Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
DOMINO
R emi’s pulse fluttered beneath my touch, a fragile rhythm just beneath the surface. So easy to break. So easy to stop. I dragged my fingers down the soft column of his exposed throat, feeling his heat, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was asleep. Defenseless. Utterly unaware of the way I devoured him with my eyes. The way I craved him—his mind, his body, his soul—until there was nothing left that didn’t belong to me.
The need to consume him, to fuse myself with him completely, overrode all logical thought. I could do anything to him right now, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late. I could wrap my fingers around his throat, squeeze, feel that flutter slow beneath my grip. I could carve my name into his skin, branding him so no one could ever question who owned him. I could slip between his legs, push inside him, split him open, and fuck him awake.
Would he fight me? Would he whimper? Would his body give in, instinctively opening for me before his mind could even catch up?
I wanted to find out.
I wanted to ruin him.
Because Remi was mine.
He stirred, thick lashes fluttering against his cheek, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips. I clenched my jaw, restraining the growl that curled in my throat. The urge to sink my teeth into his delicate flesh, to leave a mark that would never fade, was nearly unbearable.
Last night had been a fucking disaster. A revelation. A war.
He’d finally seen the truth of his aunt, of who she really was, what she was capable of. And while the reality of his mother’s condition weighed on him, he had no idea how freeing it was. Once she was gone—once that final tether snapped—there would be nothing left to hold him back.
No Brielle. No guilt.
Just me and him.
If he ever thought of leaving—if the idea of a life without me so much as crossed his mind—I would remind him exactly who he belonged to.
His mind had been a mess of foreign emotions I didn’t understand last night as he gathered every shred of evidence that tied Brielle to my father. He was fracturing at the seams, but when the weight of it became unbearable, he turned to me.
For some reason, my touch grounded him. My presence calmed him. It did something to me I didn’t fully understand—or maybe I did. Maybe I’d always known it would be this way. He was mine after all.
When he was ready—once the last veil of his innocence was stripped away—I led him deeper into the truth. Not all of it—not yet—but enough to pull him further into my world.
Remi had been fascinated in his twisted way—obsessed—once the shock wore off. Not just with Brielle’s crimes, but with what happened to the bodies. Mainly the bodies. He wanted to know how she had made them disappear, how she had hidden the truth beneath the city’s feet.
It was a dangerous game. One that I played well.
Under the cover of night, I led him through the woods bordering Hollow Pines National Park, deep into the tangled labyrinth of trees. Hidden from the world was an old, abandoned cottage—one of my father’s properties, left to decay in the silence of the forest.
Beneath it—beneath the dirt and rotting foundations—lay something else. A specially built bunker containing the key to their crimes, it was a graveyard hidden in plain sight. A state-of-the-art incinerator capable of reducing bodies to ash in minutes was at the center. Its official purpose? To safely dispose of soiled items from the home. Its real purpose? To erase the bodies of Brielle’s and my father’s victims.
There was also a torture room that he had used before his injury. Although it was abandoned, it was still haunted by the ghosts of its victims.
As we stepped into the darkness, my mind filled with visions. Brock and Brielle—begging. Screaming. Bargaining. My lips twitched as I tasted their fear. They thought they were monsters, but they were nothing but weak, spineless bottom-feeders who hid behind the shadows of men stronger than them.
Remi would soon see it too. I could feel it.
And because I knew my little lamb better than he knew himself, I had his sketchbook with me. This place was the kind of hell that set him alight. Flames of darkness flickered in his eyes as he took it all in.
He had spent hours sketching. Capturing every twisted image that bled from the depths of his mind.
It was beautiful. Savage. Primal.
A vision of death by fire, inked into the pages of his sketchbook that bled from his soul.
Even in sleep, I could feel him in my blood, in my bones, in the marrow of my fucking existence. He wasn’t just mine. He was part of me. Fused with my DNA.
Soon, he would never leave my side because this wasn’t just an awakening. It was a rebirth. When he finally stepped into the flames, he would emerge as a god.
The god of death.
“You’re crazy, you know.”
It was a statement, not a question, so I stayed silent. I watched as he slowly blinked awake, taking me in; his eyes narrowed when his brain registered my hand wrapped around his throat, but instead of pulling away, he leant into my hold. His eyes begged me for more, and my fingers flexed and tightened. His heartbeat fluttered under my fingertips, and a ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.
