Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ROSALIA
I wake up to the soft, filtered sunlight cutting through the heavy drapes, my hand automatically reaching across the cool, empty sheets beside me.
The bed is empty.
Dominic is already gone.
As usual.
I sit up, letting out a long yawn as I stretch my aching limbs. Yesterday’s whirlwind of tension—the intense photoshoot, the sharp bite of his words, and that bloody scene in the dimly lit building—flashes through my mind like a movie reel.
My heart gives a small, familiar tug, but I push the thoughts down before they can take root.
A loud knock echoes at the bedroom door.
I pull the silk robe around my shoulders, padding over to open it. One of the young house maids stands in the hallway, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kane," she says softly. "Helena sent me to inform you that breakfast is ready. She’d like you to join her downstairs."
"Thank you. Tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes," I reply with a gentle smile.
Once the door clicks shut, I move through the motions of my morning routine. I brush my teeth, step into a warm, steaming shower to wash off the lingering haze of sleep, and pick out a simple, elegant dress.
As I make my way down the grand staircase, a small, ridiculous part of me hopes to see Dominic sitting at the head of the long dining table, brooding over his morning coffee. But when I step into the sunlit room, the chair at the head of the table is completely empty.
It’s just Helena, sitting comfortably with a mug in hand, reading through a stack of papers.
"Good morning, Rosalia," Helena greets warmly, offering me a soft, reassuring smile as I take a seat across from her.
"Good morning, Helena," I respond, settling in.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask, reaching for the carafe to pour myself some fresh orange juice.
"I slept wonderfully, thank you," Helena replies, setting her papers aside and taking a slow sip of her coffee. She leans back, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, playful curiosity. "And how was the photoshoot yesterday? I heard the photographer was practically singing your praises."
At the mere mention of yesterday, a sudden, scorching wave of heat rushes straight to my face. My cheekbones burn with a deep, furious blush as memories of Dominic’s heavy hands, his filthy whispers against my ear, and his closeness flood back all at once.
Helena catches the sudden change in my complexion immediately. A broad, knowing smile spreads across her lips, and she gives me a subtle, teasing wink.
"Ah," she chuckles softly, buttering a slice of toast. "That good, hmm?"
"It was... eventful," I manage to choke out, taking a very long sip of my juice to hide behind the glass.
Thankfully, Helena doesn't push the topic any further, sparing me from absolute mortification. As we finish our breakfast, the conversation shifts into an easy, comfortable rhythm. We chat aimlessly about the beautiful weather outside, the size of the estate, and the small, quiet routine she’s kept here over the years.
I actually feel myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders slowly melting away over light chatter and warm coffee.
After breakfast, I decide to take a walk around the grounds, letting the crisp morning air clear the fog from my head.
As I stroll down the stone pathways, I hate to admit it, but a small part of me is looking for Dominic. Last night spiraled out of control so fast. Between the electric heat at the photoshoot and the horror at the warehouse, we barely had a chance to breathe, let alone talk.
Truthfully, it wasn't even the violent scene that put me off.
Maybe it says something twisted about me that seeing a man executed in cold blood didn't leave me trembling in fear.
But this is the world I was born into. I have zero delusions about who Dominic Kane is or the brutal empire he commands. I knew what I was signing up for.
What actually stung was the way he snapped at me afterward—cold, harsh, and completely dismissive. All he had to do was apologize for barking at me like a drill sergeant.
Lost in my thoughts, a faint, high-pitched whimper pulls me back to reality. I stop near the edge of the manicured lawn where the high hedges meet the stone perimeter wall. Tucked into a narrow shadow beneath the bushes is a stray dog.
It’s filthy, caked in mud, and shuddering with fear. As I step closer, I notice a nasty scrape along its side, raw and bleeding. There is no way I can just walk away and ignore it.
I drop to my knees, lowering myself to the damp grass, and hold out a gentle hand. "Hey there, little one," I whisper softly.
The dog hesitates, its ears pinned back, before sniffing my fingers.
Satisfied that I'm not a threat, its tail begins to thump against the dirt in eager thuds.
It scoots out from under the bush, nuzzling its wet snout directly into my palm, practically vibrating with happiness at the sudden attention.
A soft, genuine smile breaks across my face as I gently stroke behind its floppy ears.
