32. Dominic
THIRTY-TWO
DOMINIC
Is everything OK?
Why aren’t you texting back?
Fuck.
Luca wouldn’t leave me hanging like this. Tonight was important, the night he finally told his family the truth about himself. Hours had passed, and my phone screen remained dark.
Something was off.
I paced the living room, my mind spinning. Had the conversation gone badly? Did his family turn on him? Ice stabbed into my chest. Luca was strong, but he’d been walking a tightrope for years. The slightest push could send him spiraling.
I grabbed my phone and called Santino.
“Hey,” he answered.
“Where’s Luca?”
Santino hesitated. “He left.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “What do you mean?”
“During dinner,” Santino explained. “He said he needed some air and took off.”
The knot in my chest tightened. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I thought he might’ve gone to you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then he’s probably at home.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “What happened at dinner?”
Santino sighed. “I don’t know. He was tense when he showed up, barely touched his food.”
I gritted my teeth. “You must’ve said something.”
Santino hesitated. “I mentioned something that came up last week. Cops found a dead guy in Providence. A Bratva hitman. The cops were sniffing around. I thought he should know, just in case. He seemed upset, but then he nodded and went quiet. I didn’t think he’d take off.”
Fuck . “Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?”
“I don’t. I figured he needed space.”
“I’ll find him,” I muttered, hanging up.
My jaw clenched. If Luca was spiraling, I knew exactly where he’d be.
The fighting ring.
The place he went to drown out his pain the only way he knew how.
The place that’d tear him apart if I didn’t get to him first.
I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door.
The underground fighting ring pulsed like a living beast—chaos wrapped in smoke and sweat, every roar of the crowd another heartbeat, loud and relentless. Voices clashed in drunken chants, fists cracked against flesh, and the smell of stale beer tangled with blood in the humid air. None of it mattered.
My gaze locked on him.
Luca.
He stood in the center of the ring, shoulders slumped, his body swaying under the weight of every punch. His face was bloodied, bruised, but he didn’t fight back. He didn’t dodge, didn’t lift his fists. He just stood there and took it.
Each blow twisted like a knife in my gut. This wasn’t the Luca I knew—the smart-mouthed, unbreakable bastard who refused to lose. This was a man unraveling in real time.
I shoved my way through the crowd, throwing elbows, not caring who cursed or stumbled back. My pulse pounded, louder than the chants, louder than the ring announcer barking into his mic. I barely heard the gasps when I reached the ropes, hauling myself up and stepping into the ring.
A stunned silence rippled through the crowd, shock tempering their bloodlust, but I didn’t care about them. My focus stayed on Luca—crumpled, sagging, and far too still.
The boxer turned to face me, confusion flickering across his face before his eyes narrowed.
I rolled up my sleeves, my heart pounding. The boxer lunged first. I ducked the swing, my fist snapping forward to crash into his jaw. The crowd exploded.
I didn’t stop. Another punch to his ribs had him staggering. I sidestepped his attack, pivoting to deliver an uppercut that sent his head snapping back. Blood splattered onto the mat.
He swung blindly. I dodged, stepping in close, and slammed a final hit into his side. The boxer crumpled like dead weight, collapsing to his knees before rolling onto his back. I stood over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping from my brow. The crowd screamed.
Where is he?
I turned my back on the boxer, my focus snapping to Luca. He was on the mat, his chest barely moving. My stomach dropped, ice spreading through me as I crossed the ring and dropped to my knees beside him.
“Luca,” I whispered.
Blood trickled from his nose, his lip split and swollen.
My hands slid under him, and I pulled him into my arms. He sagged against me, his head resting on my shoulder. I froze, my throat closing tight as I looked down at him.
“Luca, what the hell?”
His fingers twitched against my chest.
I stood, ignoring the boos that followed me through the crowd. Someone tried to grab my arm but I didn’t stop. I shoved my way forward, Luca limp in my arms.
I reached the car and opened the back door, gently laying him down. My hands shook as I buckled him in. I paused, staring at his bruised face, the faint rise and fall of his chest.
“Just hold on.”
The city blurred around me as I drove, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The only thing that mattered was getting Luca to safety.