Chapter 10 #2
"I do," I nod softly, stepping a little closer to the sleek Dodge Charger. "How do you even know how to fix them?"
A slow, hesitant smile touches the corner of his lips, carrying a rare, almost shy quality that I've never seen on him before.
"I've always loved messing around with engines, ever since I was a kid," he admits quietly, looking down at his dark-stained hands.
"It's just something that comes naturally to me. "
"Wow," I whisper, nodding as I look around the quiet sanctuary again, seeing him in a completely new light.
“You really like it?” he asks again, as if he needs to hear it one more time just to be sure.
“Yes,” I say softly, meeting his dark, intense gaze head-on.
He clears his throat, shifting his weight as a familiar guard begins to creep back up. “You’re not surprised a murderer has such an ordinary hobby?”
I frown, tilting my head. “What?”
Dominic rolls his eyes, a bitter, defensive edge touching his tone. “Last night. When you saw me with that rat... you were terrified. Is that why you shut down and wouldn't look at me.”
A sudden, breathless laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. “You idiot. That’s not why at all.”
He frowns, completely thrown off, his brows drawing together in utter confusion.
“I closed off because you were unbelievably rude to me,” I tell him, setting the record straight. “I didn’t like the way you barked at me, especially with your men standing right there. It pissed me off.”
Dominic just blinks at me, completely speechless, processing the fact that I wasn't repulsed by his violence—just offended by his terrible manners.
I fold my arms, raising a brow. “Well? What are you waiting for? Apologize right now.”
The terrifying mob boss doesn't hesitate for a single second. “I’m sorry,” he says instantly, the words falling out of his mouth with pure, unscripted sincerity.
I give him a satisfied nod. “Good.”
Then, breaking into a bright, wicked grin, I step closer to him. “Now that we’ve cleared that up... I have an announcement to make.”
"What announcement?" he asks, his dark eyes narrowing with immediate suspicion.
"I found a stray dog outside in the garden," I say, beaming. "He was injured, so I cleaned him up, wrapped him in your shorts, and put him in our bed.”
“My what?” He growls.
I smother a laugh. “Your shorts. We’re keeping him.”
"No." The word leaves his mouth faster than a bullet. "Absolutely not. Get it out."
"Dominic, no! He's hurt and terrified, and he has nowhere else to go—"
"I don't care," he cuts in, folding his arms tightly across his chest, the uncompromising boss returning in full force. "I hate pets. They're loud, they destroy property, and they stink. We are not keeping a stray dog in this house, Rosalia."
"I'll be the one taking care of him!" I fire back, stepping right into his personal space, refusing to back down. "You won't have to pick up a single thing or feed him once. I will handle everything."
Dominic tilts his head, a dark, dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? Have you ever cared for a pet before in your life?"
I pause, my tongue catching in my throat for a fraction of a second.
He catches the hesitation instantly. "That's what I thought," he scoffed, crossing his arms tighter. "You have no idea what you're doing. The dog is going to a shelter or outside the gates. End of discussion."
"It is not the end of the discussion!" My voice rises, my chest heaving with indignation. "I saved him, Dominic! He was bleeding in the bushes! He trusts me, and I am not letting your cold, heartless attitude throw him out into the street!"
"It's a stray, Rosalia!"
"He's mine!" I snap, glaring at him with every ounce of stubbornness in my body.
He glares right back, a battle of wills locking us in silence for three agonizing seconds. When I realize he isn't budging, the frustration boils over.
"Fine," I say quietly, dropping my arms. "Be a heartless monster. See if I care."
I turn on my heel, taking a step toward the garage exit.
"Wait," he grunts behind me.
I pause, but I don't turn around.
A long, heavy sigh blows past his lips, followed by a low mutter that sounds like a curse. "Fine. Yes. You can keep the damn dog."
A triumphant, dazzling smile breaks across my face as I turn back to face him.
Dominic rolls his eyes hard toward the ceiling, looking up as if asking the universe why he’s in this position. "But if that beast ruins a single piece of furniture," he warns, pointing a grease-stained finger at me, "it's sleeping in the garage or I’ll throw him out to the wolves."
"He is not a beast," I say, shooting him a defensive look. "And for your information, his name is Dom."
