Chapter 4 Dominic
Chapter four
Dominic
“Leave it to me,” I deadpan, already reaching for my coat. Matteo’s face twitches with a question he doesn’t dare ask. Why am I going to investigate an operation between three rival gangs?
Matteo’s surprise is understandable. I never get involved in trivial issues such as this. But today I want to have fun.
“What about the other meeting, Boss?” Matteo cocks an eyebrow at me, his hands still resting on his sides. It is obvious he means the more important meeting, but what thrill will I get from that meeting?
Sitting with a bunch of boring liars rehearsing the same line to court my favor doesn’t particularly interest me. And today I’d rather choke on the barrel of my own gun than entertain it.
“Reschedule.”
As I leave the mansion, I head toward my car and climb in, watching the escorts from the rearview mirror trail behind me.
Isabella. She’s all I can think about nowadays. How, like a good girl, she’d worn the less revealing clothes I ordered. How her face turned too indifferent when she mentioned her father, which could only mean she was trying to mask how she truly feels about him.
I should wonder about the dynamics of their relationship. But that’s none of my business. Securing the contract is my sole focus.
But I still haven’t decided if I want to fuck her or fuck her up.
With that, I fist my hand on my thigh and anticipate chaos. Minutes later, I’m perched on the rooftop, rifle in hand, and watching the scene play out through the lens of my weapon. They’re in an uncompleted building a few feet away from the rooftop.
The three gang leaders sit along a round table, a briefcase before each of them. There are twenty guards scattered asymmetrically around the table.
Manuel, with the bald head and neck tattoo, moves first, opening his briefcase to reveal a stack of cash.
There’s a smug smile on his face…as if he’s the star of the show.
The other, unfamiliar guy’s eyes widen with relief…
not greed. Means he’s desperate for money.
Then he opens his briefcase. White, crystalline substances grace my vision. Drugs.
I take in his open palm on the table. I furrow my brows when I see that it’s not rough. Not the callous pattern of a gunman or even a knife fighter. Definitely a pen. He’s representing someone. I file that away and assess the third person.
Santino is seated like the rest. He hasn’t opened his case yet, but there’s something in his gaze. He watches the other two talk with a look I know too well. Mistrust.
Somehow, he doesn’t speak much. Just glances between the other two as if he’s criticizing. But that’s not even the best part.
His finger twitches every time Manuel moves, and not just any finger, his trigger finger; he’s waiting for a slip up… ready for anything.
Perfect victim. I cock my gun.
I stopped doing business with Manuel and Santino since they became sloppy and greedy. And they haven’t retaliated. Not even said a word.
Usually, I wouldn’t be bothered by three low-life men’s gang meeting. But if they’re willing to break bread together after a period of silence, it only means the gangs have a larger agenda.
Somehow, a gut feeling tells me it’s my mafia. But I won’t let their plan, whatever it is, manifest.
Locking my target, I press the trigger. Not to kill. Not yet.
The bullet breaks the window and hits Santino on the shoulder, not enough to kill…but enough to set him off.
I sit back and watch with a smile as chaos unfolds. Just as I calculated, Santino’s gun is out before his mind can catch up as he fires a shot at Manuel. Manuel bleeds from his stomach, but his guards quickly cover him and fight back. Then bullets start to rain on all sides.
No one will suspect an outside hand. The seed of distrust I’ve sown with one bullet could fester into a lifelong rival war.
Watching men unravel is a finer pleasure than watching them die.
A vibration in my pocket claims my attention, causing me to look away from my masterpiece. My face quickly sets into a frown as Matteo’s name comes up on the screen.
“What?” I grunt.
“Boss, una delle nostre spedizioni è scomparso (one of our shipments has gone missing),” he answers hastily.
Fuck! A surge of anger rushes through me. Without wasting time, I pack my rifle and slowly move toward the staircase.
“…the shipment carrying guns,” he continues. “Our men were attacked, cinque furono uccisi (five were killed).”
My hands instinctively clench into fists, fingers itching to claim lives with my bare hands this time. “Chi oserebbe (Who would dare)?” I snarl into the phone.
“I just got the word, Capo. I’m working on getting more information.”
“Screen the men, draw out a list of enemies,” I snap, taking the steps in twos with heavy breathing. “Every fucking one of them. The crew on duty last night, every bastard who has tried to claw at this empire.”
If there’s a rat, I’ll have him dangling from his tongue before the day ends. And if it’s the Russians, I’ll show them what it means to move in silence.
Gli farò passare l’inferno (I’ll give them hell).
***
The ride to the mansion is a blur, and I jump out of the car once the tires screech to a halt. I’m heading inside when I catch sight of the maid I assigned to Isabella rounding a corner toward the garden.
How comfortable she’s made herself. I stride quickly toward the garden with one aim in mind.
“Do you think the concept of forgiveness is fair?” Isabella’s faint voice floats to my ears when I’m almost there.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” the maid replies after a moment of silence. Good. She’s not here for opinions.
I round the corner and take in the sight before me. She’s in a long, flowing gown with an open book in hand, and her glasses perched atop her head. Her hair is in a messy ponytail with a few tendrils that perfectly frame her face.
The sight makes me pause, then irritation crawls up my chest. I shouldn’t be staring.
She tucks a strand behind her ear and angles her head at the maid. “Sharon, did Dominic by any chance give you rules not to talk to me?”
