Chapter 21
Emily
It’s been four days since I moved into Dominic’s house, and today is my first shift back at work. The bruises on my face are still visible, but the edges are starting to yellow. Thankfully, makeup hides the worst of them.
When I entered the kitchen dressed in my uniform this morning, Dominic frowned as he eyed me from head to toe. “Do you think it’s a good idea to go back to work so soon?” he asked, but I just shrugged.
I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t keep sponging off him. The last thing I wanted was for him to start resenting me the way I resented Mick.
“I need the money,” I’d told him.
“I have plenty of that to go around,” he’d countered, but I ignored that comment.
I’ve always stood on my own two feet and paid my way, so I hate feeling like a charity case.
More furniture showed up over the past couple of days. A new lounge, a dining table, more barstools, all top quality, the kind of things that only someone with money could afford, just like my bedroom suite.
We went from having hardly anywhere to sit to plenty of options. The place is finally starting to look like a real home, and it makes me wonder how Dominic survived for so long with the bare minimum. No real comfort, just walls and emptiness.
I even ducked out for a break today and picked up a few throw pillows that were on sale. It’s not much, but I hope he doesn’t mind me adding a little something of my own.
The walls are still bare, but in time, I might get to do something about that as well. If I’m there long enough that is.
Last night, we got to sit down at the dining table and have our first meal like a real family, not that we’re family, but it felt nice. Despite now having plenty of chairs, Lil’ Peach still chose to eat perched on Dominic’s lap.
There’s something truly special about their relationship, especially now that I know some of their backstory. It took every bit of strength I had not to burst into tears when Dominic opened up a little about his past.
Underneath all that gruff, he’s a good guy, and slowly, I’m starting to realise that moving in with him might not have been such a reckless mistake after all. I barely know him, yet he makes me feel safer than I have in a long time.
The lunch rush is finally over, so while it’s quiet, I use the time to wipe down all the tables and get them set for the dinner service. I’m lost in my own head, letting myself relax for the first time all day, when the front door suddenly swings open.
My head snaps up, and my heart drops the moment I see two of Mick’s bikie brothers from the Steel Reapers standing near the front counter.
One of their names is Razor; he’s the club’s enforcer.
His leather jacket is patched with blood-red stitching emphasising the point, but it’s the menacing glare he’s shooting my way that makes my hands tremble.
His fingers brush the grip of the knife at his belt, slow and deliberate—a silent threat.
The other man is a stranger. He’s tall, broad, and moving with a predator’s calm. His dark eyes are also locked on me. They’re assessing and unreadable, as if he’s already deciding how this encounter will end.
My hands freeze on the cloth, my chest pounds, and a cold knot of fear tightens in my stomach. I force myself to keep moving, to act normal, but my mind races. Did Mick send them here to force me back home?
That thought makes bile rise to the back of my throat. I have no idea why they’d visit me, but one thing is clear; they’re not here for the food.
I pull back my shoulders, clear my throat, and begrudgingly start moving towards them. When I finally find my voice, I’m going to make sure whatever I say will be loud enough for Massimo to hear in the kitchen.
My gaze briefly flickers to the cutout as I pass, and I feel a tinge of relief when I find Massimo slightly bent forward, glaring in the direction of the two bikies.
“Can I help you?” I hear myself ask, stopping a few metres from them. I’m not stupid enough to get within grabbing distance.
“Don’t play dumb with us, bitch,” the guy I don’t recognise growls. “Where is he?”
I gasp at his harsh words. Until I met Mick, nobody had ever talked to me that harshly before. “Where is who?” I ask. Are they looking for Dominic?
“Muzzle,” Razor snarls, taking a step towards me.
I rear back slightly. Why would they be looking for Mick? And then my stomach drops. Has he fled? Did Dominic do something to him?
“Mick? I-I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to us, Emily,” Razor says in an eerily calm voice as he takes another step towards me. I flinch when he reaches for a lock of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. “You live with the man, although I’m not sure why. I’ve always thought you could do better.”
“I-I don’t know where he is,” I stammer. “I moved out days ago.”
