Chapter 7
Dominic
Ipluck a baby wipe from the packet on the kitchen counter and start cleaning the remnants of Lil’ Peach’s breakfast off her sweet, cherub face.
A smile tugs at my lips when she grunts in protest, thrashing her head from side to side as she tries to push my hand away.
She’s got a surprising amount of fire in her for someone so small, and I love watching the first hints of her personality come through.
Her tiny, chubby fingers are next. I let out a soft laugh when she peers up at me from her highchair, scowling. She’s the spitting image of her mother when she pulls that face.
That thought settles heavily in my chest. There’s so much of my sister in this little girl. So much Violet is missing. Moments, I know she’d be cooing over if she wasn’t so lost to the drugs.
I toss the dirty wipes in the bin, then lean down to unstrap Peach from her highchair so I can change her out of her pyjamas, but before I can, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s probably another job, since things have been quiet the past few days.
When I glance at the screen, I see Dante’s name. My mood shifts straight away as my eyes move over the message.
Dante: Lunch meeting at La Riviera at one sharp. I want everyone there, don’t be late.
Me: K
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, sliding my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
It’s not the meeting I have a problem with. It’s where it’s set. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid that place ever since I saw Emily climb onto the back of that bike. Haven’t been near that street in a long while, no matter how strong the urge has been to just drive past.
It’s bad enough I’ve been acting like a fucking stalker when it comes to her. Now that I know she belongs to someone else, it sits even worse. I know exactly what I’d do if someone pulled that kind of shit with my woman. I would end them without hesitation.
After I park the car and start walking towards La Riviera, I clench and unclench my hands, trying to shake off the nerves building in my chest. Lil’ Peach was still asleep by the time I had to leave, so Mrs B agreed to watch her at my place.
I don’t plan to stay long, either way. I’ll listen to what the boss has to say, then I’m getting the fuck out of here.
I’m hoping Emily isn’t working today, but the second I open the glass door and step inside the restaurant, the first thing I see is her smiling face.
Fuck.
For a second, everything else fades, the hum of conversation, the clatter of cutlery, even the music playing softly overhead. My focus narrows until it’s just her, and I don’t understand why that keeps happening.
Her eyes meet mine, and my breath catches.
She looks genuinely happy to see me, which only makes this whole thing worse.
I’m not used to garnering this kind of reaction from people, so a mix of guilt and something I refuse to name twists low in my chest. Does she see something in me the others don’t?
If she knew what I’d been doing where she’s concerned, she’d probably slap me with a restraining order.
As she walks over, my pulse kicks up a notch, that familiar electricity sparking under my skin. It makes no sense—she hasn’t done anything, hasn’t said anything—and yet my body reacts like it’s already braced for impact. I try to play it cool, but my throat’s dry, and my palms are slick.
I thought I’d worked through this. I thought knowing she had a boyfriend would’ve been enough to shut this down for good.
Instead, it lingers, heavy and unwelcome, a quiet reminder that some things don’t disappear just because I want them to.
“Dominic,” she says, her voice warm and easy.
“Hey,” I manage, though it comes out rougher than I intend.
Her scent hits me as she approaches. It’s sweet, clean, with a hint of caramel. It’s the kind of smell that lingers, soft but addictive, just like her. She smells and looks good enough to eat.
Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, but a loose strand has fallen forward, brushing across her forehead. I shove my hands into the pockets of my dark jeans, forcing myself not to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
The urge to touch her is stronger than I want to admit, and even though I know she’s not single and probably has no interest in a man like me, my body refuses to cooperate. Every glance, every step she takes towards me sets my pulse racing, and I feel like I’m losing control over myself.
“You finally came back. I was wondering if you ever would. How’s your adorable niece? You should’ve brought her along.”
Her tone is light, teasing even, but there’s a warmth underneath that makes my chest tighten. I can’t stop my eyes from following her, from taking in the way she moves and how easily that fucking smile of hers lights up her damn face.
“She’s with my neighbour. I’m here for a meeting,” I answer, flicking my chin towards the table in the back where a few of the guys already sit.
My reply has her face falling slightly. Did she think I was here to see her? Or is she judging me for the company I keep?
“Would you like a glass of water while you wait?”
The fact that she remembers what I drank last time I was here pleases me, since it was many months ago. It’s such a small thing, but it feels intimate, like I’ve left a mark somehow.
“Sure.”
She places her hand briefly on my forearm, and a spark races through me. It’s unexpected, fleeting, and impossible to ignore. What is it with this woman?
“Take a seat,” she says as she drops her arm back down by her side and retreats a step. “I’ll bring it right over.”
At least twenty of our top guys are present for the meeting.
Dante is situated at the head of the table, with Romeo, his underboss, on one side, and Edoardo, the Famiglia’s consigliere (Family’s advisor), seated on the other.
He’s an older guy, way past his prime if you ask me, but maybe with age comes wisdom, like Mrs B said the day we officially met.
This is only the second time I’ve met him, the first being at my blood oath initiation, but there’s something about him I don’t like.
Maybe it’s his shifty eyes, or the way he’s practically eye fucking Emily when Dante motions her over to our table by raising two fingers in the air.
She comes to a stop right near me, but for once, I’m not paying attention to her; my gaze is locked firmly on that slimy old fucker.
Technically, I know there’s not much I can do, especially here with an audience. He’s higher up than me, the Don’s right hand, the man who whispers in his ear.
In the Mafia, rank and respect are everything.
They’re what keep order in a world built on chaos.
Hierarchy dictates who gives the orders, who follows them, and who bleeds if something goes wrong.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch him disrespect her.
If he so much as lays one fucking finger on Emily, rank won’t mean a damn thing.
