Chapter 27 Domenico
Domenico
Iwait for the sound of breaking glass, for the storm to finally crash through and smash everything to pieces.
Instead, the mansion holds firm, its foundations as strong as my father’s beliefs.
The wind howls through the city and against the windows of my study, but it can’t drown out the words I don’t want to hear.
“It was her,” Rafe says again.
He stands by the window, all hard edges and dark silhouette, a tracker chip between his fingers like an accusation. He looks at me, and I don’t move. If I move, this will become real.
“The chemist, the lab, the drugs—Besiana gave them up.” Emilio’s voice is low and lethal.
Rafe crosses the room. He throws the chip on my desk. It makes a small, solid sound, final and brutal.
“It was sending coordinates directly to Adrian.” His jaw is tight. I’ve seen him angry, but never like this. “She knew what it was. Hid it in her fur coat instead.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. My voice is soft. Too soft. It’s like it belongs to someone else. “You don’t know for sure.”
He looks at Emilio. Emilio is at the edge of the room, half-hidden in shadow. His gray eyes are unreadable.
“You don’t want to see what’s right in front of you,” Emilio says. He holds up a burner phone. “Adrian sent us a message.”
He tosses the phone. Rafe catches it one-handed and throws it on the desk, next to the chip.
“She was a spy, Dom,” Rafe says. “He says it right here. We should’ve known when we found the chemist dead.”
“She infiltrated the lab,” Emilio says. “Got the coordinates for the ixaphorine, torched the warehouse, then destroyed the lab.”
Sal leans back. His presence fills the room.
“You trusted her, Domenico. I trusted you,” Sal says. The words are heavy. He flicks ash into the tray. “Go find her and bring her to me.”
My mind is a roar. I try to block it out, to push it down until I know what to do with it.
“Don’t worry,” Rafe says, dark and cold. “I’ll handle it.”
Sal shakes his head. “No. I want him to take care of it himself.”
My chest is tight. I tell myself I need to hear it from her mouth. I need to see the look in her eyes. I need to be sure.
“I’ll bring her up,” I say. “It’ll be done.”
The storm pounds as I leave the study.
I head down, past the front hall. The marble floors echo with each step. I am stone, and if I crack, I will never be able to hold together the pieces.
She gave them up. The chemist. The lab. The drugs. Besiana gave them up.
The private gym is at the bottom. My heart is somewhere lower, somewhere deeper, where even I can’t find it. I feel the ghost of her touch on my chest. Her lips on mine.
I need to know the truth, even if it kills me. But I won’t believe it until I hear it from her lips.
My hand is on the door. It’s cold, like the rest of this place.
When I walk in, Besiana is a blur of black and white against the far wall. She’s running on the treadmill, fast and graceful, dark hair pulled back in a sleek tail, her face a picture of concentration. She has no idea what’s coming. My chest tightens. How could I have been so wrong about her?
“We need to talk.” My voice is loud, bouncing off the empty walls.
She slows the treadmill and lets it run under her feet as she holds onto the bars.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything. I can’t say it.
I turn around and slam my fist into the nearest punching bag. I hit it again. And again. Not for training. Not for release.
To stop myself from thinking.
She lied.
Besiana. My wife. My fire and my undoing.
She fed them information. Dushku’s men. The raid on the warehouse. The loss of ixaphorine. My chemist dead. And I thought—fuck, I thought—I was keeping her safe.
Another punch. The chain creaks. My knuckles burn through the wraps.
"You found out," she says quietly.
My jaw tightens. I land one more hit, hard enough to rattle the ceiling. Then I still the bag with one hand.
"Tell me what I don’t know already," I say.
She doesn’t answer.
I turn. Her eyes sharpen. They’re like chips of pale jade.
“Did you give Adrian the location of the lab?” I ask.
She steps off the treadmill, almost stumbles. It’s the first time I’ve seen her less than perfect.
“I—”
I cut her off. “We know you had a tracker. We found it. Rafe says you hid it in your fur coat.”
Her mouth is set in a thin line. I wait for her to deny it. To tell me Rafe is wrong.
“Is that all?”
She’s calm. Too calm.
“There’s more,” I say. I force each word out. “We got a message from Adrian. Says you were spying. Says it was your job all along.”
She lowers her eyes. It’s a punch to the gut. She’s not denying any of it. My heart drops like a stone, heavy and deadly and sinking fast.
“Is it true?” My voice cracks.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
The storm has broken. Not outside. Inside me. I am wreckage, and I am rage, and I am love, and I am hate. I don’t know where I begin and where I end.