“Why?” he asks as his eyes skim suspiciously over my face, and I know he sees the bruises still visible through the makeup. Only a blind man wouldn’t be able to.
His eyes linger on the fading marks, and something sharp flickers behind them. It’s not sympathy, it’s more like calculation.
He leans in closer, his rank breath brushing over my cheek as he speaks.
His voice remains controlled, but there’s a clear threat behind his words.
“Emily, I need you to think very carefully. Muzzle has something of ours, and we want it back. If you’re hiding or covering for him, that makes you a problem.
My problem. And when people become my problem, I have no choice but to deal with them. ”
My pulse spikes. “I-I’m telling you the truth.”
Razor studies me for a long moment. Then he hooks a finger under my chin and lifts it just enough to force me to meet his eyes.
A cold weight settles in my stomach when he pulls out his knife, waving it around in front of my face.
His tone isn’t loud, but his words are a warning.
“If you lie to me, I’ll be forced to make you understand exactly how unwise that move was.
You’re such a pretty little thing, so it would be a shame if I had to mess up that face of yours.
” He releases my chin and straightens. “Now where the fuck is he?”
Before I can answer, heavy footsteps approach behind me. Razor’s head tilts slightly, just enough to acknowledge the sound, but he doesn’t bother to look, but I do.
Massimo steps into view with his two kitchen hands flanking him. Their aprons are still on, and each one grips a large kitchen knife like they didn’t bother putting their tools down before following him out.
But it’s Massimo who really freezes the breath in my lungs. He isn’t holding a knife. He’s wielding a gun.
The matte black of it looks almost casual in his hand, like something he’s more familiar with than the pasta he serves our clientele daily. His eyes flicker over me, then Razor, then back to me again. They’re weighing, judging … calculating.
“Come here, cara (Dear),” Massimo says, keeping his gaze trained on the bikies as he speaks.
“Now, Emily,” he adds a little firmer when I don’t obey, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move.
Massimo steps forward and grasps my elbow, tugging me back towards him.
“Go to the kitchen and call Dominic,” he whispers, gently shoving me in that direction.
My legs feel like jelly, but I somehow manage to do as he asks. My hands are trembling as I snag my bag from the office and fumble inside for my phone.
My fingers finally close around my mobile, but they’re shaking so badly I almost drop it.
I manage to press the screen to wake it, and I can still hear the low rumble of voices coming from the dining room. Razor’s words sound clipped and irritated, but Massimo’s remain calm in an unnerving way, which tells me he’s anything but.
I step back into the kitchen, ducking low behind the prep counter. Massimo has the gun raised now. It’s aimed squarely at the bikies.
Their hands are up, but the scowls etched across their faces make it clear they’re far from pleased.
Massimo runs a restaurant owned by the Famiglia.
He’s done so for many years, but I’ve only ever seen him as a chef or my boss.
Now I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually a mobster as well.
He carries the same controlled, measured presence as Dominic and the others.
Any normal person wouldn’t stay this calm with a gun in hand and two angry bikies staring them down.
I squat behind the stainless-steel prepping bench as I wait for the call to connect. “Dominic,” I whisper down the line as soon as he answers.
“Em … is everything okay?”
“Some of Mick’s bikie friends are here looking for him. They—”
“Fuck. I’m on my way,” he grumbles, cutting me off before I get a chance to say anything else.
I stare down at the screen, and my breath hitches when the call disconnects. For a second, all I hear is my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
I risk another quick glance over the top of the bench. Massimo hasn’t moved. The gun is now aimed directly at Razor’s head.
“I’m going to count to three,” Massimo says. “The way I see it, you’ve got two choices: you either walk out of here, or you get carried out in a body bag.”
Holy crap.
I duck back down, my heart hammering so hard it vibrates through my ribs. Massimo’s voice rolls through the kitchen, calm but cold enough to freeze the air.
“One.”
I suck in a breath and hold it.
“You obviously have no idea who we are,” Razor’s sidekick barks.
Is he kidding? Does he not know who owns this restaurant? I’m sure I mentioned it to Mick. Would they have still come in here and thrown their weight around if they did?
