Chapter 11
Dominic
One year ago …
Icome to a stop just outside La Riviera, giving myself a moment before I enter. Even though today is supposed to be a celebration, I’m already pissed the fuck off. I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to see her.
After that dream six months ago, seeing my mother’s face morphing into my Emily’s, I couldn’t shake the need to save her from whatever fate was waiting. The thought of seeing another mark marring her beautiful skin fucked me up inside, and I didn’t want her to become another statistic.
If she needed me, she had my number, or maybe she didn’t.
For all I know, she tossed it in the bin the second I left.
It didn’t stop me from waiting or wishing I’d get a call.
But when days slipped into weeks of nothing, I fell back into old habits.
Watching her from a distance. Only this time, I took it a step further.
At first, it was just my usual modus operandi—sitting in my car down the street from the restaurant while she worked—but one day I crossed the line and followed her home.
It was creepy as fuck, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself, no matter how hard I tried.
Not only did I get to see a different side of her away from work—like the way she lovingly tended the row of potted plants on the porch of the shithole she lived in—but I also had to watch her with him.
That sweet smile she’d given me in the past, directed towards that fucker, was the catalyst that eventually made me stop.
Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the monster I’d built him up to be in my head. She obviously wanted to be there, so I eventually forced myself to stay away.
I slide my hand into my pocket and run my fingers over the Chapstick before I push through the door and enter.
I’m so fucking headstrong in this moment, I don’t even look to find out if she’s working today. I keep my eyes trained on the floor as I cross the restaurant and head for the table in the back where some of the guys are already seated.
Things have changed for me in the Famiglia. In the beginning, it was just a means to an end, nothing more, but over time, some of these men have become like real family to me.
I’ve learnt to trust and open up a little. I’ve still got a long way to go, but I’m slowly getting there. A couple of them even know about Lil’ Peach, which is a part of my life I never planned on sharing.
When there was a threat against Dante’s sister-in-law, Lucia, he summoned me to a town a few hours away to find the people responsible. We had intel that’s where they were hiding out, and when three of our men turned up butchered, I was tasked to step in and help.
It wasn’t a quick job, and I had no idea how long I’d be gone, so when Mrs B wasn’t around to watch Peach that first night, I had no choice but to leave her with someone else.
Saying no to the job wasn’t an option. The Mafia always comes first. That’s the deal you make when you sign up.
Once you’re in, everything else takes a back seat, including your family.
I’d met Lucia once, when I had to watch her for a few hours at the safe house while Romeo ran some errands.
She was a little full on, but it didn’t take long for her to break through my walls and get under my skin.
The thought of anything happening to her, or someone crushing that vibrant spirit, was something I wasn’t prepared to stand by and let happen.
I turned up at their place with Lil’ Peach in tow and asked them to watch her overnight. Leaving my niece with people I didn’t know that well wasn’t an easy decision, but my gut told me they were good people, and they’ve yet to prove me wrong.
Today isn’t just about celebrating the take down of those Italian fuckers, but it’s also to honour Romeo, the underboss, who almost didn’t make it out of that mess.
I come to a stop when I reach the table, and instead of the usual grunt I use to greet people, I actually move around the table and shake a few hands. When I reach Romeo, the man of the hour, he stands, gives me a one-armed man hug, and taps my back a few times.
“How’s Lucia?” I ask him once I’ve taken a step back.
“She’s good,” he replies, with a smile. “As crazy as ever, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.”
I let out a small chuckle. She’s a top chick, and he’s lucky to have the love of a good woman like her.
Images of him getting resuscitated on the tarmac at the airstrip by Dante as I dragged a heartbroken Lucia away still fucking haunt me. I’m so glad he pulled through. He’s a tough motherfucker.
“How’s Lil’ Peach?” he asks.
“Good.”
Romeo pulls out the seat beside him, gesturing for me to sit. I’ve moved my way up in the family pretty quickly. The fact that I’m seated up near the head of the table now confirms as much.
I no sooner plonk my arse down, when a hand reaches over my shoulder and places a glass of water with a wedge of lemon in front of me.
I don’t have to look to know it’s her. I can fucking smell her. She smells like a damn cupcake—sweet and tantalising.
My head snaps to the side to see Emily standing right there. Even after all this time, seeing her knocks the air out of me.
“I saw you walk in,” she says, a pretty pink blush creeping up her neck.
My brow furrows as I stare up at her because I despise the way my heart rate kicks up a notch whenever she’s near. She’s so beautiful … too fucking beautiful, and that effortless smile that I usually love feels like a swift kick to the balls now.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she adds when I don’t respond. I wish I could say the same. “How’s Peach?”
“Fine,” I mutter, spinning my face back towards the guys, dismissing her without shame.
It’s a cunt move, but I don’t care. I can’t deal with these feelings—they’re one-sided and messy—and she’s not mine. She belongs to someone else, and the last thing I need is to make it harder on myself.