“Your father thinks he can save you from me,” I say. “He can’t. He won’t.”
She doesn’t flinch, but her hands shake slightly. Her eyes flash, fierce and defiant. But there’s something else there too, the one thing she can’t hide. Fear.
"Baba doesn't want to save me," she says.
“Then why?” I say. Anger and betrayal coil around each word. “Why take the risk? He must have promised you something.”
“Family,” she says. Her jaw is set, but I see it tremble. “I just did it because he is family, and I didn’t have a choice.”
It’s like a bullet. Hot and real and unforgiving. I’m supposed to be her family. But I don’t let it show. I won’t give her that.
“I understand,” I say. “You wanted out. And you didn’t care who you burned to get there.”
I step closer. My shadow looms over her, but she doesn’t back away.
"How long?" I ask.
She swallows. “Since the wedding.”
Silence expands between us, wide and echoing. The kind that kills people slower than bullets.
"He sent you to destroy me," I say flatly.
"Yes."
"And you did."
She flinches like I slapped her. Good. Let her feel it.
"Dom, I never—"
"Don’t," I snap. “Don’t say you didn’t mean to. You handed him every detail. You gave him the keys.”
She steps forward. I take a step back. Just one. Just enough to let her feel the shift.
“I gave him what he asked for,” she says. “Until I couldn’t anymore.”
I laugh once, sharp. “How noble of you.”
“I didn’t know about the second attack.”
“The one that gutted half my operation and put Clara in the morgue.”
“I know—”
“Do you?” I move toward her, slow and deliberate. “Do you know what it means to bleed for something? To build it with your hands, only to watch someone cut it open and smile while it dies?”
Her chin lifts. “Yes. I do.”
That stops me. Just for a second.
“He killed my mother,” she says. “And I still served him. So don’t talk to me about betrayal like it’s something new.”
I stare at her, heart pounding hard enough to taste it.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I ask again. The words come out like a plea. Not cold. Just broken.
Her eyes meet mine, sharp and unyielding, and I wait for her to cut me again. But she doesn’t. She holds the silence like she holds my heart—in her hands, tight and trembling.
“Because I was afraid,” she says. “Afraid you’d stop looking at me like you do right now.”
I try to understand, but my mind is a snarl of anger and confusion. Did she want this then? The rage and destruction? Is that why she let me think that she was mine?
“Now you’ve got what you wanted,” I say, defeated. “Are you happy?”
A whisper: “No.”
I step back. The silence roars.
She takes a shaky breath. “I never meant to fall in love with you.”
“But you did.”
Her eyes fill, but she blinks the tears away before they fall.
“I’m sorry, Dom. For all of it.”
I shake my head once. Tight. Controlled.
“You don’t get to be sorry,” I say. “Not here. Not now.”
I move toward her, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate strides.
Each step makes my decision more dangerous, more desperate, more final.
Her eyes stay locked on mine, holding as much fear as determination.
I see the way she wills herself to be strong, but my presence is a force of its own.
I have always been strong. Now I am something entirely different. Unhinged.
“You’re not my enemy, Besiana,” I say. “But you’re not my wife either. Not until I decide what the fuck you are.”
She backs up in rigid, wary movements, keeping herself together even as she hits the wall.
Her shoulders are squared. I cage her in, put my hands on either side of her head, so close I can feel the rapid beat of her pulse.
I see her brace for it, the terrible punishment she expects.
My chest aches. The world spins and spins. I could crush her. I could destroy her.
Instead, I kiss her like she’s the last thing keeping me alive. I crush my mouth to hers and taste the sweat on her skin. She doesn’t pull away. She kisses me back. I pour myself into it, reckless and consuming.
I have never felt so lost.
“Go,” I say, breaking off. The word tears from me like it has claws. “Leave. Before I change my mind.”
“What?”
“Go.” It’s louder, like my anger, my love, my impossible need.
“Domenico, I—”
I don’t let her finish. “Get out. If you know what’s good for you, don’t ever come back. Sal will skin you alive, and I’m not fucking exaggerating.”
She stares at me, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. I want to kiss them again and again and again. Instead, I let her go. I help her leave. The sound of the wind chases us through the mansion, the sleek dark tail of Besiana’s hair bouncing.
We reach the first floor. I pull her toward a side entrance, through more empty rooms, more empty hallways, until I’m sure she’s free. Until I’m sure she’s safe.
“Domenico,” she says again. Her voice cracks this time.
I push her through the door. Cold wind hits me, but the mansion holds firm.
“Go,” I say again. It’s not even a word anymore. It’s a plea.
And then she’s gone.