“Who are you, really?”
His ice-blue eyes bored into mine, his gaze unflinching as his hand trailed up my arm, tracing the ink embedded in my skin.
“You already know the answer to that.”
Remi rolled his eyes and huffed a breathy laugh. “Last night.” He swallowed his Adam’s apple, grazing my palm. “You knew what Brielle was doing.” He tilted his head to the side as much as my grip would allow. “So tell me who you really are.”
“You’ve seen me kill someone with my bare hands.” He nodded. “A normal person wouldn’t do that.” I ran my nose along the side of his face, inhaling his earthy, mossy scent. When I next spoke, my lips brushed the sensitive skin of his ear. “Inside, you already know the answer.”
“I do,” he rasped. “But I want you to say it.”
I released him from my hold and slipped out of bed. “I’m Domino DeMarco. My father, Federico DeMarco, is the Don, and Marlow Heights is ours.”
Silence settled over the room as Remi processed what I told him. I walked into my closet and got dressed in an all black suit, securing my holsters and guns before slipping into my jacket. I had an important meeting with Valentin “El Fantasma” Guerra of the Los Espectros cartel to prepare for. The men needed organizing, and the weapons needed to be checked and accounted for. It was a direct trade of weapons for drugs, since our last few arms shipments had been fucked over by the Gallos I needed to recoup quickly and this was the most logical—if not risky—option.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Remi said as I headed back into the bedroom and pulled open the drawer that housed my cufflinks. I tried to get them in, but one just kept slipping and fell to the floor.
“I should be; that would be the normal response, but I’m not.” He slipped out of the bed, silk sheets pooling on the floor. He picked up the cufflink and put it on for me. “I want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
I swallowed, and the muscles in my jaw ticked. “Get dressed.” I ordered. “I have a meeting this afternoon that I need to prepare for. You can come.” I wrapped my hand around his throat and tipped his head back with my thumb to stare into his eyes and see his reaction. “But you stay with me, and you keep quiet, piccolo agnello.”
The rain had been falling for hours, it drummed against the metal roof of my SUV as Ghost drove us into the abandoned train yard. Valentin had set the time and the location. I’d had men out on site scouting it, giving us another layer of defense if this deal went south, but we hadn’t heard back from them. I checked my Glock, which was in a holster on my hip, and then the SIG Sauer P228 that was hidden on my back. I’d sharpened my switchblade already.
“This is for you.” I handed Remi a blade of his own, a serpent wound around the handle. “Keep it somewhere easily accessible.”
“We’re here, boss.”
Ghost looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Have we heard back from Dante and his team?”
“No.”
A growl rumbled in my chest, and my senses sharpened. “Track them and update me.”
Ghost handed me two earpieces. I turned them on and gave one to Remi. “Put it in, but remember to stay silent. You are here to observe only.”
“Are you sure about this?” I glared at Ghost, silencing his protest. He didn’t know Remi like I did. Didn’t know what lurked beneath the surface, the monster in him that stalked his mind, itching to be freed. Soon, he would. Soon, they all would.
We stepped out of the SUV together. Remi moved silently by my side as the rain continued to fall. It slithered through the cracks in the pavement, seeped into the rusted husks of abandoned freight cars, and dripped from the heavens like blood.
The air was thick—iron and oil, decay and inevitability. It smelled like death. Like home.
I adjusted the cuff of my suit, smoothing the sharp black fabric as I waited for the rest of my men to get into position. They carried over two crates of pure processed cocaine, packaged into 8-balls and half-balls per my previous discussion with Valentin. In payment, he should have five crates of weapons ranging from handguns, rifles, grenades, and C4. Today was a test to see if this partnership would be profitable on both sides.
Remi stood beside me, looking like he belonged to the night. He was wrapped in black jeans, my hoodie, his leather jacket, his breath curling into the cold like a whispered secret. Rain had plastered his black and white hair to his forehead and streaked down his sharp cheekbones.
He didn’t even flinch when thunder growled across the sky. He was too still. Too quiet. Watching, calculating what was going on as men moved around us from both sides. Tension was running high; one spark and everything would implode. His ice-blue eyes hit mine, shadows running through them like he’d finally realized the world he’d stepped into.
