Chapter 25 Domenico
Domenico
She’s a prize wrapped in silk, delivered to me, unwanted. I never believed in this kind of arrangement. Marriage to forge peace. Wife as collateral. A year ago, I would have said it was beneath the Rosetti family. Beneath me. But here we are, her body tangled in the sheets, tangled in my life.
Besiana Rosetti. My wife. Pale skin against white silk. Dark hair loose and wild. She doesn’t fit in this family.
I should leave her. I should give her space, let her get over the controlling bastard who calls himself her father. I should be the bigger man and walk away, avoid becoming a controlling bastard who calls himself husband.
But every time I try, I end up here again, sitting on the sofa, watching her sleep. I end up needing her.
She makes a soft sound in her sleep, an unconscious whisper.
I can’t hear it, but I know what it is. My name.
It’s always my name. I watch her lips part, watch the way her fingers twist in the sheet.
She turns, smooth as a cat, and curls away from me.
She’s on her side, and the curve of her ass is pointing at me, round and inviting.
She lets out another soft sound, and it cuts through me. Fuck it. I unbuckle my pants and kneel beside the bed. I pull her roughly to the edge of the bed, and she lets me. Her ass is waiting for me, pale and round, and I thrust into her with one quick move.
She gasps, and it’s my name again, my name on her lips, soft and breathless. I thrust again, and her body moves with me.
“Dom,” she says, louder now, the sleep gone from her voice. Her hands reach back for me. “Dom.”
It should feel wrong to have her like this, to want her like this. It should feel wrong to be inside her while I keep my distance.
It feels fucking incredible.
Her voice is louder, begging now. “More,” she says, her hands twisting in the sheet. “Give me more.”
I give her more. I give her everything I have, but I can’t give her what she really wants. I can’t give her me. Not all of me.
Her back arches, and she shudders. Her whole body is tight around me, and then she breaks apart, and I go with her. I stay there, my body in hers, until she’s limp again.
I’m out of the room before she can ask me to stay. I don’t look back, but I hear her roll onto her side.
Downstairs, I hear voices before I see them. My father. Rafe. Emilio. My brothers don’t sound happy, but that’s not unusual.
“Good job, Rafe,” Emilio says, his voice dry as dust. “I’ll get you a cake for the funeral.”
“Fuck you,” Rafe snaps back. “You think this is a joke?”
I step into the room, and the three of them go silent. It’s the Rosetti version of a ceasefire.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Where’s your wife?” my father asks. He’s sitting in the big leather chair, his rosary twisting in his hand. “Maybe she can tell us why the feds hit our lab.”
My blood goes cold. “What?”
“You heard him,” Rafe says. He’s standing by the window, a shadow in black. “The lab’s gone. Clara’s dead. It’s all gone to shit.”
“Start at the beginning,” I say. “And keep Besiana out of it.”
“It’s simple,” Emilio says, leaning back against the wall. “Someone tipped them off. Someone who knows too much. Maybe she talks in her sleep.”
I take a step toward him, and he shuts up. I may be the only one in this family who can’t fucking leave Besiana alone, but I’m also the only one who can keep these idiots from tearing each other apart.
“I suggest you look at the last leak, before accusing my wife of anything,” I growl, deadly and low.
“You blaming me?” Rafe says, his voice like a gunshot.
“I’m blaming whoever’s responsible,” I say. “And it’s not her.”
“That right?” Rafe says, folding his arms. “Last I heard, the feds aren’t even in her father’s pocket. What did she give them, a nice fucking note?”
“Enough,” my father says, his voice deep and final. “Rafe, I told you to be careful. I told you not to let anyone too close. Maybe you don’t listen anymore.”
“I listen,” Rafe says, his face like stone. “You think I told someone? You think I spilled it?”
“I think,” Emilio says, “that it’s no coincidence the lab gets hit right after we bring the Dushku princess home. Maybe you don’t remember what she is. A Dushku. One of them.”
“You done?” I say. My voice is quiet. Too quiet. “You all done?”
Rafe glares at me, his ice-blue eyes cutting through the room. Emilio shrugs, soft and sharp. My father looks tired, old for once, but his grip on the rosary is steady.
“We find out who did this,” I say. “We don’t sit here blaming each other. And we leave her the hell out of it.”
“She’s family now,” my father says. “If she did this—”
“She didn’t,” I say, cutting him off. I don’t raise my voice, but it’s enough to stop them.
“Look, Dom,” Rafe says, his voice almost reasonable now. “I get it. You want to trust her. You don’t want to think she’d screw us like this.”
“She wouldn’t,” I say. “She’s not the enemy.”
“She’s not one of us,” Emilio says. “You should remember that.”
“I’m not saying she’s the rat,” Rafe says. “But she’s got ears. She’s got a father who might want to use them.”
Anger floods me, a red tide that squeezes out logic and caution. I remember her tears, hot against my chest, when she finally told me everything. I remember her voice, rough and broken. Adrian Dushku killed Besiana’s mother and brother, and it broke her. She wouldn’t spy for him in a million years.
I get up in Rafe’s face, letting the anger take over, feeling its sharpness like a knife. My hands clench his shirt, and I want to hit him, to make him pay for the words he's flinging around.
"Watch what you say about my wife,” I spit out. “You might not like the consequences."
The room crackles with tension. Emilio stands silently, his eyes darting between us like he's watching a fight in the ring he doesn't want to miss. My father shifts in his chair, the leather creaking under him. I feel their eyes, waiting to see who will break first, who will back down.
But not Rafe. He doesn't flinch.
"You threatening me now, big brother?"
His voice is steady, a hard echo in the air between us. It infuriates me. It makes me want to shake him, to make him understand that he can't touch Besiana, not even with words. I release him, shoving him back with a disgusted sound.
"I'm warning you," I growl, the rage hot and barely contained. “Besiana is off limits."
Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there's a danger in his expression, a deadly calm that could erupt at any second. He folds his arms, a deliberate and slow movement.
"You're blind, Dom," he says. "You think because you put a ring on her, she’s not a threat? You think she gives a shit about this family? About you?”
“She’s not like that,” I say.
Emilio raises an eyebrow, skeptical but silent, and Rafe’s stare sharpens even more. I know what he’s thinking. To him, I’m lovesick. Weak. A fool.
Heavier than before, the silence presses in. Rafe's anger simmers, matching my own. Emilio’s smirk fades. I feel the push and pull of their suspicion, the weight of their distrust. But I can’t let them touch her. I can’t let them blame her for this.
I look at my father, my voice still low but calmer. “I’ll prove she’s not the leak.” Then I turn to Rafe, locking eyes with him one last time. “You won’t lay this on her.”
My father sighs heavily, his rosary beads clicking with each movement. "We fight the enemy, not each other. Our strength lies in our unity."
The tension in the room tightens, but no one disputes him. I keep my gaze trained on Rafe; he's a loose cannon — unpredictable and prone to act before he thinks. In this moment of crisis, he's the one I need to watch out for.
“We’re not getting anywhere with this,” my father states, standing up from his chair. The room goes quiet, all eyes on him. “We deal with facts, not theories. Find me proof, concrete evidence, and then we’ll decide what to do.”
A wave of relief washes over me as I turn away from Rafe to look at my father. At least one person in this room isn’t jumping to conclusions.
“I’ll find out who did this,” I say firmly, meeting my father’s gaze. “And when I do, they’re going to wish they hadn’t crossed the Rosetti family.”