29. Dominic
29
DOMINIC
It’s still dark out. Ariana is curled up with her back against my chest, and I’ve shed the duvet down to our hips. I didn’t want her to roll away because I’m too hot.
Our hands are still tied, and when she tried to turn around the first time in her sleep, I was still awake, reassessing the shit show that’s my life. I didn’t block her with our bound arms. Instead, I shifted into her so she could turn with ease and drew closer to her.
Good thing, too, as I could soothe her in the night when she got anxious in her dreams, more likely nightmares. Weirdest thing was how she was so quiet about it, subdued and not even whimpering, but her breathing and the tremors running through her body spoke for themselves. This woman learned from an early age that giving in to emotion is dangerous—showing it, even more so.
I doubt she’d remember anything when she wakes up.
Hopefully not.
And thank fuck for the extra pillow I managed to wedge between my cock and her sweet little ass.
Yep. Rough night.
Shut eye: zero. Blue balls: two. The forecast of sex that’s going to be halfway satisfying: cloudy, with a bit of jizz from the jerk-off I plan to have in the shower.
Yup. That’s as good as it’s going to get.
I slowly sit up and lean in, then reach over her so I can untie the slipknot with a few tugs and then let the whole wrapped business droop off my hand, leaving a pile of ties next to her. Once I’ve edged away, I tuck the duvet over her so she can sleep in.
I go find my phone where I left it in the bathroom on purpose. Four fucking thirty in the morning. I drag my hand down my face. And all this with the shit I need to deal with today. I have a to-do list neatly written up in my mind.
First, I need to get someone to guard Ariana. It’s too early for Portia. There’s a small army of men on site, but I won’t let any one of them stay with her without a chaperone. I trust our men—nothing is going to get you culled quicker than fucking with a woman in the new Il Consiglio —but I want Ariana to feel safe.
Fuck it. Portia’s going to have to come now. I find her number on my phone and ring her. When she answers, I kill the call and send her a quick message. Sending a driver to pick you up. Need you here now.
Her answer comes seconds later. Yes, boss.
I smirk. Sounding just like Burley there for a minute. I make the arrangements, knowing Portia will be here within half an hour because at this time in the morning, there’s no traffic. I pad back into the bedroom, where Ariana is still exactly as I’ve left her.
The second order of the day is to talk to Matteo, and he isn’t going to like anything I have to say. I have time to burn so I sink into a wingback in the corner of the room and send him a message.
Me: Figured out Ariana can’t be Gabriella. She’s 27 and Mom couldn’t have been pregnant with both her and Benedict at the same time.
There. The math finally did the math. And after I came to this conclusion, I didn’t feel half as much like an incestuous freak show when I snuggled closer to her.
I don’t expect him to answer, it being this early, but a reply pops into my inbox a minute later.
Matteo: Unless she’s a secret twin. Shit runs in the family after all.
I suppress a laugh.
Me: This isn’t The Young and the Restless, Matty. Plus no chance in hell Mom would have let go of one of her babies. We would have known. Five years between Benedict and Gabriella. It would have shown.
In so many ways. The only way Mom could ever give up a child was over her dead body. And that’s exactly what happened.
Matteo: Glad that makes you feel better, Nicky. It only makes me feel shittier about the whole situation. Why you’re up?
I can understand why he isn’t sleeping. And it’s about to get worse.
Me: Need to talk to you about the two guys in the basement.
Matteo: Yeah, did they talk?
Me: Yep. Hired hands. No connection with Franco beyond this job they cocked up. They won’t know anything about Ariana.
Matteo: You’re done with them?
I suppress a groan. He’s indirectly asking if I need the butcher to transport the bodies to his promession site.
I’ve opened the can of worms now. I didn’t expect him to respond, and Luca and I agreed to do this together. But Luca didn’t kill Igor Petrov’s nephew. I did. We have no proof of the relation, but that won’t be hard to get once I set Benedict on a scent to find out who’s who in the zoo.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself to face the music.
Me: I’ve fucked the pooch.
Matteo: Bruno? Poor boy. Desperate times, bro?
I bite down on my jaw not to chuckle. Jesus Fucking Christ. Now’s not the time for jokes. Desperate fucking times? He has no clue. The dickhead. Matteo can probably just roll over and make love to his wife. I bet she’s right there in bed with him, all warm and soft and beautiful.
Just like Ariana. My gaze flicks to the bed where her body is outlined in the dark. All warm and soft and so fucking beautiful…with that female scent that basically drove me nuts the whole night.
A stab of jealously pierces through me. Matteo got the one thing we’ve all known for years is off the cards. The one thing I’ve consistently denied myself, choosing to protect my brothers instead. And now, Steph’s gone and joined the club, too.
Women, love, and Il Consiglio isn’t a good fit. It’s too fucking dangerous. Not only for them, but for us, too. Women from the outside can be bought; they can turn on us. Sell us out. So far, we’ve been lucky—Tasha’s realized her dad is a decrepit loser, and the fact he’s still alive serves as security for us. Gigi is from our world and came to us for protection. We’re in a stronger position with her marriage to Stephano. There’ll be no such luck for the rest of us Scalera boys.
With a huff, I reply to his stupid message, not beating around the bush this time.
Me: No, Matty, for real. I fucked up.
Time ticks by, and I bet where Matteo was at first lying in bed reading these messages, he’s now sitting up straight.
Matteo: How ?
Me: One Boris said the other Boris was Igor Petrov’s nephew.
A long stretch of silence follows as Matteo digests this information. Yep, I just gave my oldest brother more sleepless nights. He’ll read between the lines. Our Ukrainians are connected to the Bratva in New Jersey and New York. The Bratva who basically rules the ports on that side and everything in between. To Igor Petrov’s organization and one we used to have a watertight agreement with. Well, until yesterday, we did.
Matteo : Come see me. First thing.
That’s a summons.
Me: Yep .
I still have time to find a solution to this problem, but fuck it, I’ve spent the whole night trying to find one and couldn’t come up with shit. I was going to Matteo’s in any case. I have some questions to ask Vincenzo while he’s still around.
A soft knock on the door makes me close my phone and walk over. When I open up, a bleary-eyed Portia is standing there, dressed and ready to keep an eye on Ariana. I step out of the room and close the door softly.
“Thanks for coming,” I whisper. It helps that I’ve always been her favorite. She’ll do anything for me.
“She’s sleeping?”
I nod. Her gaze travels to my own pajamas, and I cringe. She’ll see the bed. The crumpled ties. She’ll know we’ve spent the night together, but like a good Mafia housekeeper, she won’t blink an eye or say a thing. Instead, she’ll read the bedsheets and come to her own conclusions: nothing’s happened.
And yet, a lot of things happened. No wonder I couldn’t figure out what to do with this Igor Petrov situation. I’ve held a woman in my arms during the night for the first time in years. I can’t even recall how long it’s been.
“I’m going to grab my things and go for a run. Do some weights. Swim.” Anything really to stop my mind for churning and from the distraction named Ariana Morelli.
“You look so tired, Nicky. Don’t overdo it,” she whispers back. “And don’t worry about Ariana. She won’t try anything with me.”
I nod. “Let her sleep in. She needs it.”
I glance down the corridor where a backup security detail has been stationed throughout the night. He’s wide awake, and Bruno is at his feet, still dozing in his old age, not so excited to see me at this hour. At six, there’ll be a partial security guard rotation on the premises. Only certain positions. Keep them guessing.
I might have fucked up, but Il Consiglio is an oiled machine.
Whatever Igor Petrov is going to do or want in retribution for his nephew’s death, we’ll be able to deal with it.