Maybe I should make her hate me. If she stops looking at me the way she does, and doing sweet things, like bringing me drinks and leftovers as if I’m someone special to her, I’ll finally be able to forget.
“Harsh,” Romeo murmurs beside me when Emily turns around and walks away. “You know her or something?”
“Or something,” I reply, picking up my glass of water and taking a sip.
There’s no way I’m going there with him, or anyone for that matter. This sick fucking obsession needs to stop.
By some miracle, I managed to ignore Emily for the duration of lunch. I’m pretty sure I felt her eyes burning into the side of my head when she and the other waitress brought out the food, or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part, but I stayed strong.
To my annoyance, I still found myself shoving my hand into my pocket throughout the meal, rolling her Chapstick between my fingers. I’ve done it so often since it came into my possession, the label’s completely worn off now. I’m fucking obsessed with the thing.
It goes everywhere with me as if it’s some kind of prize. It’s even become part of my morning ritual. Wallet in the back pocket, watch strapped onto my wrist, then I reach for this. I should just throw the fucking thing away and stop torturing myself.
As soon as the plates are cleared and the guys start chatting over coffee, I push back my chair. I’ve done my part, and the sooner I’m out of here, the better. The last thing I need is another minute around her.
My gaze focuses on the floor again as I make my retreat, but halfway to the door, I hear her voice behind me. “Dominic.”
A low growl bubbles in the back of my throat as I pause, giving myself a second before I turn. Emily stands a few feet away, cradling a brown paper bag in her arms.
“I packed up the leftovers for you,” she says softly. “Figured Peach might like some.”
For a moment, I can’t say a word. She’s looking at me with those blue eyes, all soft and hopeful, like I’m worth caring about. Or maybe it’s not me at all. Maybe it’s Peach she’s doing this for.
She holds the bag out, and after a brief hesitation, I reach for it. Our fingers brush, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. “Thanks,” I mutter before I abruptly turn and get the fuck out of there.
I kneel by the front door, tugging on Peach’s tiny shoes and making sure they’re snug. She wiggles like a little worm, babbling nonsense and giggling every time I try to do up the straps. My meaty fingers are not built for such fiddly fucking things.
“Sit still, kid,” I mutter.
When her shoes are on, I slide her jacket through each arm, pull it over her shoulders, and zip it up. She leans into me, letting out a happy squeal when the zipper reaches the top.
I ruffle her hair and grin. “Ready to go?” I ask, pushing to my feet and holding out my hand. She grabs it instantly, her tiny fingers curling around one of my own.
We are heading to the park because I’m going stir-crazy cooped up in the house. I need to keep busy. I barely slept last night because I kept reliving yesterday’s lunch date at La Riviera.
I rarely regret my actions, but I feel like a complete arsehole for how I treated Emily. It’s not her fault that I feel this pull towards her and can’t get a handle on my emotions. And it’s certainly not her fault that I can’t seem to let this fixation go.
The air is crisp today. I unstrap Lil’ Peach from the booster seat and lift her out of the car. The moment her little feet hit the pavement, she reaches for my hand again, tugging me towards the swings.
“Do you want to swing first or go on the slippery dip?” I ask.
She looks up at me and smiles, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, her eyes bright with that sparkle that always gets me. “Swing!” she shouts, dropping my hand and breaking into a run. She’s already halfway there before I can react.
I laugh under my breath and follow. I lift her into the seat, making sure she’s secure before moving behind her and giving her back a gentle push.
She squeals as her legs kick out and she soars forward. I keep the rhythm slow, and she laughs every time she comes back towards me, like the whole world begins and ends right here.
“Higher, D,” she shouts.
I worried about what she’d call me when she was old enough to talk. Since she couldn’t say uncle or Dominic in the beginning, “D-D” was what she went with, and it stuck.
Her laughter pierces the morning quiet as I keep the swing moving back and forth. Every shriek makes my chest tighten a little. I hope her life is always this carefree.
“Higher?” I ask, leaning down close. She nods eagerly. “Hold on tight,” I say, pushing her harder this time.
Her little fingers grip the rope so tight her little knuckles turn white, and I can’t stop smiling.
Eventually, I slow her down and lift her back to the ground. She stumbles a little, then grabs my hand for balance.
Her wobbles only last a few seconds before she lets go of me, screams, “Dip-dip,” and starts running towards the slippery dip.
An hour later, I’ve hit my limit. “You ready to go?” I ask, already predicting the pintsize sass I’m about to get.
“No!” she replies, dashing back towards the swing set.
A smile tugs at my lips as my hands go to my hips. “Okay. I was thinking of going to Maxx & Co for breakfast. If you don’t want pancakes and a chocolate milkshake, we can stay here.”
That makes her little legs instantly pause. She spins around to face me and screams, “Pantake.”
I shake my head and chuckle as I watch her beaming face as she rushes back towards me. The moment she is in reach, I bend down and scoop her into my arms. This kid has an appetite like mine, and I use her love of food to my advantage whenever it’s needed.