45. Dominic
Chapter 45
Dominic
I take the stairs two at a time, Connor and Isaac right behind me. The sound of Tatum's cries echoed through the house moments ago. We reach her door, and I knock softly.
"Go away," comes her muffled voice through the wood.
"Not happening, princess." I test the handle - unlocked.
Inside, Tatum sits curled in the window seat, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes are red, and her teardrops have left stains from where her face was dirty. The sight hits me in the gut.
"He doesn't even care," she whispers, not looking at us. "I mean, I knew he didn't, but hearing it..." Her voice cracks.
Isaac moves first, crossing to sit beside her. "Hey, he is a robot. Guy's clearly got shit for brains."
"Seriously Tatum," Connor adds, leaning against the doorframe. "Anyone who's fucking sane would be torn up about losing you. I mean hell, look at us, we didn't know if you were…" he swallows, trying to hide his emotions. "We didn't know if we would find you, and the three of us were fucking distraught."
I remain standing, watching her shoulders shake.
"I wasted years of my life trying to be perfect for him." She wipes roughly at her eyes. "When I could have been with someone who actually cared. God, I'm pathetic."
"You're not pathetic," I say firmly. "You're fucking resilient. Most people would've broken under what he put you through."
She finally looks up at us, mascara tracked down her cheeks. "I just... I thought I was done feeling worthless."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest ache. We're killers, hardened criminals, but seeing her hurting like this makes me want to go back downstairs and make Thomas suffer more.
"You're worth more than that asshole could ever understand," Isaac says quietly.
She gives a watery laugh.
"Plus," Connor grins. "You're way better as a mob accomplice than a first lady anyway."
Moving to sit on her other side, I run a hand through my hair, letting it fall loose from its tie. "You know what the difference is between you and Thomas?"
Tatum looks up at me, those green eyes still wet with tears. "What?"
"You're real. Everything about him is fake - his career, his marriage, his whole damn life." I gesture to her casual clothes, the messy makeup. "But even now, beaten up and crying, you're more genuine than he's ever been."
"He's right," Isaac chimes in. "Thomas wouldn't know authenticity if it bit him in his designer-suited ass."
A small laugh escapes her.
"And here you are," I continue, "infiltrating mob operations, surviving kidnappings, cooking better than professional chefs. You're way too good for some trust fund brat playing at politics."
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just... I spent so long trying to be what he wanted."
"And now you get to be whoever the fuck you want," Isaac says.
"The real question is," Connor adds, pushing off the doorframe, "what do you want?"
She looks between the three of us, something shifting in her expression. "I want... I want to stop pretending. Stop being perfect all the time."
"Then don't," I say simply. "You don't owe him or anyone else that anymore."
"And I…" I can almost see her turn in on herself. "I just want to be something to someone…"
I watch her face, knowing what needs to be said. "When we found the house torn apart..." My voice trails off, remembering that moment of pure panic. "Fuck, I haven't felt fear like that in years."
Isaac shifts closer to her on the window seat. "You've gotten under our skin, you know that? All of us."
"What do you mean?" Tatum looks between us, confusion clear in those green eyes.
"He means we care about you," I say plainly. "More than we should. More than makes sense given what this started as."
"The way you just fit here," Connor gestures around. "Making breakfast, giving us shit about tracking blood on the floors..."
"Making us actually want to come home," Isaac finishes.
I run a hand over my beard, choosing my words carefully. "When we heard you screaming on that phone call, I wanted to burn that whole warehouse down with everyone in it."
"We all did," Conner confirms.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Stay with us."
"What?" Tatum's eyes widen.
"You heard me." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Stay. Here. With us."
Connor moves closer, his usual smirk replaced with something more serious. "All of us."
"The house feels empty without you here," he admits. "Even when you were just our 'hostage', you made it feel like..."
"Home," Isaac finishes.
I watch emotions play across her face - surprise, confusion, hope. "You don't have to answer now. But when this is over, when Thomas is dealt with..." I gesture between all of us. "This could be your home. If you want it."
"No more perfect politician's wife," Connor says. "Just you. With us."
"Cooking whatever the hell you want," Isaac adds. "Wearing yoga pants all day."
"Getting kidnapped by rival mobs," she jokes weakly, but I catch the tremor in her voice.
"Never again," I growl. "No one touches what's ours."
Her breath catches at that. "Yours?"
"Ours," we say almost in unison.
I rise and lift her from the window seat, laying her down softly in bed. "You need sleep. It's been a hell of a day."
Tatum nods, exhaustion clear in the shadows under her eyes. "I don't know if I can."
"Try," Connor says, his voice gentler than usual. "We'll take shifts checking on you."
"What, like guard duty?" A weak smile plays at her lips.
Isaac stands, stretching. "More like making sure you're not having nightmares about those assholes."
"Or sneaking down to confront Thomas," I add, knowing her too well by now.
"I wouldn't-" She stops at our collective raised eyebrows. "Okay, maybe I would."
"Get some rest," I say, moving toward the door. "I'll take first watch."
"We'll be right down the hall if you need anything," Connor adds, following me out.
Isaac lingers for a moment. "Want me to leave the hall light on?"
"I'm not five," she protests, but her voice wavers slightly.
"Light stays on," I decide, not missing how her shoulders relax at that.
We file out, leaving her door cracked just enough to hear if she calls out. The three of us exchange glances, communicating silently. None of us will sleep much tonight, too wired from the rescue, too worried about her.
"I'll wake you for second shift," I tell Connor quietly.
He nods, disappearing into his room while Isaac heads downstairs to check the security feeds one last time.
I settle into the chair outside her door, listening to her soft movements as she gets ready for bed. My hands still itch to go downstairs and make Thomas suffer more, but right now, keeping her safe matters more.