible.”
Of course she did.
“I need air,” I say abruptly, turning away from the papers. “I’ll deal with this later.”
“Dominic, the sooner we file these, the sooner we can control the narrative.”
“I said later .”
I stride out of my office, ignoring Eleanor’s startled expression. I pull out my phone and dial a number I rarely use.
Nico answers on the third ring. “Well, well, big brother. Calling so soon?”
“We need to talk,” I say. “Now.”
“I’m busy.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re busy. Where are you?”
There’s a pause. “My apartment.”
“Text me the address. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Look, Dom, I don’t really feel like having a brother talk right now.”
“Twenty minutes,” I repeat, and hang up.
My security detail joins me when I emerge from the building.
Ric is waiting with the car. “Where to, sir?”
My phone buzzes with Nico’s address.
“Brooklyn Heights,” I say, showing him the text.
As we drive, I stare out at Manhattan, at the empire I’ve built. The resort deal is secured. I should feel triumphant. Instead, all I feel is hollow.
Nico’s building is high-end but not ostentatious. When we arrive, Jake and the team emerge from the follow car.
“Wait downstairs,” I tell Jake. “This is between me and my brother.”
He nods.
Nico opens the door wearing jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, his scarred face tight with wariness.
“You look like shit,” he says.
I push past him into a stylish apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Sure, come on in,” he says sarcastically. “Want a drink? Or did you just come to glare at me?”
“You and I have unfinished business.”
Nico sighs theatrically and walks to a bar cart in the corner. “Look, if this is about your wife walking out, that’s not on me. I wasn’t the one who agreed to the setup.”
“No,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “You just manipulated me with guilt because you’re too fucking broken to deal with your own shit.”
He turns, anger flashing in his eyes. “Careful, Dom.”
“Or what?” I step closer. “You’ll guilt me more? Tell me again how I owe you? How I ruined your life?”
“You did ruin my life,” he hisses. “Where were you when they were beating the shit out of me? Hiding under your fucking bed like a coward.”
The words hit like physical blows, but for once, I don’t flinch from them.
“I was fifteen,” I say quietly. “A terrified kid. And I have spent every day since then trying to make it up to you. But it’s never enough, is it? First you wanted two million dollars. Then shares in my company. Then a cut of the resort profits. And then you wanted my wife.”
“Your temporary wife,” he corrects.
“That doesn’t fucking matter,” I roar, the calm shattering. “You saw someone I cared about and decided to take her from me just because you could. Because you knew I’d let you.”
Nico’s face twists. “Poor Dominic. Always the victim.”
“No,” I move closer. “You don’t get to spin this. You’re not going to get two million dollars or any shares in my business or the resort. And you’re certainly not going to get Tatiana.”
“Won’t I?” Nico smirks, and something in me snaps.
My fist connects with his jaw before I even realize I’ve moved. Nico staggers back, eyes wide with shock, then launches himself at me with a roar.
I try to brace myself, but he slams me hard against the wall. Pain explodes through my injured side where the bullet grazed me last night. For a second, black spots dance across my vision, but I refuse to go down. Not this time.
I use his momentum against him, hooking my foot behind his ankle and twisting sharply. He loses his balance, and I push him sideways. At the last moment, he reaches out, grabbing my arm and pulling me down with him.
We crash into his expensive coffee table, sending glass flying everywhere. Pain continues to lance through my injured side, but I barely feel it now through the rage and adrenalin. We grapple on the floor, years of resentment and guilt unleashed in a flurry of fists and curses.
“I fucking worshipped you,” Nico gasps, landing a solid punch to my stomach. “My big brother who could do no wrong.”
I flip him, pinning him beneath me. “And I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to make up for one night,” I pant. “One fucking night when I was a scared kid.”
“It should have been you,” he snarls, his scarred face contorted. “They should have beaten you instead.”
“You’re right,” I say, and he freezes beneath me. “It should have been me. I live with that every day. But that doesn’t give you the right to destroy my life.”