I wanted him to see it. To feel it. To understand that this world—this violence, this bloodstained kingdom—belonged to him, the same way he belonged to me. I knew he could handle it. He was built for it. For blood and torture. For death.
The cartel members ahead of us shifted, murmuring among themselves. Their unease was clear in the flick of their eyes and the way their fingers twitched near their weapons as they waited for their leader to arrive.
I didn’t blame them.
They should be afraid.
I wasn’t thinking about the deal. I was thinking about Remi. How beautiful he looked standing in the downpour, his pulse a steady, rhythmic drum beneath his skin.
How I wanted to press my fingers against his throat, feel that delicate beat, squeeze just to see if he’d let me. Would he fight me? Would he submit? Or would he stare at me with that dark, endless hunger in his eyes and ask for more?
My fingers flexed as I reined in the urge to test him here, now. I could already see the way his mind was shifting, the slow unraveling of his innocence. I would be there to catch him when he finally fell and joined me in this hell because Remi was mine.
My ruin. My resurrection. My inevitable destruction.
If these men thought they were the ones in control here—if they thought for one fucking second that they were the ones pulling the strings—they were about to learn just how wrong they were.
“DeMarco, sorry to keep you waiting,” a waif of a man said smugly, heading toward me, his men parting like the Red Sea. “You know how these things go. Business is busy.” He smirked, eyes raking over Remi with appreciation.
I snarled, pushing Remi behind me so he was obscured from view. “Valentin.”
His deep chuckle grated across my skin, and I bared my teeth. “I didn’t realize you kept pets, Domino.”
“I don’t.”
He snorted and winked. “If you say so.”
Valentin shifted, that smug half-smirk twisting his lips. He thought he was my equal . That was his first mistake. Remi stepped back, staying in my field of vision. His eyes laser-focused on Valentin, his features contorted, then smoothed out when he released a small puff of air.
“Something to say, pretty one?”
“You don’t fucking talk to him.”
My switchblade was in my hand before Valentin finished speaking. The sharp steel edge glinted in the headlight beams from the Los Espectros vehicles. Remi stayed eerily quiet, tilted his head to the side, assessing him through unblinking eyes.
“We have business to do, Valentin.” My voice was steady, cold. “If you’re seeking a willing hole, I recommend the services available at Nocturne. You’ll find whatever your heart desires between those walls. A thank-you for?—”
A bullet cut through the night like a whisper of death. I moved before Valentin’s man hit the dirt. One deadly shot. Precise. Efficient.
The next one came faster. Then another. A barrage of gunfire tore through the air, drowning out the thunder and cries of dying men. Los Espectros were dropping like flies, bodies crashing into the ground all around us. They weren’t the targets. They were collateral damage, target practice.
This was meant for me.
I dropped behind a rusted freight car, hauling Remi with me, and flicked the safety off my Glock. My mind shifted into pure calculation. No emotion. No hesitation. Only control.
Across from me, Valentin had ducked behind cover, his expression twisted into something between anger and amusement. He wasn’t running. Not yet. Stupid fuck. Maybe he’d earn his name and prove he was a man truly worthy of doing business with.
A Gallo soldier moved into my periphery—gun raised, finger tightening on the trigger. Crack. Crack. Two precise pulls. The impact sent his body jerking backward, lifeless, before he hit the mud.
Another crept toward us from the other side of the car. I acted without thinking, muscle memory and training taking over. Pivot. Aim. Fire. Control.
Gunfire flared from every direction, bullets slicing through the downpour, ricocheting off the metal husks of dead trains. Another scream. Another body hitting the ground. The wet slap of meat meeting broken concrete.
“Stay here.”
I grabbed Remi’s emotionless face between my thumb and forefinger, slamming my lips to his in a vicious kiss. A promise. A vow that I would come back for him.
Then I threw myself into the fray. I advanced my finger, depressing the trigger with lethal precision. This wasn’t chaos. This was art.
A second before I took my next shot, I saw it—the glint of metal from the rooftop of a car on the next train over. A sniper, good but not good enough to survive. I opened my mouth to call out, but I never got the chance.
“DOMINO!” Remi bellowed my name, sharp and desperate.
It was like time slowed down, and everything happened in slow motion. A force crashed into me, shoving me to the cold, wet ground. I landed on my hands and knees, my gun skittering across the ground from the force of the impact.
