Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
REMI
D omino stashed his bike in the mouth of an empty shipping container, its walls yawning open like the gaping maw of some steel beast. He locked it up tightly before pulling a cigarette from his jacket, lighting it with an almost bored efficiency. The flame flickered against his sharp cheekbones before he inhaled, exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the damp air.
Without a word, he handed it off to me and lit another. We moved forward, the crunch of gravel beneath our boots giving way to the flat, dead sound of concrete.
The docks reeked of rot. Of salt and rusted metal, of old oil and older blood. The kind that had seeped into its surroundings over decades, whispering of men who had disappeared beneath these waters, their names long forgotten.
A thick mist curled over the ground, wrapping around our ankles like spectral hands. It made it nearly impossible to see more than a foot ahead. Spotlights cut through the fog in sharp, surgical slices, turning everything ghostly, unnatural. The water lapped at the pylons below, rhythmic but somehow offbeat, as if the sea itself sensed what was coming.
I broke the silence first. “What are you going to do about Federico?”
Domino didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked a little ahead; the fog swallowed him in pieces—first his legs, then his torso, until he looked like nothing more than a shadow bleeding into the mist.
“I will end him.” He turned slightly. His dark green eyes were nothing but swirling shadows. “I won’t come at him head-on,” he added. “He’ll be expecting it.”
I mulled over his words. Federico was smart. Ruthless. He’d built an empire on paranoia and the absolute certainty that everyone in his orbit would betray him, eventually. It made him dangerous. But it also meant he was waiting for the knife in his back.
“We could do what we did with Brielle.”
Domino huffed a short, amused laugh. “What was that?” he mused. “Make her piss herself every time she moved?”
“Yes.” A slow smile curled my lips. “Play shadow games. Make him feel like he’s losing his mind before you end him. Make him suffer.”
Domino exhaled another drag, the ember at the tip of his cigarette glowing like an eye in the dark. “You want to play the long game, piccolo agnello?”
I grunted in affirmation. I could already see it—the slow unraveling of a man who thought himself untouchable. The power of fear, how it could corrode a person’s mind long before the knife ever touched their skin.
A sharp thrill crawled up my spine.
Domino moved fast. One second, he was smoking beside me. The next, I was pinned against the frozen metal of a shipping container, his hand wrapped around my throat.
The force of it sent a shudder through me, pleasure and pain threading together in a heady mix. His breath, laced with nicotine and something darker, ghosted over my lips, his smirk curling as I let him take, let him hold.
“What are you thinking?” His voice was low, a growl in the night.
His nose brushed up the column of my throat, and a deep, resonant sound rumbled in his chest.
I was so fucking gone for him.
My body betrayed me instantly. My hips punched forward on instinct as he slid a thigh between my legs, his grip tightening just enough to make the edges of my vision blur.
“I’m thinking…” I exhaled shakily. “About all the things we could do to him. When he’s strung up in your playroom.”
Domino snorted softly, his lips brushing against my pulse. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yes,” I hissed as his teeth sank into my neck, his mark sinking deep into my skin.
This morning, I had mourned the fading bruises in the mirror. Now? He was refreshing them. Staking his claim and feeding my obsession. With the way he owned me, forced me to submit to his every sick and twisted whim.
Blunt nails dug into my jaw, tipping my head back as his mouth crashed into mine. Teeth scraped against skin, sharp and unforgiving. A gasp caught in my throat before his teeth sank into my bottom lip, tearing at the flesh until the metallic burn of copper burst across our tongues.
I moaned into him, and he swallowed it whole.
My hands fisted into his jacket, dragging him closer, the kiss deepening into something raw, violent—never sweet, never soft. This was the language we spoke: pain and pleasure, power and surrender, the sharp bite of desire laced with destruction.
Domino smirked against my mouth, pulling back just enough to mutter, “You’re fucking desperate.”
I bit him back. Hard enough to feel the sharp pull of his breath, the way his grip on my throat tightened just enough to make me dizzy. I licked into his mouth, tasting blood and smoke, and groaned when his fingers tugged my hair back brutally.
“Say it,” he rasped, his voice like gravel.
“Say what?”
“That you want me.”
I exhaled sharply, my hands dragging over his scarred knuckles encased in cold metal, his solid chest, his lethal body pressed against mine. I tilted my chin up, let him see it in my eyes, “I want you.”
Domino hummed, satisfied, before abruptly releasing me. I nearly stumbled, my breath ragged as he wiped his thumb over his bottom lip, smearing the blood across his face.
“Later,” he murmured, dark promise dripping from the word.
Cold wind bit at my skin, the haunting mist around us dissipating as a fine drizzle fell. The droplets glistened in his black hair like scattered diamonds. They always said the devil was the most beautiful angel before he fell; they just didn’t know how true that was.