“Two,” Massimo says, not bothering to acknowledge what he said.
A tense moment stretches out. I can’t see Razor’s face from here, but I can almost feel his pride fighting with his survival instinct. I’m sure Mick would do the same in this situation. He and his mates have always acted like they run the world.
Massimo’s voice drops lower, steadier, as if he’s done this a hundred times. “Three.”
I clench my eyes closed and place my hands over my ears, in preparation for the gunshot, but it doesn’t come.
“Fine,” Razor spits. “But this isn’t over. Tell Emily I’ll be seeing her.”
“Go near her again, and it’ll be the last move you ever make,” Massimo warns.
I’m pretty sure it was only a handful of minutes before the place was swarmed by the Mafia …
Dante, Dominic, Romeo, and some of their men, but it felt like an eternity.
Every second stretched tight as my chest rose and fell with a nervous rhythm that wouldn’t quit.
I needed my inhaler, but I felt paralysed and unable to move.
Massimo stayed where he was, gun still in hand, guarding the door until the troops arrived.
“Where is she?” I heard Dominic bark as soon as he entered La Riviera, and a second later, he was crouched down in front of me, smoothing his hand over my hair as his eyes scanned my face. “Shh,” he murmured in a low, gravelly voice. “You’re safe now. Nobody’s going to hurt you, Em.”
I wanted to believe him, wanted to let the tension drain from my limbs, but my hands were still trembling, and my chest felt tight and constricted, like the air had been squeezed out of me.
But I didn’t have to say anything to Dominic; as soon as he realised I was struggling to breathe, he sprang into action, demanding Massimo tell him where to find my bag so he could retrieve my inhaler.
I’m now sitting in the dining room nursing a cup of tea that Dominic made for me after the Ventolin kicked in, allowing me to breathe easier.
Dante has closed the restaurant for the rest of the day, and even though the door is locked and two guards stand by it, Dominic has refused to leave my side.
The rest of the men are in the kitchen talking. About what, I have no clue, but I’m guessing some kind of retaliation. Because that’s what these types of people do. Mafia men with their rules, bikies with their grudges, all of them speaking a language written in threats and answered with violence.
“Where’s Peach?” I ask.
“With Lucia. She came over to check out the furniture and see if I needed anything else,” he grumbles with an eyeroll. “She was there when you called, so she took Peach home with her.”
“That’s good,” I say, forcing out a smile.
“You feeling better?”
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. “Dom … can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
I look at him, trying to read his face, because this has been weighing on my mind ever since the bikies asked me where Mick was. “Did you have anything to do with his disappearance?”
Dominic’s jaw tightens, and for a heartbeat, his eyes flicker away before meeting my gaze again with that controlled calm he always manages.
“Who?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s being deliberately obtuse.
“Mick.”
He blows out a long breath, running his hand down his face. “Right now, the most important thing is that you’re safe. That’s all you need to worry about.”
I frown. “So that’s not a no?”
He stands, cracking his neck from side to side as his hands open and close by his sides. He’s clearly uptight. Is that because of what just happened, or is it more to do with my line of questioning?
“Do you want another one of those?” he asks, gesturing to the mug in my hand.
“No.” My eyes bore into him, pleading for an answer. I need to know. I don’t know why, but I do.
“He made bad choices, Em, and those choices came with consequences.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Consequences … like what?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
Dominic’s eyes darken, and for a brief moment, I see the weight of whatever it is he’s carrying. The burden of knowing what I can’t.
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t soften. Instead, he leans closer. “Some things,” he says slowly, reaching out to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear, “you don’t get to undo.”
I don’t even know what that means, but my head is pounding so bad that I don’t have the energy right now to figure it out.
“I-I don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Dominic doesn’t answer right away. He just lets his gaze linger on me unyieldingly, like he’s weighing every heartbeat, every flicker of fear in my expression.
“You don’t need to understand, Emily,” he finally says. “Not right now. Sometimes the truth doesn’t make things better.”
He may be right, but sometimes the unknown is worse.