40. Dominic
40
Dominic
“F uck you, bitch.”
Those are the first words I hear when Tatiana storms out. They come from my brother, and they cut through the silence like a blade.
“Are you happy now?” I ask, my voice hollow.
Nico laughs, the sound brittle and cold. “Happy? No, Dom. I’m not happy. But I am... satisfied.” He takes a sip of his wine, savoring it like he’s savoring my pain. “She’s quite something. Smart. Beautiful. Loyal.” He emphasizes that last word, twisting the knife. “You could have warned me she’d be so spirited.”
I can’t look at him. Can’t stand the sight of his face, of the scars that are my constant reminder. Instead, I stare at Tatiana’s empty chair, still warm from her body.
“This was a mistake,” I say.
“No shit.” Nico sets down his glass. “But what’s done is done. You said you owed me. Consider the debt paid. Well, there’s still the little matter of your financial debt. But we can talk about that another time. Two million, baby.” He stands, tossing his napkin onto the table. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll put it on your tab.”
He walks out without another word, leaving me alone with the ruins of my life.
Jake appears at the entrance to the private room, his expression carefully neutral. “Boss?”
I’m barely aware of responding, of following him and Nichols outside to where Ric waits with the car. I slide into the backseat, feeling nothing but the hollowness expanding in my chest.
“Where to, sir?” Ric asks.
Home. But the penthouse isn’t home. Not anymore. Not without her.
“The penthouse,” I say, because where the fuck else would I go?
The drive passes in a blur. Manhattan’s lights streak past, illuminating a world that suddenly feels empty.
My phone buzzes. When I see it’s not Tatiana, I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
I turn it off.
When we arrive, Jake and the second security agent follow me into the building.
“That’s enough,” I tell them when we reach the hallway outside my penthouse. “You’re dismissed for the night.”
Jake frowns. “Sir, standard protocol is to—”
“I don’t give a fuck about protocol right now. Go home.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Call if you need us.”
I watch them enter the elevator, wait for the doors to close, then cross to me suite like a zombie. I unlock my penthouse door with my key card.
The silence hits me first. It’s crushing, oppressive. For weeks, this space has been filled with her presence. The faint scent of her perfume, the sound of her typing in her home office, the warmth she brought to these cold, perfect rooms.
Now there’s nothing.
I suppose she’ll come to collect her things at some point. Or send someone else to do it, most likely. That way there’s no chance she’ll bump into me.
I pass by the door to the guest suite, and resist the urge to go inside. Seeing her things, smelling her scent, will only break me further.
I walk to the bar and pour myself a whiskey. Then another. The alcohol burns going down, but it doesn’t touch the ice forming in my chest. I stare at the glass, remembering how just hours ago I stood in this same spot, downing whiskey while she watched me with concern in her eyes.
While I plotted her betrayal.
Before I used her as my own personal masturbation receptacle, with no concern for her own release.
My legs give out suddenly. I slide to the floor, spilling whiskey across the imported marble. The glass shatters beside me, but I barely notice.
What the fuck have I done?
The question echoes in the empty space, unanswered. I lie back, sprawled in the middle of my perfect penthouse, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of my failure crush me.
I betrayed her. The only woman who ever saw past my walls, who challenged me, who made me feel something beyond the guilt and control that’s ruled my life. I tried to trade her away like she was nothing. All because I couldn’t stand up to my brother. Couldn’t face my own demons.
“Fucking coward,” I whisper to the ceiling.
That’s what I am. What I’ve always been. A coward hiding behind money and power and control. A man so trapped by past guilt that he’d sacrifice someone innocent to appease it.
I see again Tatiana’s face when she realized what I’d done. The shock. The hurt. The disgust. She looked at me like I was a monster.
And she was right.
My phone sits heavy in my pocket. I pull it out, turn it back on. There are texts from Eleanor about tomorrow’s meetings. One from Arthur Sterling about finalizing the resort documentation, and signing the annulment.
Nothing from Tatiana.
Of course not. Why would she contact me after what I did?
I pull up her contact, my thumb hovering over her name.
What would I even say? Sorry I tried to pimp you out to my brother? Sorry I’m such a fucking coward I couldn’t tell him no?
A minute passes. Two.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
I haven’t moved. My finger hovers over her name.
Finally, after thirty minutes, I hit the call button.
She doesn’t pick up. “Hello, you’ve reached the personal voicemail of Tatiana Cole Rossi. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Tatiana Cole Rossi .
The reminder of what we had brings a tear to my eyes.
The beep sounds, and suddenly words are pouring out of me, raw and unfiltered.
“Tatiana. I know you won’t listen to this. I know you hate me right now, and you should. What I did was unforgivable.” I pause. “You were right about me, Tatiana. I am a coward. I am.”
I laugh bitterly, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. I pause again. Finally:
“I love you, Tatiana. More than anything in this world. And I’m not saying that to get you back. I’m saying it because it’s true, and because you deserve to hear it at least once, even if it’s too late. Even if you never forgive me.”
The voicemail beeps, signaling the end of the recording time.
“To save your message, hit 1,” a friendly voice comes over the line. “To delete it and record again, hit 2.”
For a long moment, I stare at the phone, at her name on the screen. Then I hit 2.
Delete.
She doesn’t need my confession. My guilt. My pathetic attempt at redemption.
She deserves to move on. To find someone worthy of her.
I drag myself off the floor, leaving the broken glass where it fell.
In the bedroom, her scent still lingers on the pillows. I think of the nights we spent here, together.
The moments when I almost let myself believe this could be real.
Then I think of her face at the restaurant. Of the betrayal in her eyes.
It’s over.
It’s truly over.
I collapse on the bed, and simply stare, unblinking, at the ceiling.
It’s over.