Domino stood beside me, silent, the weight of his presence pressing against my skin like a second heartbeat. His fingers twitched at his sides, his stance deceptively loose—but I knew better. It was a predator’s ease. A readiness coiled into every muscle, waiting for the moment to strike.
The docks stretched ahead, swallowed in mist. Thick and unnatural, the fog clung to the ground like a living thing, curling around the rusted shipping containers, masking movement, swallowing sound. The air was damp, heavy with the tang of salt and oil, but beneath it lurked something else. Something rotting.
We’d set the bait—a fake shipment marked with the DeMarco insignia. Loud. Blatant. A neon sign blinking in the dark. A hook waiting in the water for something to bite.
But the Gallos weren’t stupid. They were one of the most powerful families on the East Coast, and Federico was obsessed with taking them down. It made him reckless. But it didn’t make him an idiot.
I doubted they’d fall for such an obvious trap. It worked. Just not the way we expected.
The first crate hit the dock with a dull, wet thud. A ripple of unease slithered down my spine, cold and uncertain. Something was wrong. The usual noises had vanished, the distant grumble of a passing boat and the faint screech of gulls overhead. The occasional scuttling of rats through the shipping containers. Gone.
The silence was suffocating, as thick as the fog itself.
Domino noticed it, too. I saw the subtle shift in his posture—shoulders squared, jaw clenched. His head tilted slightly, listening.
A sound. Soft. Barely there. Like breath against the mist. I inhaled sharply, drawing in the damp night air. And that’s when I smelled it.
Not salt. Not rain.
Something sweet.
Chemical.
Thick enough to drown out everything else… Chloroform.
Realization hit a second too late. I turned toward it, and a hand clamped over my face. The scent flooded my lungs, thick and cloying. I jerked, but my body wasn’t listening. My limbs felt heavy. Slow. My vision wavered at the edges, the world warping like oil on water.
I struggled, twisting and wrenching against the unseen grip. But it was like fighting through wet concrete. My ears rang, my breath shallow and useless as it drew more of the chemical into my burning lungs.
Domino, his name rang in my head like a fading echo. Through the haze, I saw him. His head snapped toward me, his body already in motion. A blur of black against the eerie white mist.
His gun was raised, his mouth open?—
Then—blackness. The night swallowed me whole.
Pain dragged me from the depths of unconsciousness. A sharp, throbbing ache pounded against my skull, the kind of deep, relentless pain that made my vision blur at the edges. My throat was raw, my mouth parched, each breath scraping against the inside of my chest like sandpaper. The air was thick, grating against my raw throat like shards of glass.
Something cold dug into my wrists. I shifted, a sharp sting blooming where the restraints had already rubbed my skin raw. My shoulders screamed in protest, wrenched behind my back, leaving my body slumped, legs sprawled uselessly in front of me.
A haze crawled through my veins, making everything sluggish. My pulse was too slow, my movements too heavy. I sucked in a slow breath and forced my eyelids open.
A gun was pressed against my temple.
The pressure was unmistakable. A silent threat. A reminder of where I was. I blinked rapidly, the blur of unconsciousness receding as my surroundings sharpened into focus.
Cold concrete floors. Dim light flickering against damp walls. The air reeked of rust, sweat, and the faint metallic bite of blood.
And the knowledge that I wasn’t alone.
Shapes loomed at the edges of my vision. Men. Their presence curled through the space, thick and oppressive, shadows shifting in the dim light. I was tied to a thick wooden beam, my arms pinned behind me. On display. Like an animal in a cage.
But my thoughts weren’t on them. They were on him. I forced my head up, searching desperately for Domino.
Movement a few feet away caught my eye. A slumped figure.
He was still unconscious, hanging from a rusted pipe overhead, his arms bound and suspended, thick steel cuffs biting into his wrists. His body—always sharp, always primed for violence was disturbingly slack.
My stomach twisted. The sick bastards had left him shirtless. Bruises and deep, fresh cuts marred his skin, a grotesque canvas of whatever welcome party they’d thrown while I was out. His dark hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes, but I knew what I’d see when he woke—rage. Cold, lethal, unrelenting rage.
I exhaled a slow, deliberate breath, trying to control the ice creeping into my blood. This was bad.
But I took comfort in the sight before me. His broad chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. I watched his fingers twitch, muscles coiling even in unconsciousness, and I knew—his body was already recalibrating. Already preparing for war.
My pulse roared in my ears. I wrenched my gaze away from him and swept the room again, the details snapping into sharper clarity now that my mind had burned off the haze.
A group of men. Watching. Waiting.
They lingered in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They were predators who had cornered something dangerous. A wounded animal. But even still—not one of them looked at Domino without unease. There was a silent understanding among them.
They knew what he was. And they knew the moment he woke up was the moment they lost their advantage. There would be hell to pay.
