Chapter 14
Dominic
Irise from my seat on the back patio and quietly slip into the house, where I find Lucia in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher.
“Luc,” I say, running my hand over my buzzed hair. “Have you got a minute?”
She pauses and glances at me over her shoulder. “Hey, Dom, what’s up?”
My eyes flicker out the back window, where I see Lil’ Peach kicking a soccer ball around on the grass with Alexander’s boys. Seeing the smile lighting up her sweet face has the corners of my mouth curving up.
Lucia must follow my line of sight because she says, “She’s having so much fun with the other kids. Have you thought about putting her into daycare?”
My gaze snaps back to her. “I’m not leaving her with strangers, I thought we went over this already.”
She rolls her eyes before turning back to the sink. “It’s cute how much you love that little girl—”
“I didn’t come in here to get insulted.”
Lucia lets out a small laugh. “Saying you’re cute isn’t an insult.”
“I beg to differ.”
“She needs to be around other kids sometimes. I’m sure you’ve noticed how much fun she’s been having this weekend. She’s usually plastered to your side—”
“Point taken,” I grumble, cutting her off. “But you have a kid now, she can play with him.”
“He’s a baby, Dom. By the time he’s old enough to play with Peach, she’ll be ready to start school.”
I release a low growl because the thought of my girl growing up so fast gives me a goddamn ache in my chest. It only seems like yesterday that I held her in the hospital for the first time. “Can we not go there?”
That frustrating grin on her face grows. “You’ll be forced to leave her with strangers then.”
“Not if I home school her.”
Lucia gasps. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She shakes her head. “You Italian men are so stubborn and headstrong.”
“And you’re not?” She rolls her eyes again, but she knows I’m right. “I know you’ve had a house full of people the past two days, but could I trouble you to watch Peach for an hour while I go check on Emily?”
Her eyes widen. “You’re going to her house?”
“No, I’m going to La Riviera. The chef said she has a shift there today.”
“Can I come?”
“No!”
“Ugh,” she groans. “What are you going to say to her?”
“I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You’re being cute again,” she says, smirking.
“I swear to God if you call me that again—”
“You’ll do what?” a voice barks from behind me.
I narrow my eyes at Lucia when she rolls her lips to hide her smile, before I turn to face her husband.
“She called me cute … twice,” I grumble.
Romeo barks out a laugh before placing his hand on my shoulder. “If the shoe fits, big guy. And just to be clear, threaten my wife like that again and we’re going to have a problem.”
My head’s all over the place by the time I arrive at La Riviera.
I shouldn’t even be here. I know that. We’re not friends, not really.
But those bruises—the first one I noticed on her wrist the day we met, the cut lip that reminded me of the day I found my mother, and the fresh mark shadowing her cheek yesterday—won’t leave me alone.
They’re gnawing in the back of my mind, and getting so loud it feels like they are screaming for me to do something. To stop this before it’s too late.
My stupid heart is hammering like I’m about to commit a crime when I exit the car. What if she thinks I’m a creep for not leaving her alone? Or worse, that I’m pitying her? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I don’t want to cross a line. I just want her to be safe.
I rehearse something in my head as I head towards the entrance.
“Hey, I was in the neighbourhood.” But that sounds stupid.
Too convenient. Too obvious. Pathetic. I try again.
“You seemed off yesterday, just wanted to check in.” But that feels like prying.
And the one thing I don’t want to do is make her feel exposed.
I exhale and drag a hand over my face. For fuck’s sake, I should just turn around and go home, but what if something happens to her?
A chill skates down my spine, and it’s enough to keep my feet moving.
When I push through the front door, I decide to go with the truth, well, part of it. I’ll start by apologising for my behaviour yesterday. Even if she doesn’t want to hear or accept it, at least I’ll get to see if she’s okay, and for now, that will be enough.
It’ll have to be. It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder and take her with me—as much as I’d like to.
That thought hits hard. Do I actually want to take her home? My stomach twists when I realise the answer is yes.
I’ve been so busy telling myself it’s her safety I’m worried about, but it’s more than that. I like her … no, I really like her. How the fuck did I end up here?
She’s a fucking stunner, so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her at times, but her sugary sweet persona has never been my type. Jesus, I’d eat that woman alive, and she’s already so fragile and beaten down.
