Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ispread the leather samples across my workbench in careful rows, comparing each piece against the enlarged photographs Victor had provided. The midday light streaming through the windows of Cobblers’ Corner caught the subtle variations in color and texture.
I’d met with Victor and Sebastian earlier this morning at their boutique, where I’d shown them my preliminary sketches and discussed the technical details of recreating Thomas Wong’s oxfords.
Victor had been pleased with my initial designs, especially my analysis of the intricate silver buckle work, but now came the real test—translating those sketches into actual materials and construction plans.
I’d already ordered the appropriate silver alloy, but the metalwork wouldn’t begin until I’d finalized every detail of the leather construction.
Victor’s deadline loomed in the back of my mind—ambitious for work of this complexity, but not impossible if I stayed focused.
The Centennial Celebration wouldn’t wait, and Victor had been clear about the importance of having the shoes ready for the boutique’s opening event.
At least the commission gave me something concrete to focus on while everything else in our lives felt uncertain.
The secret growing inside me made everything feel more significant, connecting me and this shop—my family’s legacy—to the future I was building with Dominic. The pregnancy was still early enough that I could hide the symptoms, but the knowledge sat warm and terrifying in my chest.
Soon, I’d have to tell Dominic.
I found my hand drifting to my stomach without conscious thought, fingers resting against the flat plane where our child was growing.
The gesture felt both protective and surreal—in a few months, I’d be showing.
A few more after that, and we’ll be welcoming a son or daughter into the world.
The weight of that responsibility made my chest tight with emotion, with the magnitude of what Dominic and I had created together.
Through the display window, I could see Marcus positioned across the street, his dark suit and alert posture making him stand out among the lunch-time pedestrians.
Dominic and Blake had insisted on continued security, and while I was grateful for the protection, having a constant guard reminded me that our troubles were far from over.
The brass bell over my door chimed, and that familiar pine and spice scent wrapped around me before I even looked toward the door. Dominic stood in the entryway, his steel-gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my hands still on the leather samples.
“You’re here early,” I said, setting down the purple leather and trying to read his expression. There was something different about his demeanor—a tension that could mean either very good news or very bad news.
“I wanted to see you before the day gets complicated,” he said, stepping into the shop and letting the door swing closed behind him. The soft click of the lock engaging made my pulse quicken.
“Complicated how?” I asked, studying his expression. There was something in his demeanor that reminded me of yesterday—that same careful evasiveness when I’d asked about his and Blake’s plans.
“Just a busy day ahead,” he said, moving closer to my workbench. His gaze took in the spread of materials before settling on my face. “How’s the commission coming along?”
The deflection was immediate and obvious. “Yesterday you were vague about your ‘developments,’ and now you’re deflecting again. What’s going on?”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Blake has some useful connections in city planning. We're exploring possible avenues through those channels.”
I folded my arms across my chest at the non-answer. “That’s not an answer. In fact, it sounds like corporate speak for something you don’t want to tell me.”
Instead of answering, he reached out to touch one of the leather samples, his fingers tracing the smooth surface. “This is beautiful work. Your grandfather would be proud.”
The deflection was so obvious it made me bristle. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Let me handle the bureaucratic complications while you focus on your commission,” he said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand came up to trace along my jaw, thumb brushing across my lower lip. “You said the commission was important to you.”
“That’s not a satisfactory answer.” His touch sent heat straight through me, but I forced myself to step back. “I’m not some delicate omega who needs to be protected from difficult information. If you’re making moves that affect my community, I have a right to know.”
“Blake understands how these systems work,” he said, following my retreat until my back hit the edge of my work table. “I understand how to motivate people to do their jobs properly.”
“Motivate people how?”
“Through appropriate channels,” he said, his voice carrying that same smooth deflection. “Sometimes a conversation from the right person can help clarify priorities.”
The vague response made my stomach clench with unease. “What kind of conversation?”
“The productive kind,” he said, his hands coming up to grip the edge of the workbench on either side of me, effectively caging me in. “You’re overthinking this, baby. Blake and I know what we’re doing.”
“I’m not overthinking anything,” I shot back, meeting his gaze with all the defiant omega independence I could muster. “You’re making decisions about my life, about my community, without consulting me. You think you know what’s best for everyone.”
“I know what’s best for you,” he said, leaning closer until our faces were inches apart. “And right now, what’s best for you is letting me handle the red tape.”
“You mean letting you control everything while I play with my leather samples like a good little omega?”
His jaw tightened, the muscle beneath his skin jumping as those cool gray eyes darkened. “I mean letting me take care of the business side so you can focus on what makes you happy.”
“What makes me happy is being treated like an equal partner,” I said, pushing against his chest though he didn’t budge. “Not like someone who needs to be managed and protected from reality.”
“Reality is dealing with people who respond better to pressure than politeness,” he said, his voice rougher now. “That’s not your world, Leo. It’s mine.”
“And you’re so much better at handling pressure than I am?”
“I’m better at handling certain types of people,” he said, his mouth moving closer to my ear. “I’m better at speaking their language. Let me do what I’m good at while you do what you’re good at.”
“I want to be kept informed,” I managed, though it was getting harder to think with his scent and body in my space, overwhelming my senses.
“And I want you safe and happy,” he said, finally pressing his lips to the side of my neck.
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” I protested, but my hands were already fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
“They are when the process gets complicated,” he said against my throat. “When dealing with certain people requires a more direct approach.”
“What kind of direct approach?”
He pulled back to meet my eyes, and what I saw there was carefully controlled. “The kind that gets results. Trust me to handle it, okay?”
His non-answer was both maddening and somehow more unsettling than direct honesty would have been. “You think I’m naive.”
“I think you shouldn’t have to waste your time learning how to navigate corrupt systems when you have people who can handle that for you,” he corrected.
“And I think you’re being a controlling bastard who can’t tell the difference between protection and possession.”
He growled, literally growled at me. Not a rumble of satisfaction or playfulness. No, this sound erupted from somewhere primal, rolling from deep in his chest through his throat—a sound that made my omega instincts scream predator.
The sound should have sent me scrambling to get away. Instead, heat pooled low in my belly while the hair on the back of my neck stood on end—my body caught between fight and an entirely different kind of surrender.
“I’m not to be managed.” I said, hating how my voice was already getting breathy.
He hummed noncommittally, his mouth trailing down my neck to my collarbone, not quite kissing but close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin. “Tell me you don’t want me to take care of you.”
I shifted tactics. “While you're here, I wanted to talk about you and Blake making housing decisions without even discussing them with me.”
Dominic's huffed, his breath tickling my neck. “Blake mentioned some secure options. Given everything that’s happened—”
“You decided I should be moved somewhere you can keep better tabs on me,” I cut him off.
“I decided you should be somewhere less likely to be targeted,” he corrected, his alpha instinct to control the situation clearly engaging. “Someone broke into the Historical Society the same night my bail was denied. And your shop has been a focus of attention we don’t fully understand yet.”
“This is my home,” I said, gesturing around us even though we were downstairs in the shop. “Five generations of my family have lived above this shop. This is where I belong.”
“This is where you’re vulnerable,” he shot back. “Blake’s building has actual security. Doormen, cameras, controlled access. Not just a brass lock that any determined person could break.”
“The shop has cameras,” I reminded him. “You had them installed yourself, remember?”
“It’s not enough,” he said. “I want you safe. I want you alive. The penthouse would be a controlled environment.”
“A controlled environment,” I repeated. “Where you know exactly where I am at all times.”
“Where people who might want to hurt you can’t easily get to you,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register. “Is that really so unreasonable? Dammit, Leo! I'm not the enemy here.”