Dominic’s forehead deepens into a massive, horrified frown. "You're about to fucking piss me off, Rosalia. Why the hell would you name him Dom?"
Gosh.
He’s so cute and funny when he’s furious over absolute nonsense.
I swallow back a bubble of laughter, fighting with everything in me to keep a straight face. "Well, it was either that or Lane."
He scowls at me, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. "You know what? I've changed my mind. We're throwing the damned dog out!"
I burst into full, uncontrolled laughter, the sound ringing off the high metal beams of the garage.
Before I can give him a witty response, the sound of fast, hurried footsteps echoes near the entrance. A young maid scurries into the bay, breathlessly holding up my buzzing phone.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, sir, ma'am," she stammers, bowing her head slightly. "Mrs. Kane, you left your phone on the dining table after breakfast. It's been ringing non-stop."
"Thank you," I say, stepping forward to take it from her hands.
I glance down at the screen. The caller ID shows my lawyer’s name. Swiping to accept the call, I bring the phone to my ear as the maid quietly exits.
"Rosalia," my lawyer's voice cuts through the speaker, crisp and urgent. "Dante has just formally requested an emergency meeting today at one o'clock. His legal team insists it's non-negotiable."
I check the thin watch on my wrist. It's already almost noon.
"I understand. I'll be there," I tell him before hanging up.
I turn back toward Dominic, the playful atmosphere instantly evaporating, replaced by the heavy reality of the family war waiting outside these gates.
"My lawyer just called," I say, looking Dominic dead in the eye. "Dante requested a meeting at one o'clock today."
Without waiting for his dark temper to flare up again, I turn on my heel and head straight out of the garage to get ready.
I barely make it halfway across the manicured lawn before the aggressive thud of footsteps closes in behind me.
"Rosalia, stop right there," Dominic barks, his large hand reaching out to grab my forearm, pulling me to a halt. "You are not going to a meeting with Dante alone. Not a chance in hell. I'm coming with you."
I look up into his fierce gaze and give a simple, quiet nod.
Deep down, a wave of pure relief washes over me.
The sheer thought of sitting across a table from Dante by myself wears me out before the meeting has even started.
Having Dominic's terrifying, protective presence beside me is exactly what I need, even if I won't admit it out loud.
We head upstairs to our bedroom in silence to get ready.
I let Dominic take the master bathroom first to wash off the motor grease and sweat. While the shower runs, I go to the closet and pick out an elegant dress—armored, refined, and perfect for facing that family.
The moment Dominic steps out, a towel low around his waist and steam rolling off his shoulders, I hurry into the bathroom with my dress. I close the door, not wanting to strip down in front of him.
I pull it over my head and slip my arms through the sleeves, but as I reach behind my back to pull up the long, central zipper, it catches on the fabric near my waist. I tug at it once. Twice. My knuckles strain, my shoulders ache, and the teeth of the zipper refuse to budge.
"Need a hand?"
I jump slightly as Dominic strides straight through the open bathroom door, his hair dripping wet, completely unbothered by my lack of privacy. "I've been watching you struggle back and forth through the mirror for two minutes," he mutters smoothly.
What? Did I not shut the door?
Before I can protest or push his hands away, he steps up directly behind me. The sudden, searing heat of his bare chest radiates against my exposed back.
His large, calloused fingers brush against my skin as he gently takes hold of the pull-tab. But as he pulls the fabric taut, the slide of his knuckles uncovers a jagged, pale scar running along my shoulder blade.
I instantly freeze, my breath catching tightly in my throat.
No!
This is the exact reason I wear high-backed dresses. Why I cover up from the world. I don't want anyone looking at the physical evidence of my past, asking invasive questions, or worse—offering me sick, suffocating pity.
Especially not Dominic.
I brace myself, tense and motionless, waiting for the heavy silence to break. Waiting for him to ask what happened, who did it, or give me a look of tragic sympathy.
Instead, Dominic says nothing.
His fingers don't waver. Without a single pause, a question, or a change in his breath, he smoothly pulls the zipper all the way to the top of my neck, metal teeth closing over the mark completely.
He rests his hands on my shoulders for a brief, heavy second, meeting my wide, guarded eyes in the bathroom mirror.
"I'll be waiting downstairs," he says quietly, turning on his heel and walking out, leaving my dignity—and my secrets—completely intact.