Lucia said yesterday that scaring her into opening up to me isn’t the way to go, which was something I needed to hear. I’m a bulldozer by nature. I have to earn her trust, and hopefully then she’ll allow me to help because I can’t ignore what I’ve seen, no matter how much she might want me to.
She’s trapped, just like my mother was, I’m sure of it.
I pause just inside the doorway and let my eyes move around the room. I recognise a few of the staff, but Emily isn’t anywhere in sight.
A waitress walks over. She’s pretty, but something about her feels off. Her hair and eyes are a deep brown, and her smile doesn’t brighten her face the way Emily’s does.
“Welcome to La Riviera,” she says. “Table for one? Or are you meeting someone?”
“I’m …” Fuck. I reach up and rub the back of my neck while I scramble for anything other than the truth.
This is exactly why I prefer to keep to myself and stay the fuck out of other people’s business.
My eyes do another sweep of the room, but she’s definitely not out here.
Maybe she’s in the kitchen. “Can I talk to the chef?” I find myself asking.
“Massimo?”
I knew his name started with an M. I should really put that in my phone so I don’t keep forgetting.
“Yeah,” I say, giving a quick nod and shoving my hands into my pockets. “Tell him it’s Dominic. He knows who I am.”
She disappears and returns a minute later. “Come,” she says, gesturing with her hand. “Massimo said he’ll see you in the kitchen. He’s in the middle of something.”
The polite thing to do would be to walk out and stop taking up this man’s time. He’s busy, and I know it, but my manners are hanging by a thread, and my concern is tugging at what little is left.
I follow her through the door and wait until she slips back into the dining room before I say anything.
Massimo is chopping something at an alarming pace, and for a second, all I can do is watch the blur of his hands. His knife skills are next level. He glances up at me for barely a heartbeat before looking back down.
He snaps an order at one of his kitchen hands in Italian, then finally acknowledges me. “What can I do for you, Dominic?”
“I’m looking for Emily.”
“She called in sick.”
“Does she do that often?”
“No.”
“Do you think she’s sick?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
I turn to leave, already bracing myself for what comes next, when he calls my name. “Dominic.” I stop, but I don’t turn around.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?”
“To her house.”
There’s a brief silence, and when I glance back at him, he’s wearing a small smile; it’s faint but clear. “Good.”
I pull up a few houses down from the dive that Emily calls home. That fucker’s bike is parked on the unkept lawn, so I stay in the car, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel while I ponder what to do.
I’m not afraid to walk straight up to the door and knock. Honestly, I’d welcome the chance. But the last thing I want is to make things harder for her.
Dante, Romeo, and most of the guys in the Famiglia are always packing, but not me. I don’t need a gun. I have my hands and a temper that, once raised, won’t let anyone stand between me and the person I’m going after.
This guy is now at the top of my list, and as far as I’m concerned, this is more than a job that needs doing; it’s personal. I’d hate to be on the receiving end when I finally get hold of him, and that day is coming around quick fucking smart.
I slide my hand into my pocket and pull out Emily’s Chapstick. I swore I’d throw this thing away, yet here I am, still carrying it around like a tool.
I turn it over in my fingers, pretending it’s no big deal, but the truth is, it’s pathetic how this thing has its hooks in me, just like the woman who once owned it. It’s worth a couple of dollars at best, but I treat it like it’s priceless.
Uncapping the lid, I bring it to my nose and inhale the faint caramel scent. It’s faded over time, just like the label, but the sentiment is still as strong as ever.
I push my head back into the seat. “Emily, Emily, Emily,” I mumble under my breath as I recap the Chapstick and toss it in the centre console. This woman is unknowingly sending me around the fucking bend.
I should just drive away, but I don’t. I decide to sit here for a while, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her to ease my mind. It’s a possibility she’s sick, like she claims, but my gut tells me that’s not what’s going on here. I swear, if there’s another mark on her, I’m going to lose my shit.
About ten minutes pass before I get any movement. I straighten in my seat, and my pulse quickens when the front screen door swings open, but it’s him who steps out, not her.
He slams the door with such force that I hear it clearly through my closed window, and my hackles rise. He kicks one of Emily’s flower pots, and when it goes flying over the edge of the porch and lands on the dying grass below, I see red. She loves those damn things.