My gaze flicked to the man standing at the center of it all. The ice in my veins turned to steel.
Salvatore Gallo.
A legend. A ghost of the underworld. A name spoken in hushed whispers. The only man feared more than Domino himself.
He was older, maybe in his late fifties, with dark salt and pepper hair slicked back with ruthless precision. A tailored suit draped over his broad frame, power exuding from every inch of him—the kind of power that didn’t need to lift a gun to kill you. His word alone was enough to evoke fear.
He studied me like I was something insignificant. An insect beneath his shoe.
I lifted my chin. Refusing to look away. Refusing to cower. “Salva…” My voice was hoarse, throat raw. I swallowed the ache. “Gallo.”
A slow smirk curled his lips. “So, you’re the little stray that’s got my son wrapped around your finger.”
The words hit me like ice water searing against my skin. His son? Confusion flickered in my chest. What the fuck was he talking about? But before I could react, a sharp chuckle sliced through the thick silence.
“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” The voice was smooth. Amused. Dangerous.
I shifted my gaze. He was young—late twenties. Tall, lean but strong, his dark wavy hair falling in deliberate disarray. His eyes were dark, gleaming with something sharp. Mischief. And menace.
He crouched in front of me, the gun still pressed against my temple, his head tilting as he studied me.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” he mused. Mocking. “But I can see why he likes you. That pretty little mouth must be good for something.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. But my blood turned to acid. Every nerve in my body itched to move. To tear. To maim. To kill. My fingers twitched with the phantom weight of a blade, desperate to drive it straight into his gut and twist.
But I stayed still. Nothing. No reaction. I refused to give him the satisfaction.
His smirk widened. “Nothing?” He tapped the gun against my temple, his voice dropping to something almost… gentle. Cruel. “Must have a real solid head on your shoulders.” A pause. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”
I stared him down. “Go ahead, then. Blow my brains out.”
He grinned. “Oh, I like this one.”
A sigh. Another voice. Colder. “Ellio, stop playing with your food.”
I shifted my gaze. This one was older. Early thirties, maybe. Sharper. Broader. His dark wavy hair was slicked back, his crisp black suit immaculate. His silver eyes held no amusement. No warmth. Only calculation.
Ellio clicked his tongue, but his smirk never wavered. “You’re no fun, Luca.”
Luca.
Ellio.
I filed their names away. But before I could think further, something shifted. The air changed. Thickened. A pulse of unrestrained violence rippled through the space.
Ellio must have felt it, too. His smirk faltered for half a second.
A low, barely there sound tugged at my soul. Domino stirred. A slow, deliberate stretch of his fingers. The first shift of his breath. His muscles tightened.
The devil was waking up.
A soft chuckle slithered through my lips, and I saw Ellio’s grip on the gun tighten. He pushed up to standing, his gun still trained on me, keeping me exactly where he wanted—a position of weakness.
It wouldn’t last because soon, my monster would open his eyes. When he did, they would all die. And I would be standing at his side, bathing in their blood.
A door creaked open somewhere behind me, the metal groaning. The men shadowing those in front of me straightened their stances and pulled their shoulders back—not in fear, but in acknowledgment, in silent respect.
The newcomer moved with the kind of confidence that came from a lifetime of control. His tailored suit was expensive but understated, dark fabric crisp, untouched by the damp, blood-stained air of the warehouse. He carried himself like a man who had never known uncertainty, whose orders had never been questioned. Power wrapped around him like a second skin.
His gaze landed on me, slow and assessing. Not curious. Not intrigued. Just… amused. Like I was an attraction at a zoo. Like I was dirt beneath his shoe.
The side of his mouth curled. “So, you’re the little stray.”
My jaw tightened, my gaze flicking to Domino.
Ellio chuckled, tracking the movement with predatory satisfaction. “He killed two of our men when he realized we had you. Didn’t he Enzo?”
“He’s got a vicious right hook.”
“I did warn you all to be prepared. You know how many of our men he’s taken down single-handedly.” Salvator murmured his voice low, commanding. “But you didn’t listen, did you Diego? Mmm?”
The man beside him—Diego—tilted his head, looking me up and down like I was an anomaly he couldn’t quite figure out. He was broad-shouldered, with the solid build of a brawler, dark hair cut close to his scalp on the sides. His face was all sharp angles and harsh lines, a faint scar running down his cheek.
“He’s like a rabid dog,” Enzo muttered, voice laced with quiet menace. His gaze swept over me again, assessing, weighing. “What makes you worth killing for?”
I didn’t answer. My lips pressed into a tight line, a million retorts flickered through my mind. But I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking my control.
“Enough, Enzo,” Salvatore said, voice calm, steady. Deadly. “This is going to be hard enough as it is. For all of us.”
