12. Luca
TWELVE
LUCA
The worst part of getting stabbed wasn’t pain.
It was Dominic Caruso playing nurse, because he’d taken the opportunity to make himself at home. He took over the closet with his fancy clothes, every hanger filled with pressed shirts and jackets. When I bitched about it, he grinned like bringing his entire wardrobe did me a favor. He’d been at it in the kitchen too, reorganizing everything from the coffee mugs to the spice rack.
And he sang.
Loudly and often. It started on the third morning before I’d cracked my eyes open. The water turned on, and his voice echoed through the door. He was annoyingly good.
“Do you have to be so loud?” I shouted from the bed.
The water shut off, and so did the singing.
Great. He finally takes the hint.
Dominic emerged from the bathroom, buttoning his shirt. “You don’t like my singing?”
A pulse throbbed at the base of my throat. I swallowed, and my eyes drifted, lingering on the hard lines of his body as he slowly fastened each button. The shirt hung open, giving me a full view of his toned chest.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “It’s loud.”
Dominic’s lips curved as he lazily fastened the buttons.
My face flushed. “You could at least close the bathroom door when you shower.”
“You weren’t exactly shy about surprising me in there a few weeks ago.”
“That was different.”
“Oh, I know. But now you’re acting all coy, like you didn’t already get an eyeful back then.”
My heart pounded. “I don’t remember it, really.”
Dominic moved closer, until the air between us grew thin. “The way you looked at me is the same way you’re looking at me now.”
I sneered. “Must’ve wondered how you have time to go to the gym when you’re so busy fawning over yourself.”
He grinned. “You’re such a grump.”
“Get stabbed. See how cheerful you’ll be.”
“You wouldn’t be such a diva if you took your pain meds.”
“ I don’t need them .”
“Yeah, that’s obvious,” he said, crossing his own arms as he leaned against the doorway. “Here’s a thought— maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less on edge if you weren’t biting down on the pain every second. While we’re at it, you’d be less annoyed if you admitted that you don’t mind having me around.”
The hell did he know?
I leaned back against the pillow, trying to steady my breathing. The way he filled every damn corner of the apartment with his presence got under my skin. It infuriated me, but if he walked out that door and didn’t come back, the place would feel empty. Having him around made me feel safe.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t you go reorganize my pantry or whatever it is you’ve been doing to justify staying here rent-free?”
“I improved your pantry. You actually know where things are now.”
“I knew where everything was before you got your hands on it. Now I’ve got cinnamon where the pasta used to be.”
“You’re welcome. You could show some gratitude, you know. I’ve been cooking for you, cleaning up after you?—”
I fisted the sheets. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“Yeah? You’d be eating takeout and bleeding all over your bed if it weren’t for me.”
“Better than being micromanaged by someone who acts like he owns the place.”
Dominic’s smirk slipped. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“And you’re exhausting,” I fired back, throwing the blanket off my lap. “If you hate it here, then go.”
His brows lifted. “Oh, I see what you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re trying to push me out.” He took a slow step closer, leaning over the bed. “Because God forbid you admit you need someone.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”
I glared at him. “You’re too stubborn to leave.”
He huffed a laugh. “Nah. It’s because you don’t want me to. We both know you’d fall apart without me.”
“I’d be fine.”
He reached out and stroked my temple. “You can hate me all you want, Luca. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dominic didn’t remotely feel like a boss anymore. A boss would’ve barked orders and kept his distance. He wouldn’t have touched me like this.
I glanced around the room as I shifted my legs off the bed. The stack of unopened mail on the floor caught my eye. Half of it wasn’t even mine.
I nudged the pile with my toe. “Remind me to drop off Mrs. Peretti’s mail later.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“My neighbor. Mailman keeps mixing up our shit.” I shrugged. “She’s too old to walk down to the box.”
Dominic stared at me. “You’re a real mystery, Luca.”
“Yeah? Solve this one: why the hell are you still here?”
