14. Domenico
Chapter 14
Domenico
T he room is too quiet.
It’s the kind of quiet that makes you think something’s coming. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers you’re not alone, even when you are. There are cameras in almost every room, but the moment I arrived, I made sure to spot them all out. I know where he’s watching and where the blind spots are. It’s the only reason I went to her earlier. I needed to see her. To know she’s safe.
Father told me this bastard wasn’t good at running an organization. Now I see just how true that is. It’s as if he’s waiting for an attack. The distrust that runs through this organization should have brought it to its knees years ago. I’m surprised nobody has already killed the asshole.
When the clock strikes in the living room, I glance up to see it’s already two in the morning. The house is enormous, but it’s filled with silence since everyone is in bed, resting. I know where she is, but I can’t go to her. Deep down, all I crave is a taste of her lips, but the moment I try to make my way up those steps, someone will see me. I thought it would be easier, but with the amount of security this bastard has, there will always be a few close calls because I can’t stay away from her.
I sit on the edge of the leather sofa, elbows on knees, staring at the untouched glass of whiskey on the table in front of me. It’s not mine. The Boss left it there hours ago, unfinished like everything else in this place. It’s as if he doesn’t truly live here. Perhaps that’s why he’s looking for a wife, and he’s taken the only woman I will ever love. Only, he doesn’t know I’m about to steal her back.
The living room is grand in a cold, overstated way—black marble floors, gold fixtures, a chandelier too heavy to make sense. Rich people always love to remind you they’re rich. But despite all the opulence, this place still stinks of rot.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck, trying to shake the lingering scent of her from our earlier tryst. I still can’t stop thinking about the sweetness of her flavor. I will never forget it, and I will never let it slip from my grasp.
Lia.
Every nerve in my body is still humming with the memory of her fingers tangled in my hair. Her lips tasted as sweet as the forbidden fruit that she is. The soft, breathless “please” she whispered against my skin before I slipped my fingers deep into the wetness of her body. Tight, needy, and all fucking mine.
I should have never touched her.
And I sure as hell shouldn’t want to do it again.
But there’s no doubt I will. For the rest of my life, I’ll do it over and over again because all I want is her.
The door creaks behind me. I sit up a little straighter, shoulders tensing as I feel a presence enter the room.
Footsteps—heavy, deliberate. Not the Boss. So, it must be one of the guards. I know Ignacio has a limp, and from the movement, it’s definitely someone who doesn’t have some disability.
I don’t turn around until he speaks.
“You always sit in the dark like this?” a deep Italian accent rich with the pronunciation I’ve come to know asks.
I glance over my shoulder, keeping my expression calm and as relaxed as I can. Marco. Broad shoulders, dark hair shaved close to his head, dark eyes that are wary. He should be. I’ve noticed he’s always chewing a toothpick like it gives him a dangerous edge. He’s one of the oldest guys in the crew—respected, but not exactly warm.
“Light bothers my eyes,” I say nonchalantly, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Too much shine in this place.” I wave my hand around at the opulent, yet masculine furnishings.
He grunts and steps farther into the room, boots echoing off the marble. “Boss says you’re new. New York, right?”
“Mm.” I nod once, not offering more.
He chuckles then, a rumbling sound. “You don’t talk much, soldato .”
“Don’t get paid to talk.” I shrug as I turn toward him and face the man who’s making an effort to get to know me. Most of the others have seen me in passing, said their hellos, but nothing more.
My reply earns me a small smirk. He walks over to the cabinet where there are bottles upon bottles of expensive liquor, and pours himself something.
He doesn’t ask if I want one.
He already knows I won’t.
“Funny thing,” he says casually, turning his glass in his hand, tilting the alcohol until it causes the glass to stain, the liquor running down the inside of the tumbler. “Boss doesn’t usually bring in estranei for jobs like this.” He uses the word outsiders , and I know the men must be suspicious of me. But I’m lucky enough to have been raised in this world, so I know what they want to hear.
I keep my expression blank but shrug my shoulders as if I’m not sure how I got the job at all. “Guess I got lucky.”
He lifts his gaze from the drink and stares at me from over the rim of his glass. “Luck’s a funny thing too. Especially around here. La fortuna on è qualcosa in cui crediamo .” He tells me that luck isn’t something they believe in here, and I wonder if it’s within the soldiers of the organization, or if he means in the familia.
I lean back into the couch, stretching out just enough to look relaxed. But every muscle is ready. If he pushes, I’ll need to think faster than I’ve ever lied before.
“I was working security at a nightclub in New York for one of the organizations that run drugs and weapons into the States. Private party. Some idiot came in throwing around the Boss’s name like it was currency he had to barter with. I stepped in and made sure there wasn’t a mouth uttering the same story. Turns out the idiot was actually the nephew of someone important.” I meet his stare, and I don’t blink when I continue, “Boss saw the footage. Said I handled it—clean with no complications. Next thing I know, I’m here.”
It’s not true.
Not even close. But it’s the kind of story that sounds true—messy, quiet, small-time.
Marco watches me for a second too long. Then nods slowly. “ Sì, colpo di fortuna .” He finally agrees it was a lucky break, and I can breathe a sigh of relief… for now.
I shrug a shoulder and mumble, “Like I said.”
He sips his drink again, his gaze still sharp even behind the casual posture. “You like it here?”
I nod. “Pays better than bouncing drunks.”
“And the girl?” His voice turns darker as if he’s about to test me. Thankfully, I’ve grown up in a house of men just like him. I know how to read them, and I know how to pick out what they’re trying to gauge with their questions. He’s talking about Lia, and I need to play it cool.