“But why now?” Diego’s expression hardened, but he was watching his father closely. “Federico is weak.”
Luca scoffed. “He’s been weak for years.”
“The time is right, now ,” Salvatore snapped.
Spines straightened instantly. His presence pressed down on the room, suffocating, absolute. A king among wolves.
“He knows enough now to accept what I’m going to tell him is the truth.”
Enzo exhaled sharply. “And if he doesn’t?”
Salvatore rolled his eyes before pinning his sons with a single look. The air turned thick. Heavy. A presence so sharp it cut like a blade. One by one, they fell silent.
“He knows Federico murdered Catalina.” Salvatore’s voice was quieter now but somehow heavier. Weighted with loss that seemed so far removed from our current situation I couldn’t fathom. “Now he will learn the whole truth.”
My stomach turned. What the hell was going on? Questions clawed at my throat, each one more dangerous than the last. Why was the enemy so invested in him knowing the truth? How did they know Domino knew what had happened to his mother? No one knew except…
A sharp, heated discussion broke out. Italian curses flew like daggers. Words landed like stray bullets, echoing off the warehouse walls. The circle of men behind them shifted, uneasy, shoulders squared—but there was something in their eyes. Dread. None of them wanted to step in. None of them wanted to be caught in the firestorm building in the center of the room.
A slow inhale pulled my attention like a magnetic force. A shift in the air.
Domino.
I turned my head just in time to see his fingers twitch, his muscles tightening as consciousness pulled him back. His breathing changed—slower, deeper.
The monster was waking up.
Luca noticed. His head tilted slightly, silver eyes gleaming. He murmured, “About time.”
Ellio leaned back on his heels, smirking. “You’re gonna wanna hear this, big guy.”
Domino’s lashes lifted. His gaze found mine first. Pupils expanded, black swallowing the dark green of his irises. His entire body went still. Possession. I felt it wash over me like a baptism of hellfire.
It was in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled into fists around the chains, in the way his chest expanded as his rage grew.
Once he’d assessed me and deemed it acceptable, he turned his head. Took in his surroundings. Catalogued everything. Every minute detail. He never missed a thing, and today was no different.
And I saw it—the shift. The ripple of something cold, something dangerous. He rolled his shoulders, testing the chains, feeling their weight. Searching for any weakness he could find.
Eventually, he looked at the older man—the one in charge. And he smiled. Slow. Sharp. Blood stained teeth glistened in the dim light.
Salvatore smiled back. Warmer than any expression I’d seen on him until now. And then he said the words that cracked the foundation of everything. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Domino. Salvatore Gallo— your father .”
I felt it.
The way the room tilted.
The way Domino fractured.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
He just stared.
He had suspected. I knew he had. The whispers in the dark corners of his mind had tormented him for years, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. But to hear it spoken out loud, in cold, unwavering truth?
His fingers curled into fists. The chains rattled. His body remained eerily still, but I knew better. Something had snapped.
The Gallos had no idea what they had just unleashed.
Salvatore exhaled like he was already bored. “Federico didn’t tell you?”
Domino’s voice was deathly quiet. Razor-sharp. “You’re lying.”
Salvatore hummed. “You think Federico raised you out of loyalty? Out of obligation? Love?” He met Domino’s stare, unflinching. “He kept you because you were useful.”
The room held its breath.
Salvatore continued, voice dripping with ice. “He had your mother killed because she threatened everything. She was going to take you away—to me. He murdered Catalina because he was afraid. Afraid that if the truth came out, you would realize the power in your blood. That you were never his.”
A pause. “But I suppose, in the end, he trained you well, didn’t he? Broke you just enough to make you his most valuable weapon.”
A crack split the air. Something unseen, something irreparable. Domino laughed. Low. Quiet. Not humor. Something else.
Diego scoffed. “Nothing to say? Maybe we hit him too hard.”
“Or maybe he’s just in shock,” Ellio snickered.
Enzo exhaled sharply. “Let’s focus. We didn’t bring them here for banter.”
Luca hummed in agreement. “We need to decide what to do with them. We can’t just let them walk out of here.”
Salvatore considered his sons before his gaze settled on me once more. Cold calculation glinted in his eyes. “You, however… You might be worth something. A trade, perhaps.”
Domino finally spoke.
His voice was quiet. Deceptively calm.
“Touch him…” His eyes burned with something primal, something that wanted to tear them apart with its teeth. “And I’ll cut your heart out.”
The entire room went still.
Ellio whistled low under his breath, grinning. “That’s cute. But in case you haven’t noticed, big guy, you’re chained to the ceiling.”
Domino smiled. A sharp curve of his lips that sent ice down my spine.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he murmured. “You should be worrying about yourselves.”
A heartbeat passed, and the strength drained from my bones. The lights cut out, and the warehouse plunged into darkness.
That’s when the screaming started.