I’ll make him pay for it, consequences be damned.
“Can we get another round of drinks before the food arrives?” Dante asks respectfully.
This may not be the life I wanted for myself, and I probably wouldn’t have even agreed to it if it weren’t for him. Dante’s the kind of man you follow, not because you have to, but because you want to.
He leads with a steady hand, never raises his voice unless he means it, and when he looks at you, you know he sees everything. I’ve witnessed men twice his age bow their heads when he walks into a room, and not out of fear, but respect.
Edoardo could certainly take a leaf out of his boss’s book and learn what real leadership looks like instead of hiding behind his title and creeping on women a third of his age.
A low growl rumbles in the back of my throat when he leans back in his chair and rubs his filthy fucking hands together.
His eyes move down from Emily’s face to lock on her tits as a sinister grin curves his lips.
It makes my fucking blood boil, and my hands ball into fists on my lap.
Emily’s got no idea he’s currently undressing her with his eyes.
I catch her in my peripheral vision, fishing her notepad out of the front pocket of her apron, and it’s not until I hear something clink on the floor beside me that I finally tear my eyes away from Edoardo.
When I glance down, an inhaler lies by my boot.
Does she have asthma? Why does the idea of her needing something to help her breathe unsettle me so much?
I bend down to pick it up and notice something else has rolled under the table, a Chapstick. I set the inhaler on the table while she busily writes on her notepad, but instead of picking up the other item, I trap it under my foot. I’m keeping that.
She moves around the table, and when it’s time for Edoardo to place his order, I grind my back teeth. I can already tell he’s going to say something I won’t like.
He steeples his hands together as he sits forward in his seat. “I know what I want,” he says, giving Emily a calculating smile, “but I’m not sure if it’s on the menu.”
“We have an extensive range of alcohol to choose from,” she says brightly, completely unaware of the innuendo dripping from his tone. “I can bring you the drinks menu if you’d like.”
Edoardo leans back in his chair, assessing her like she’s prey. “I think I’d like you to show me that menu,” he says, his voice smooth and casual, but the glint in his eyes makes me want to lunge across the table and tear him limb from limb.
My jaw tightens painfully. When Emily hurries away to get the menu, I bend down, grab the Chapstick, and slip it into my pocket before pinning that sleazy cunt with a death stare.
His eyes are glued to her arse, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m seconds away from ending his life.
I may not be able to kill anyone in the Famiglia without Dante’s authority, but I could make him disappear, and nobody would ever suspect me.
My nostrils flare as I inhale through my nose, trying to rein in the monster that is clawing at my insides.
When she returns, I hit my limit. She hands him the brown-leather folder that contains the lists of drinks available; he just smirks. “I left my glasses at home. Could you read it for me?” he asks.
“Sure,” she replies with an easy smile.
As she reaches out to take the menu from his hands, he tugs it back. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and read it, and we can talk about the first thing that pops up?”
I’m out of my chair so fast it tips backwards, landing on the marbled floor with a thud. “What did you just say?” I roar.
The place falls deathly silent, and everyone’s eyes snap to me, but Dante doesn’t miss a beat. Calmly, he clears his throat. “Edoardo, why don’t we step outside for a moment?”
There’s no mistaking the command in his voice. Edoardo hesitates, giving me a glare before reluctantly standing.
“Who does this clown think he is?” Edoardo growls, buttoning his suit jacket. “Know your place, boy. Do you know who I am?”
Dante gives Edoardo a knowing look. “He’ll be your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t shut the fuck up,” he states, final and deadly.
The Don of the Famiglia is easygoing and jovial until he’s not. When that switch flips, his smile vanishes, and everyone takes notice. He doesn’t raise his voice or throw threats around for show; the menace is quiet, precise, and as cold as fucking ice.
I watch Edoardo’s back as he storms towards the door, every step radiating arrogance and anger, and my fists clench before I even realise it.
When he’s gone, my attention snaps straight back to Emily. She’s standing there, wide-eyed and stunned, her cheeks flushed pink. She’s clutching the drink menu to her chest like it’s a lifeline.
She looks shaken, so I force myself to sit, to stay calm, but the urge to protect her, to make sure nothing like that ever happens again, burns hot in my veins.
The anger is still burning through me minutes later when Dante walks back into the restaurant alone. The first thing he does is go straight to Emily. I can’t hear what he says, but she smiles, nods, and goes back to work.
I half expect fallout for my outburst, but it doesn’t come. Maybe that fucker’s right—I should know my place—but there was no way I could sit there and ignore that comment. No woman deserves to be spoken to like that.
When Dante passes me, he clasps my shoulder, squeezes it, and says, “Calm down, big boy. I handled it.”
I grunt in response, because unless that fucker’s no longer breathing, I doubt he handled it the way I would have.
I wasn’t planning to stick around long today, but there’s no way I’m leaving now. Not until I get a chance to talk to Emily and make sure she’s okay.
That chance doesn’t come until lunch is over. I hang back after everyone clears out, waiting.
“Would you like the leftovers packed up to go again?” Emily asks as she and another waitress start clearing the table.
“Sure,” I say, my eyes never leaving her. As much as I enjoy the food she packs for me, that isn’t why I’m still here. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Your boss said he barred him from coming back.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
She pauses and faces me, her hands now laden with plates. “Thank you for standing up for me like you did.”
I just nod. If she knew what I really wanted to do to that fucking creep, she’d run a damn mile. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know.”
She smiles softly before turning and heading towards the kitchen.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I slide my hand into my pocket and roll her Chapstick between my fingers. I should give it back, but I already know that’s never going to happen. There’s something thrilling about having something of hers.