Chapter 11
Lily
I roll over, chasing the scent that has haunted my dreams—whiskey, cigars, and a hint of spice.
I grab the pillow where the smell is most potent, press my face into it, and inhale deeply.
It didn’t smell like this when I got into bed last night, so why does it smell like this now?
Dreams of my limbs wrapped around a strong, muscular form swirl in my mind like a mirage, trying to take root as real when they cannot be.
Dominico made it clear he never ‘did that,’ whatever that was.
Stick around at a woman's request. Comfort her when she is in a massive mansion with guards all around.
Make her feel safe when it seems her whole world is crashing down.
Yet that is the lingering feeling I am left with as my eyes open and I take in the ceiling of my luxurious room.
Looking to the side, I can see the sun peeking through the curtain, telling me it must be morning already.
When I prop myself up and glance at the clock on the nightstand, it reads ten thirteen .
“Oh my god!” I tumble out of bed, my panic and haste tangling my foot in the silky covers. With a loud thud, I fall to the carpeted floor, the thick padding absorbing some of the impact.
“Ouch!” If my knee weren’t so sore, I might admire the intricate design, but instead, I pull my leg to my chest, rubbing it as I scold myself for being so clumsy.
I’m still on the floor when I hear the door open, and a female voice greets me—something I wasn't expecting.
When we arrived, there wasn't a single woman in sight. There were, however, a plethora of burly men who didn’t talk to me, just eyed me warily, as if little old me were a threat.
It was laughable, but at least I knew that if an invasion or an impromptu war broke out, there would be enough men here to fight it.
“What are you doing on the floor?” The voice is harsh and accusatory, as if I had done this intentionally. When she comes into view, I blink a few times. If I hadn't already been on the ground, her beauty would have floored me.
She possesses that Mediterranean look I envy, with naturally brown skin that gives her a tanned appearance even in winter.
I glance down at the pale skin of the leg I cradle, the contrast clear.
When I look up, she tosses her luscious, wavy black hair over her shoulder, squinting her perfectly made-up eyes at me—green eyes framed by precisely plucked eyebrows and long black lashes.
My eyes wander over the rest of her form, encased in a beautiful off-shoulder floral dress.
A hint of her well-endowed breasts peeks above the frilly edging, and a cinched waist highlights her curvy figure.
She isn't skinny, but she possesses curves in all the places I imagine men would admire.
He had reiterated this to me on numerous occasions: how plain I was, how unflattering my figure made clothing look —clothing he had selected.
If anyone has ever wondered about the power of words, observe the effect of being told, ‘you look ugly,’ repeatedly.
My self-confidence and self-esteem were crushed under the weight of three little words.
“Are you just going to sit there staring, or are you going to get your ass up and get dressed? Everyone is waiting for you in the dining room. Breakfast is being served, and Dom doesn’t like lazy people or waiting.” She spins on her heel and then strolls out of the room as gracefully as a model.
Dom. The use of a name that suggests familiarity lingers with me, its force uncorking the bottle where I shove all my emotions away.
I push it back down, reminding myself that I have no right to feel this way, and I certainly shouldn’t want to experience it for a man as clearly dangerous as Dominico.
Scrambling, I get up, ignoring the throbbing in my knee.
It was the one he damaged. I tried running away, and he kicked me in the back of the knee, dislocating the kneecap and damaging the ligaments, flooring me before landing some blows to my ribs.
Ever since then, it has never been the same.
It's likely because it was never properly treated.
That would raise too many questions. Consequently, it aches in winter, and the slightest bump makes it swell like it already was.
Hobbling to the bathroom, my eyes widen as I take in my long, natural brown hair hanging loosely down my back. Shit. I must have lost my wig in my sleep last night, and now there's no point in putting it on anyway. Dominico knew who I was. Covering it now just seemed childish.
I gather my hair into a ponytail and then brush my teeth before hobbling to the closet to put on one of the dresses Dominico bought me the day before.
It's one I picked out after the incident in the changing room.