A solid weight crushed me from above, and heavy panting breaths were the only thing I could hear. A deep grunt rocked the body covering me, the sound of flesh tearing. A startled gasp. Blood splattered against my arm. Warm. Fresh. It soaked through the material of my clothes, staining my skin.
“Fuck,” I wheezed.
Remi hit the ground next to me, pain twisting his face, his shoulder torn open, blood pouring down his arm. The bullet meant for me had found him instead.
A faultline cracked through my skull, the edges fracturing, crumbling. Something inside me broke. Unleashed an unbridled fury.
In the time it took me to blink, Remi scrambled onto all fours, crawling for my Glock, fingers slipping in the blood-soaked mud. One of the Gallo men was on him in an instant, looming over him as he lay on his back.
My jaw clenched, muscles ticking as I reached into the holster at the small of my back for my SIG Sauer P228 and aimed.
Remi didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. The trigger depressed, a fierceness I hadn’t seen before solidified in his burning eyes. Crack. The man’s head exploded, and then he dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
For a second, Remi just stared. His chest rose and fell too fast as adrenaline surged through his body, lighting up the receptors in his brain. Fingers tight around the gun.
Chaos continued around us, but we were somewhere else. His lips parted, and he exhaled, his muscles relaxing, embracing the euphoria zinging around his body.
The fire burning in my eyes reflected back at me when our eyes connected. We shared a moment, a silent conversion passing between us. Everything I felt was mirrored in his expression. The rage. The hunger. The need to destroy.
I sprung to my feet and turned my attention to the remaining Gallo soldiers with a brutality that had nothing to do with efficiency and everything to do with the blood they spilled of the man that belonged to me.
They would burn in hell for what they did to him. He was mine!
A shot to the stomach instead of the head. Let them suffer. A knife to the throat—slow. Deliberate. A crushed windpipe beneath my heel, ribs snapping like wet twigs. Blood was splattered across my face and dripped from my hands. Copper coated my tongue with every inhale as my monster wrought havoc on the idiots who thought they could attack me and what’s mine and survive.
Valentin had vanished. The coward ran the second he realized the fight wasn’t tipping in his favor. He would pay for that later; deserters paid with their lives. He lived up to his name, El Fantasma, just not the way he thought he did.
Remi stalked through the shadows behind me, lips set in a grimace, hand raised, gun ready to fire if needed. “There,” he shouted, head nodding toward a guy crab crawling half under a freight cart.
There was one still breathing. That wouldn’t do. I grabbed the last conscious Gallo by the collar, slamming him against the side of a freight car. The impact sent a hollow, metallic groan through the air. His head lolled forward, blood leaking from his lips. He was done. But I wasn’t finished; I’d just started.
I let go, and he crumpled to the ground. I followed, knees pressing into his ribs as I drove my fist into his face. His head snapped back against the mud. Again, and his nose shattered under my knuckles. A third time. Blood gushed from his mouth, the rain making it streak and swirl like red ink.
He coughed and spit teeth at me. A hollow laugh spilled from my lips, devoid of all emotion. I grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back and making him look into my eyes. My face would be the last thing he’d ever see.
My blade gleamed under the freight yard lights. The tip pressed into the delicate flesh just beneath his eye.
“Who sent you?” My voice was low, lethal.
The knife sank deeper. He choked, body jerking, but the name still came. “Salvatore Gallo.”
A slow smile curled at my lips. I should’ve just ended him, but I wanted him to feel it. To suffer. I twisted the knife into the cavity behind his eye. He screamed. He thrashed, legs kicking wildly, hands clawing at my arms. I let it take longer than necessary.
I felt Remi’s presence at my back, his penetrating gaze memorizing this moment, storing it in the twisted depths of his mind. His energy, his hunger for the kill, crawled across my skin like electricity.
“End him.” His words were barely a breath.
We watched as his life left his body, the light fading from his only eye, the other hung from a hollow socket. Remi sat on a concrete block, eyes roaming over the bodies littered around us. Blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand as it hung loosely at his side.
I knelt at his feet, enraptured by the vision before me. Fire and brimstone had nothing on the hell contained within his flesh. I cupped his cheek, smearing mud with the blood that coated it. “You’re mine, piccolo agnello,” I breathed. “This is what we are.”