“ Your life?” He laughs, bitter and hollow. “Look at you, Dom. You have everything. The empire. The money. The power.”
“And it means nothing,” I say, the fight suddenly draining out of me. I roll off him, lying beside him on the floor amid the broken glass. “It all means fucking nothing.”
We lie there in silence, both breathing hard, surrounded by the ruins of his living room. An expensive painting hangs crooked on the wall. A shattered vase drips water onto imported hardwood.
Then, inexplicably, Nico starts to laugh. It begins as a chuckle, then grows into full-throated laughter. I turn my head to look at him, thinking he’s finally lost his mind.
“Your face,” he gasps. “You should see your face.”
And suddenly I’m laughing too, the absurdity of it all hitting me. Two grown men, bloodied and bruised, lying in broken glass in a multimillion-dollar apartment.
“We’re a fucking mess,” I say when I can breathe again.
“Complete disaster,” Nico agrees.
I push myself up, wincing at the fresh blood seeping through my shirt. “I need a drink.”
“Kitchen,” Nico says, not moving. “Top cabinet. The ‘82 Barolo.”
I find the wine and two glasses, returning to find Nico sitting against the wall, surveying the destruction.
“Mom would kill us if she saw this,” he says as I hand him a glass.
“Dad would help her hide the bodies,” I agree.
We drink in silence for a moment.
“You’re bleeding,” Nico finally says, pointing at my ribs.
“Got shot last night. Home invasion.”
His eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seems to be a theme in my life.”
More silence. The wine is exquisite, but I barely taste it.
“I loved her,” I say suddenly. “Tatiana. It wasn’t fake for me. Not at the end.”
Nico studies his wine. “I know.”
“You know?”
“I saw how you looked at her. Even as you were setting up that fucked-up dinner.”
I close my eyes. “Then why do what you did?”
Nico swirls his wine, his expression unreadable. “Because it was my twisted way of getting back at you for... this.” He points at his scarred face. “And because I needed to know if you’d still choose me above everything else.”
The truth of it lands like a physical blow. “And I failed that test spectacularly.”
“Actually,” he says, “you passed it. You proved my point. Guilt is still ruling you.” He takes a long drink. “And it’s ruling me too. Using your guilt to manipulate you. Holding onto my anger because it’s easier than healing.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s the most honest conversation we’ve had in years.
“We need help, Nico,” I finally say. “Real help. Therapy. Not this toxic shit we’ve been doing.”
“Probably,” he agrees. “But in the meantime, pour me another glass.”
We drink until the bottle is empty, and somehow end up singing old Italian songs our grandfather taught us, horribly off-key. For a brief moment, we’re just brothers again. Not damaged men carrying the weight of one terrible night.
When we finally stop, exhausted and drunk, Nico looks at me with something approaching clarity.
“You should go to her,” he says. “Don’t let her go. Don’t let my fucked up revenge ruin your life.”
“She signed the annulment papers this morning,” I tell him. “It’s over.”
“Have you signed them?”
“Not yet.”
“Then it’s not over,” he says simply.
I shake my head. “You didn’t see her face, Nico. The disgust. The hurt.”
“Yeah I did, actually. I was there, remember? Relishing every moment in my own twisted way. Sorry about that.”
I sigh, shake my head. “I betrayed her in the worst possible way.”
“So fix it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” he agrees. “But ask yourself this. Are you not fighting for her because you truly believe she’s better off without you? Or because you’re afraid to try? Afraid to fail? ”
The question hits too close to home. I stand, unsteady from the wine and the confrontation.
“I should go,” I say.
“Dom,” Nico calls as I reach the door. I turn back. “I release you from your guilt. If that means anything.”
It’s not that simple, and we both know it. Years of damage can’t be undone in one drunken afternoon. But it’s a start.
“I’ll call you,” I say, and I mean it.
Outside, Jake takes one look at my bloody shirt and bruised face and sighs. “Hospital, sir?”
“No,” I say. “The office.”
I have annulment papers to burn.