I heeded his words and chose a short-sleeved dress with a mid-calf-length skirt that exposed the scars on my skin.
It was time to embrace my body. It's the only one I have, and upon reflection, I realize it has withstood so much.
I should be grateful for it, not ashamed of it.
It's not lost on me that it has taken a man as dominating and dark as my ex, if not more so, to help me recognize that.
I also know that under the right circumstances, Dominico could tear me down just as easily as he built me up in those seconds in the changing room.
The fact that he didn't, the fact that he saw me, changed everything.
Being looked at and being seen are two entirely different things.
For most men, there is often no clear distinction.
But when Dominico looks at someone and truly sees them, and you happen to be that special person who experiences the latter, you definitely know.
It's raw, focused, and utterly intoxicating.
The shiver running down my spine at the thought of it both thrills and scares me.
It's the knife-edge effect. I shake my head, reminding myself that I need to clear it to understand what I'm actually doing here. I’m not naive enough to believe that a man like him brought me here without an agenda.
A few minutes later, I leave my room and encounter a guy in the hall whom I recognize from yesterday—the one who took my keys.
“I’m Matteo, your bodyguard,” he introduces, gesturing with his large hand for me to proceed down the corridor toward the staircase leading downstairs.
My bodyguard? Did I really need one?
“You were at my apartment yesterday,” I say, more as small talk than as anything else.
He nods, his massive frame intimidating as he walks beside me. He is all muscle, and his presence exudes a sense of malice and danger. Yet, when he looks at me, he appears concerned. This is likely because I am walking at a snail's pace, trying to conceal the pain shooting up my leg from my knee .
I smile awkwardly, but that fades when we near the stairs. Damn. There were quite a few of them.
“Is everything alright?” Matteo asks, his eyes scanning my face as he notices my hesitation.
There's no way I’m going to say anything about my stupid injury.
That would mean explaining how simply falling out of bed and landing awkwardly can cause it to hurt, and then I would have to share the rest. I still wasn’t sure how much everyone knew about me, and I preferred it to remain hidden as much as possible.
I also didn’t want to draw more attention to myself or appear weaker than I already felt.
Besides, I doubt anyone would care, and as the mysterious woman said earlier, Dominico hates waiting.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him, smiling and squaring my shoulders as I take the first step.
Using the railing for support, I push down any pain I feel, reminding myself that I'm an old pro at this. Slowly, I make my way down the staircase. By the time I reach the bottom, a layer of sweat has formed on my brow and above my upper lip, which I quickly swipe away, hoping Matteo doesn’t notice.
He seems overly worried, so I give him another comforting smile.
“Where to?” I ask cheerfully, waiting for him to lead the way. After a moment of hesitation and a look that suggests he suspects something is amiss, he points to a large wooden door from which sounds are clearly emanating as we approach.
He pushes the door open, and the muted sounds explode into a full symphony, with snippets of Italian woven in between.
However, the moment is short-lived. As I step inside, all conversation halts, and every gaze turns toward me, a blush creeping up my face and igniting my cheeks.
I despise being the center of attention.
“You're sitting by the boss,” Matteo says quietly, guiding me forward with his hand on my lower back—a touch that is both surprising and fleeting. As quickly as it appeared, it disappears, and when I look up at him, his face is pale. I follow his gaze to find Dominico’s piercing glare.
He looks angry. I hope it isn’t because I'm late.
Because of my knee, the walk to the head of the table is slow. The faces I pass look at me as if I'm an intruder, as though I don’t belong. They aren't wrong. The mystery woman who came to fetch me sits across the table, two seats down from Dominico, glaring at me with clear disdain.
I look away and search for an open seat.
The only two available are to the right of Dominico.
I look up at Matteo, who points to the seat directly beside Dominico, confirming that it is indeed where I will be sitting.
Damn, I was hoping to get a little space.
Especially when he looks so damn fine in his trademark black suit and perfectly styled black hair.
It surely is a sin to look that handsome.