As I hobbled to the sink for water, something dark fluttered outside the window—a crow perched on the railing. The same one, probably. I paused, eyeing the bird.
I grabbed a half-empty takeout container off the counter and pried it open. Rice. Probably stale. Good enough. I slid the window open, dumping the food onto the ledge. “Here. Eat up.”
Dominic snickered. “You’re feeding crows now?”
“They’re quieter than you.”
Two weeks flew by.
Dominic insisted on being a pain in the ass. He refused to swap the couch for the bedroom. He’d started removing the cushions and sleeping on the floor. He cooked, helped clean, and took care of me without complaining. Especially during the first week, when standing in the shower nearly knocked me out. I had to brace my hands against the tile to keep from sliding.
He hassled me to take my antibiotics, but my Percocets sat on the nightstand, untouched. He called me a stubborn idiot for not taking them, but I needed a clear head around my boss.
Space was extremely tight.
I brushed my teeth as Dominic shaved. The bathroom smelled faintly of his spiced soap. He stood shirtless in front of me, the muscles in his back flexing. His razor slid down his neck with slow strokes. He tilted his chin, the blade catching the light as it skimmed his Adam’s apple. I swallowed hard.
Dominic caught me staring. Through the mirror, his eyes locked onto mine, a flash of hazel that pinned me in place. My pulse skipped. I spat into the sink.
I reached for the hand towel, but it wasn’t there. I wiped my mouth on the damp towel he’d left hanging, pretending not to notice the heat crawling up the back of my neck. I turned to leave?—
And stopped.
Dominic leaned closer to the mirror. His silk boxers sat low on his hips, a lazy twist of fabric barely keeping him decent. My mouth went dry. He made it look so…effortless. The tension rippling through his shoulders. The calm precision as the blade scraped down his throat. I couldn’t stop watching.
“Something on your mind?” he boomed.
I stiffened. “I’m wondering how anyone could spend this long in front of a mirror.”
He grabbed a jar of shaving cream. “Want to give it a try?”
“Pass.”
Dominic chuckled, turning to the mirror. He dipped his fingers into the cream, spreading it along his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re missing. A straight razor gives the closest shave you’ll ever get. Plus, it’s cleaner.”
“Yeah?”
He picked up the razor. “It’s an art. You’ve got to respect it, or it’ll bite you.”
I watched, fascinated by the blade gliding over his skin. The way Dominic held the blade to his own throat captivated me for some reason.
Dominic wiped his face. “You’re next.”
“You want to shave me?”
“Why not?” he said, smiling.
The idea of Dominic holding a razor to my throat tore at my insides. He didn’t have any clothes on, for fuck’s sake. Beyond inappropriate.
“I don’t think so,” I grunted.
“Come on. You could use a little refinement.”
Dominic turned, a wicked glint in his eyes. He dipped his fingers into the cream as he approached me. I backed against the counter, but he didn’t stop until his body pressed against mine.
“ Dom .”
He smeared cream onto my jaw. He traced the cold foam along my throat. Then he picked up the straight razor, flicking it open.
My breathing hitched.
He tilted my chin up with two fingers. “Nervous?”
I swallowed hard. “Should I be?”
A dark thrill settled in my chest as the razor paused, inches from my skin. His thumb pressed against my jaw, tilting my head to the side. “You know, I’ve always thought trust is earned. But here you are, putting your life in my hands.”
The blade touched my throat.
I forgot to breathe.
The steel glided so close I felt every scrape. My chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, but Dominic was in no rush. His thumb stayed pressed against my jaw.
He didn’t speak. Somehow, that made it worse. Each stroke of the razor pulled my focus tighter. Nothing existed except Dominic’s hands, the blade, his breath against my face.
“Relax. I’ve got you.”
His voice slid over me like silk.
I glanced at my reflection. Wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Breathing fast while Dominic leaned in, calm as ever. Cold steel, warm fingers. The blade skimmed under my jaw. I swallowed, the movement making the razor press harder against my skin.