My stomach tightens, but I don’t blink. “What girl?”
He smirks. He is testing me. “Boss’s fiancée.”
And there it is, the reason he’s in here talking to me. I’m pretty sure the rest of the men have sent him to do the dirty work. Perhaps he lost the bet and now he’s the one in here asking the questions.
I force a small laugh—dry and amused. “There’s nothing about her. I’m here to do a job. Nothing distracts me from keeping my ward’s safe. Professional. I think with my brain, not my dick.”
Okay, that may be the biggest lie I’ve told because when it comes to Lia, I think with every inch of my body. Including my heart.
Marco chuckles while shaking his head as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. The toothpick twitches between his lips. “ Uomo intelligente .” Smart man.
I nod because I believe it. Like I haven’t spent the last five hours reliving every second of Lia’s hands on me and mine exploring her like a map of lands I’d like to conquer. Like I didn’t taste rebellion on her lips and decide I’d rather burn than pretend I didn’t want her.
But I school my expression into a mask of indifference, and eventually, he seems to buy it.
He leans against the back of the couch now, glancing around the room like he’s half-bored.
“You ever think about why you’re really here?” he asks, tone shifting just enough to make me stiffen.
“I’m here to protect the Boss’s family,” I say evenly. When I got the job, I knew I had to play the role perfectly. I know what it entails, so it’s easy… to an extent.
Marco shakes his head. “Not all of us, but I mean, you . A random guy from New York. No connections. No last name that matters. Just shows up one day and gets put on the fiancée’s detail? That’s not luck, mio amico . That’s something else.”
I hold his gaze. “You think I’m a spy?” My voice is solid steel. There is no quiver, no fear, nothing. Just my natural calm tone.
He watches me for a moment, and I wait for him to call me out, but then he says, “I think everyone’s something else until they prove otherwise.”
A long, yet heavy pause stretches between us. I let it settle, slow and heavy. Then I give him the smallest, most dangerous smile I can manage. “Then I guess I better prove myself.”
He watches me a beat longer, then nods. “We’ll see, mio amico .”
With that, he finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the table with a deliberate clink , and walks back toward the door. There are no more words that need to be said. He’s got the answers he needed, or was sent to find.
He doesn’t look back when he leaves.
I wait until I hear his boots vanish down the hall before I let myself breathe again.
My hand is still on my knee, clenched into a fist. My pulse is loud in my ears.
That was too close.
But I meant what I said.
I’ll prove myself. One way or another. I have to keep her safe, and she’s the only thing I care about.
An hour passes. Then two.
The house is quiet as if it’s fallen into darkness. There’s a cloud surrounding the compound, one that follows most of the organizations. It’s as if there are no longer reasons to be awake and alert. Silence eases into its nighttime rhythm—shifting guards, fading voices, the muted clink of wine glasses and distant music from someone’s open door.
I stay in the living room long after I should’ve gone back to my quarters.
I know if I move, I’ll go to her and that could put us both in danger. I never want to do that, but there are so many thoughts racing through my head as I think about what she’s doing. I know she’s alone. Ignacio may be marrying her, but he has no interest in her. I know this because the bastard is far too old for the sweet, innocent rose.
There’s no doubt if I go to her again, I won’t be able to stop.
But the living room door creaks open anyway.
Soft, deliberate.
My heart kicks before I even turn.
She’s barefoot. Wearing a silk robe I’ve never seen before—midnight blue, just barely tied at the waist.
Her hair is still damp like she’s just stepped out of the shower, and her eyes are locked on mine with a quiet kind of defiance.
“I thought you were going to say good night,” she says in that angelic tone that causes the devil on my shoulder to awaken.
I stay seated. “I should have never come to your room earlier. We have to be careful.”
She lifts a brow. “Clearly.”
I glance away. “Your fiancé’s men are asking questions.”
“Let them ask.” Her defiance is cute, but I can hear the fear that’s tainted the tone of her voice.
“I’m not going to get you killed, Lia.” A sigh escapes my lips, and I realize it’s the first time I’m feeling the exhaustion. I’ve been running on adrenaline, hoping to keep her safe, but now I’m too relaxed. It’s dangerous.
She walks toward me slowly, the robe swaying around her legs. “You don’t get to decide that.”
I stand up too fast. My voice comes out harsher than I intend. “I do if it means keeping you alive. What is it you want, Lia?”
She stops in front of me. Her eyes wide, tears making the irises glitter in the dim light. “No one ever asked me what I wanted. Until you.”
My throat tightens. I reach for something—logic, duty, anything to stop me from drowning in the fire in her eyes.
But I can’t.
“I don’t need saving,” she says softly.
“I know,” I whisper. “But I still want to try.”
The distance between us vanishes. Her hand presses flat against my chest. I cover it with mine before I even think about it. We aren’t hidden here. Thankfully, there are no cameras in this room or I would have walked out before she had time to enter.
“I’ve lied to a lot of people, Lia,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them. “But every time I touch you… that is the truth.”
Her mouth parts slightly, eyes shining. “My life has never been easy, Nico. I’m the prisoner my father made me. Even back when I was a teenager, I used to dream about running away.”
I nod once because I used to consider the same thing. My voice is hoarse when I finally answer her, “You made me want to stay.”
And just like that, I’m lost again.
She leans up, and I meet her halfway.
The kiss isn’t frantic this time. It’s slow. Reverent. Like we both know what it means. Like we both know this could be the last one.
When she finally pulls back, her fingers trace my jaw. “Don’t disappear tonight.”
“I can’t stay,” I whisper. “Not long.”
She nods. “Then stay for now.”
And so, I do as we make our way to her bedroom.