In that moment, I make myself known, my hands tossed casually into my pockets. Color drains from the maid’s face when she sees me there. Her eyes widen, she bows, then stumbles out of my presence. I focus my gaze on Isabella.
“Speak of the devil,” she scoffs, facing the opposite direction, her ponytail jumping behind her.
My jaw clenches, eyes dropping to the phone between the pages of her book. “Your phone.”
She’s now a part of this house. So when everyone gets checked, she does, too.
She turns and eyes me, somehow the absence of her glasses shielding her eyes gives her a different kind of beauty. A more elevated kind of beauty that makes her green eyes shine with…innocence?
I briefly wonder if she knows she looks this…different, without glasses, or if low self-esteem makes her shy away from the attention she’d otherwise get from this…look? Or why I find both circumstances fucking attractive?
“I’m wondering, do you ever smile, or is your face always like this?”
And I hate that I notice the tiniest details as she stands.
Her different shade of pink lipstick, her perfectly manicured fingers and the deep impression of her hand against the page of the book.
Which means she’s been on that page for a long time…
probably thinking. Maybe that’s where her question about forgiveness came from.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
“You know, you don’t have to.” She trains her gaze on a flower as if deep in thought. “You just have to ask nicely,” she says, gaze drifting to me as she shrugs her shoulders.
Her shrug is too casual for the fury in my chest. She should know men like me don’t play nice.
“Hand me the fucking phone, Isabella,” I grind out, extending my hand, my patience already wearing thin.
And she does something I least expect. She shoves the phone behind herself and takes a few steps backwards.
The seriousness in her eyes sets a spark of amusement in mine.
“No.” She tries to fold her lips into a stern pout, but it comes off as anything but that.
I scoff. What is this childishness? I briefly wonder if she’s always this goddamn difficult at the Rossis.
My jaw tightens as I grab her wrist and tug her forward until she collides with my chest. She lets out a startled gasp but those fucking eyes still burn with challenge.
“Così testardo (So stubborn).”
I take the phone out of her hand, but still keep a firm grasp on her other wrist. She tries to struggle but it only makes things worse. Her soft body keeps gliding against mine, and it sets a hungry fire inside me.
Her little moans of struggle aren’t helping either. My dick strains painfully against the teeth of my zipper. Fuck!
“Stay still.” I let out a hard breath and she freezes. Whether she feels my boner or not, I don’t care. The pulsing need to feel her bare skin against mine dulls, and I focus on the phone.
Matteo has already tapped her phone, so we can listen to all her conversations whenever we want. I’m here for the messages… even though I know she’s not privy to the workings of my mafia. Like the last time, the phone unlocks when I slide it open.
Still no password.
Navigating to the messages, I check for any suspicious ones, but there’s nothing. Just a few sneaky rendezvous from Elena and barely anything from Melanie.
I minimize the page and am about to return the phone when I see her notes app is also open, and minimized. So I click on it.
Hey Julian,
Surprisingly, my day was pretty good today…
I don’t even bother to read it till the end as anger surges through my chest.
“Who the fuck is this?” My fingers quake as I turn the screen to her.
For a second, silence hangs heavy between us. My heartbeat is oddly erratic, pounding in my ears, as the urge to kill overwhelms me.
Her face turns crimson, and I can feel my body vibrate. She quickly snatches the phone from my hand, holding it against her chest, and takes advantage of my weakened hold to step back.
There’s a nervous glimmer in her now bespectacled eyes as it lands anywhere but on me. Fuck.
“Answer me, goddammit!” My voice thunders through the garden.
With every second she wastes not speaking, gruesome images of what I’d do to that bastard barrel through my mind.
“I-it is not…” she trails off, fear swimming in her eyes. “It’s just an imaginary person who listens when no one else does.”
My breathing falters, but it doesn’t stop the rage inside me. I stride forward, eyes narrowing as I back her against the swing’s frame. My hand braces the side of her head. She swallows thickly, drawing my attention to her slender throat.
Before my mind catches up, I place my thumb on the side of her neck, dragging it to her chin before wrapping my hand around her neck loosely. Perhaps I shouldn’t be doing this, but there’s this overwhelming urge to brand myself into her mind more than any Julian ever could.
She clenches her eyes shut, and that annoys me even more.
“Look at me.” My voice comes out as a growl, which slowly turns into a rumble when she obliges.
“In this mansion…” I lean in close enough to taste her shaky breath. So close she can feel the heat of my words. “I’m your husband, your Don. The only man who has the right to your thoughts.”
She lets out a small whimper, the sound doing nothing to contain my arousal.
“If you ever try to give another man even a piece of you,” my voice reduces to a deadly growl, “I’ll destroy him in ways so deadly even the devil would flinch, and then I’ll make you watch until you understand that both your body and your mind...every fucking inch of you, is mine.”
Her eyes widen, every trace of defiance gone.
“Am I clear?” Sliding my other hand down, I grip her waist tighter, pressing her soft body flush against my hardness.
She nods shakily. I release my grip on her neck.
“Say it.”
“Y-yes.” She whimpers.
Good.
Then, with great restraint, I step back and watch her scamper out of my presence, wobbling once before she regains balance. And I’m left with my thoughts.
Thoughts of what the fuck I just did…and why?