My core clenches, his impact on my body out of my control.
He is exactly what it desires. What it craves.
Dominico's gaze narrows as I approach slowly, briefly brushing my brown hair before sweeping across my face and then down my body, lingering on my left knee, which is fortunately covered by the dress.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say quietly, ensuring only he can hear me as I approach my assigned seat, trying to stay calm while he assesses me.
His silver-grey eyes narrow as I pull out my chair, and the act of sitting, along with bending my knee, sends pain shooting up my leg. I wince, unable to conceal it.
While the chatter had started again, it stops when Dominico pushes his chair back.
His scent envelops me as he leans forward. His large hands grip the sides of my chair, pulling me closer until I am facing him. Our eyes lock, and he raises an eyebrow before pointing to my leg.
“You’re hurt. Let me see.” I blush and glance around the table, discovering that everyone's eyes are cast down, and no one is paying attention to this little interaction. Even Matteo, beside me, is looking away. The mysterious woman directly across from me is the only one who dares to meet my gaze.
“Eyes on me, il mio fiorellino .” Dominico's softly spoken yet commanding words echo through the room, and I notice the woman's shoulders stiffen as I shift my gaze back to him.
He leans slightly back and taps his thigh.
I know what he wants, and instead of refusing, I comply in hopes of getting this awkward situation over with as quickly as possible.
I gradually lift my leg and place it where his fingers had tapped moments before.
The action is painful, but I conceal it, not wanting this situation to escalate.
His large hand engulfs my ankle, and I shiver at the contact, goosebumps erupting at the meeting point and then spreading like a rash.
Painfully slow, his hand travels up my calf.
All the while, his eyes remain locked with mine, and even with everyone in this room, the moment's intimacy comes crashing down on me, stealing my breath.
It is erotic. This dangerous man touching me so gently is intoxicating.
His hand reaches the hem of my dress, traveling higher so that the fabric gathers as it shifts. His touch is a whisper against the skin of my knee, and his thumb, grazing my inner thigh, leaves my mouth dry.
“Breathe.” I blink a couple of times before obeying, inhaling deeply and running my tongue over my dry lips, the action noted by his eagle eyes. Why is it so hot in here?
“What happened?” His question reminds me of why I am in this position in the first place. When I glance down, I see that the swelling has not diminished.
“I fell out of bed and landed awkwardly,” I attempt to explain, keeping my voice low as I speak. No one in the room is talking, and I suspect they are all trying to listen to what is happening here .
“Mmmm.” He considers me for what feels like an eternity, my blush deepening under his gaze as if he were a flame and I a coal.
My existence in relation to him feels that way, as though he possesses the power to consume me until I am nothing but ash.
I would probably even relish it, unaware of my demise until it was too late.
Then he moves, all of it happening in the blink of an eye. My dress is back in place, and his arms gently snake under my legs and across my back. Suddenly, we are up as if my weight, from sitting to standing, is nothing. Not to mention, everyone at the table is now on their feet.
“Get the vehicle. We will go to Agathas.” Matteo follows the instructions and quickly exits the main hall door.
I stare up at the man whose arms around me now feel more natural than they should, then my gaze dips to where my hands rest around his neck. He is so strong, so muscular. The desire to caress him is so intense that I must consciously fight against it.
“If you keep looking at me like that, il mio fiorellino , I will find another way to distract you from the pain.” My eyes widen at his words, and I squeeze my thighs together, the action causing him to smirk.
Dangerous. This man was potentially even more dangerous to me than my ex. While my ex could destroy me mentally and physically, what Dominico could do to me is perhaps even worse. He could utterly devastate me emotionally.
No. I could not let it happen, especially with a man I know is using me. I would have to resist. The walls I had built around my heart needed reinforcement. There's no way I could allow a man like Dominico to breach them.
I witnessed the effects of love and wanted no part of it ever again.
Resolute, I close my eyes, urging myself to ignore him. To revert to my previous state.
A shell. A nobody.