His free hand moved to my shoulder, his thumb brushing my collarbone. His touch lingered, and I closed my eyes.
Keep touching me .
The blade’s edge moved away, leaving my skin tingling. I exhaled roughly. My body refused to relax.
Dominic grabbed a hand towel and turned back to me. The soft cloth dragged across my throat, wiping away the leftover cream. He stepped back, tossing the towel onto the counter.
“See? It looks good.”
I examined myself in the mirror. My jaw was sharper. I looked cleaner, like a man who belonged in Dominic’s world of pressed suits and slick smiles.
Dominic leaned against the counter. “Told you it’d suit you.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
“Now let’s get you dressed. I’ve got a couple of things that’ll fit you.”
He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He pushed me toward the closet, the hangers clinking as he flipped through them. He pulled out a white dress shirt and handed it to me.
“Put it on.”
I stared at it. “You want to dress me now?”
“I’m bored. Let’s see what you look like when you’re not trying to blend in with the walls.”
“You do this with all the guys you date?”
He smiled. “Only the ones that look as good as you.”
Heat flushed my neck, and I snatched the shirt from him, pulling it on with rough jerks. It stretched tight across my shoulders.
“It’s too small.”
He adjusted the collar. “Fits just right.”
His eyes met mine, and the world narrowed down to his heated stare. He grabbed the slacks and tossed them at me. I caught them, my fingers tightening around the fabric.
I hesitated, then stepped out of my jeans, the air cooling my skin. The slacks were snug, the material hugging my hips and thighs in a way that made me painfully aware of Dominic’s eyes on me.
“Tight.”
“Yeah. They’re perfect. Maybe too perfect.”
His gaze dropped to my hips. I turned away, pretending to fiddle with the cuffs of the shirt. “I guess it looks alright.”
“You look hot. You should show off more.”
My mouth twitched. “Are you my personal stylist now?”
“I like making you look like you belong to me.”
Fuck, that was forward.
A strange feeling swept under my feet. I felt too warm in his clothes, and a half-naked Dominic in my face made it hard to control myself. I needed to stop letting him boss me around.
“Seriously, Luca. You’re handsome.”
I hated how his words twisted inside me. It messed with my head.
“Don’t do that.”
Dominic’s lips curled. “Can’t handle a compliment?”
“I don’t need compliments from a man, and I definitely don’t need you playing dress-up with me.”
He prowled around me. “There’s nobody to hide from.”
“Don’t act like you know me.”
“I know you better than your family.”
My family. The people I had no connection with besides the links in our shared DNA. Why would I tell them anything? They were strangers. Whenever I hung out with them, that became extremely clear. They spoke in a mixture of Italian and English. I identified more with the bastards that stole me than my own blood. Russian tattoos covered my body.
I didn’t belong.
Not with my family. Or the bastards who’d taken me. Not even here, in this room, with Dominic pretending like he could make sense of the mess inside me.
I saw red. My fists clenched, and I stormed away from him. I barreled into the bathroom, slamming the door. The walls closed in around me, and my heart pounded.
Pacing, I gritted my teeth. The bathroom was filled with the scent of Dominic. He’d invaded every part of my life, and now he was in my fucking head.
I stared in the mirror, loathing my reflection. Hated how the collar of his shirt sat perfectly on my neck, how polished I looked.
Ruined .
I swung at the mirror.
The glass shattered, splintering into a web of jagged cracks. Pieces of it fell into the sink. My knuckles stung, a few shards sticking to my skin.
My ribs squeezed until it hurt to breathe. I thought of my parents, and all the memories we’d never make because the Bratva murdered them. They stole my childhood. They made me into a man I despised.
I balled my fingers around the shards. I squeezed, and blood dripped down my fist. It was like opening the valve on a pressure cooker. I groaned.
I shook off the bloody pieces. Then I ripped off the shirt from my back, balling it in my fist, and hurled it in the corner. Let him get the bloodstains out.