Filled with a sudden wave of warmth and affection, I carefully scoop the small, shivering animal into my arms, holding it close to my chest so it doesn't hurt its injured side.
I walk back into the house and hurry upstairs to our bedroom before any of the guards or staff can spot me and spook the nervous dog.
Once safely behind the closed door, I carry the stray straight into the lavish master bathroom.
I fill the deep tub with lukewarm water and gently wash away the layers of dirt, caked mud, and dried blood.
The dog is surprisingly calm, leaning into my touch and licking my wrists in gratitude as I carefully clean its wound.
When clean, and smelling like expensive soap, I look around for something soft to dry it with. Spotting a pair of Dominic’s dark, folded lounge shorts on the stool, I don't hesitate to grab them, wrapping the damp dog up like a tiny, cozy burrito.
After a few minutes of warm strokes, the dog's eyelids grow heavy. It curls into a tight, soft ball right on the plush rug beside the bed and falls fast asleep.
I step back, my heart practically melting at the sight. I am keeping this dog. No debate, no negotiation.
I make a mental note to ask Dominic if we can go shopping—or send someone out—for all the essential dog gear: a soft bed, a sturdy collar... and what else? A leash? Dog food? Bowls? Some chew toys? I’ve never owned a pet in my entire life, but a strange, thrilling wave of excitement washes over me.
I want this so badly.
Ensuring the bedroom door is securely clicked shut so the little guy doesn't wander off, I head back downstairs to hunt down my husband and break the news.
I run right into Helena at the bottom of the grand staircase, and she’s the exact person I need to see.
"What has gotten you looking so breathless and excited?" She says, a soft laugh in her voice as she looks at my flushed face.
I can't help the small giggle that slips past my lips. "Where is Dominic?"
Helena hesitates for a split second, her eyes searching my face. "He's out in the back, in the private garage." Seeing the blank look on my face, she offers a gentle nod. "Come on, I'll show you."
I follow her out the rear doors and across the landscaped yard toward a separate, secluded structure.
As we draw nearer, the metallic tinkling of tools hitting steel echoes through the morning air.
Helena stops at the wide, arched entrance, giving me a quiet nod before turning to walk back toward the main house.
I step inside alone, my eyes widening as I take in the massive, polished space filled with row after row of pristine, classic vintage cars. Every single one looks like a collector's dream.
How rich is Dominic, really?
This collection alone must have cost an absolute fortune.
Tracing the metallic clinking to the far side of the bay, I spot a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the chassis of a sleek, dark muscle car.
Without thinking twice, I use the toe of my shoe to nudge his ankle.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic slides out from underneath the vehicle on a creeper board, his movement fast, fluid, and dangerous. His eyes are burning with pure, unadulterated fury—ready to rip apart whoever dared interrupt him—but the very instant his sharp gaze lands on me, the fire dims.
The harsh edge in his expression softens just a fraction, and that tiny shift makes my heart do a violent somersault in my chest.
Remembering last night, I immediately pull my armor back up. I fold my arms tightly across my chest, tilting my chin to keep up the cold, standoffish attitude from yesterday.
Covered in black grease, with a smudge of dirt across his strong jawline, Dominic slowly rises to his feet, towering over me.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.
My heart gives a sudden, painful squeeze, a sharp sting of rejection telling me he doesn't want me near him. But when I snap my head up to look at him, I realize I’ve completely misread the room.
His grease-stained hand goes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders shifting awkwardly. His dark, sharp gaze flickers around the garage, looking anywhere and everywhere except directly at me.
Wait.
Is Dominic Kane nervous?
He looks genuinely flustered, visibly uncomfortable at being caught out here in a sweat-stained shirt, stripped of his power, caught in the middle of something so remarkably personal and ordinary.
As much as I want to hold onto my anger from last night, watching this terrifying boss look like an awkward boy caught with his favorite toy makes the resentment evaporate into thin air.
I drop my crossed arms to my sides, my posture relaxing.
"Your vintage collection is a dream," I say, letting my gaze sweep over the polished chrome around us. "I love all these cars."
Dominic's eyes widen, a flash of genuine surprise washing over his sharp features as he looks at me with something that feels like fresh eyes.
"Really?" he asks, his tone cautious, almost disbelieving. "You love them?"