Chapter 12 - Besiana
Besiana
Domenico looks like he wants to shoot something. Or someone. I tap my heels against the car floor, trying not to let the awkward silence kill me.
"So, where exactly are we going?" I ask.
He doesn't take his eyes off the screen of his phone. "You'll see."
I arch an eyebrow. Cryptic. How very Domenico. Not that I'm surprised. He's always been one to keep me guessing. Like now—our first "date," and I can't tell if we're headed to some candlelit restaurant or to a crime scene. I take a deep breath, ignoring the knots in my stomach.
He finally looks up, green eyes sharp and cutting, just like him. My heart does this stupid little flip, and I almost laugh at myself. Ice queen, melting in the back of a car.
It's early November, but the cold has already set in. The city rushes past in a blur of neon and steel. I can't stop tapping my foot, this excitement and anxiety twisting inside me. Maybe this time, he’ll pay me some attention.
The phone in Domenico's hand starts to buzz. He frowns, just a twitch of annoyance before he answers. "Yes."
"Dom? It’s Clara."
He lets out a breath. "What do you need, Clara?"
She’s talking loud enough that I can hear her tinny voice down the line. "The same thing I needed two hours ago. You have to give me access to more ixaphorine. Your damn security won't let me in the warehouse."
"You were supposed to wait until tomorrow."
"And you were supposed to be more competent than this."
He shoots me a glance, lips pulling into a smirk.
He’s not mad. He’s amused. Do I need to be jealous of this woman?
He lets her call him by his first name and call him incompetent, and he responds with a smile.
If I did that, he’d respond with a firm hand on my backside and have me down on my knees.
Heat pools low in my below at the thought. Hmm, maybe I should try that more often.
"Fine. I'll swing by," he says.
"I'm waiting," she replies.
He hangs up, tucks the phone away, and turns to me. "We need to make a stop before dinner."
I try to play it cool, shrugging. "Fine by me."
It's more than fine. Seeing the warehouse? Seeing where the Rosetti magic happens? I act like I'm not thrilled, but inside, I'm mapping out what I can tell my father. This could be huge. My chest flutters with anticipation, but there’s a tug of something else too. Guilt. Maybe even regret.
"We'll make it quick," Domenico says.
He's looking at me with a furrowed brow. Always watching, always calculating. I smile back, pretending I don’t care, pretending that this isn’t the most complicated night of my life.
We pull up to the warehouse, and it's a nondescript building, but large, dark and imposing against the night. Security guards, heavy jackets, guns.
Domenico opens his door, and the cold New York air rushes in. "Stay in the car," he tells me.
I nod. But this is one order I have no intention of following. Not when this could change everything. I watch as he crosses to the guards, his stride confident.
The driver's watching me. I flash him a smile and get out, the crunch of gravel under my heels. Domenico is already inside. I take a breath and follow, pulse racing with each step. This is dangerous, stupid, exactly what I shouldn’t be doing. But I need to know what’s in there. I need to see.
The guards let me through after I explain who I am, and in this expensive gown and heavy diamond necklace, they’d be stupid to doubt it. Besides, they saw me get out of the same car as my husband.
The warehouse inside is huge, cavernous, the kind of space where shadows stretch long. I catch sight of Domenico. He’s with Clara now, her blond curls wild, lab coat flapping as she gestures angrily. I slip into the shadows, close enough to hear them.
"Do you want the product or not?" she demands.
"We’re ahead of schedule," he replies, calm and composed.
"Not ahead enough."
They disappear into another room, leaving me with a rush of adrenaline. I’ve got something real now. Something my father can use.
I move closer, careful not to make a sound. I want more. More information, more to report. That way, my father won’t—
The explosion shatters the air. Heat, noise, everything all at once. I hit the ground hard, my ears ringing, my palms and knees grazed. Smoke fills the space, thick and suffocating. Chaos. Guards shouting, running. The lights flicker and die, plunging everything into darkness.
We're under attack. It can’t be anything else. My father’s men, my intel, my betrayal. I did this.
I try to get up, try to see through the smoke. Footsteps, pounding closer. Domenico. He’s here, pulling me to my feet, his grip like iron.
"We have to move," he says, voice low and urgent.
"What about—"
"You." The word is an order, cutting through the noise.
He drags me with him, dodging crates and chaos, and for a second, I forget everything but the feel of his hand and the certainty in his voice.
We hit the outside air, and I breathe it in, cold and clean. Behind us, shouting. Men with guns, their shapes blurred by the smoke.
The car is there, engine running. Domenico pushes me toward it, but I stop, turning back.
"What about the ixaphorine," I say.
His jaw tightens. He's not used to losing. Not used to failure. "Get in the car."
And then I'm in, and we're racing down the deserted street, gravel spitting behind us. The car lurches forward, lights cutting through the night, the engine’s roar almost drowning out the pounding of my heart.
My plan, my father’s plan—I can't even hold onto those thoughts right now. They slip away like the dark blur of the warehouse disappearing into the distance. All I can think about is Domenico, the way his hand felt when he pulled me from the ground, his relentless need to get me out. Out of the chaos. Out before Iride. Out before anything. Domenico, who chose me, his unwanted wife, over the precious ixaphorine he was supposed to protect, over the business he never compromises. It’s reckless, insane,
His expression is dark, closed off, but he still hasn’t let go of my wrist.
Why?
Why me?
The streets fly past, and I'm left with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've made a terrible mistake.
The Rosettis have treated me better than my own family ever did, other than Mami and Dritan.
But they aren't here anymore. Maybe this Italian family is where I belong.
But the prospect of failing Baba sends a shudder through me, and my whole body shivers.
At the tiny movement, Dom’s head snaps up, as though his attention has been laser-focused on me this whole time.
Here he is, as fierce and commanding as ever, his jaw tight and set as though he’s trying to hold something back. Passion, rage. It’s the look he gets when he’s deciding whether to ruin someone’s day or their entire life. I hold my breath, waiting to see what his verdict on me will be.
Wordlessly, he leans across, and the closeness makes my heart trip over itself.
I’m sure he can feel it, wild and wayward, the beating of a guilty woman’s chest. His hands are swift and sure as he unbuckles my belt, the brush of his fingers light against me.
The warmth of his touch sends shivers through my entire body.
In a single, smooth motion, Dom slides me across the backseat, and I let him.
The desperation and relief that flood inside me make me feel reckless and alive.
And just like that, everything is wrong-side-up and backward.
After this, after my betrayal, I deserve nothing from him.
I deserve to be left in a heap on the floor, to be nothing more than an afterthought.
But instead, he tucks me tight against him, and it’s everything to me.
I draw a deep breath against his chest. There it is, that clean, crisp Dom smell I hate and crave. The one that makes me feel like I’m safe. It’s a scent I can’t get enough of.
After his distance and aloofness since that night he punished me for running in the night, this is everything to me.
This small, silent gesture is as big as the entire world.
I lean against my husband and breathe in his scent. The warehouse attack should be a victory for me. But here I am, beside the man I'm meant to betray, and I don't know which side I'm on anymore.