Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOMINIC
I’m so fucking livid I can barely see two feet in front of me.
There was a scar on her back.
A long, jagged line carved into her skin... and another near her waist.
Those aren't from some childhood accident. They aren't from a clumsy fall. The alternative—the sickening, grotesque reality of what actually caused them—literally makes me see red.
Fuck.
I wanted to demand answers right then and there. I wanted to shake her until she gave me every name attached to those marks. But the second my hand brushed near them, I felt the way she froze. Her entire body had turned to stone, waiting for me to pry, waiting for me to pity her.
If I had pushed, I would have burned down whatever fragile bridge we’d just built in that garage.
But I’m not letting this go. Not a fucking chance.
Pulling out my phone, I text Keane three words: My office. Now.
By the time I reach my study, my pulse is hammering against my ribs like a war drum. I don't even bother with a glass, pouring a heavy splash of straight vodka into a crystal tumbler and slamming it back.
The heavy wooden door opens, and Keane strolls in, pulling an unlit cigarette from behind his ear. "Sup?"
I don't waste time with small talk. "I’m going with Rosalia to this meeting with Dante at one."
"Alright. I’ll brief the guard detail," Keane nods, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk.
"Before we leave," I cut in, my voice dropping an octave, laced with a lethal edge. "Do we know if Luciano was hitting her?"
Keane pauses, his casual posture instantly vanishing. He frowns, his brows drawing together as he shakes his head slowly.
"Luciano? No. The intelligence we pulled suggested he kept her under lock and key, but physical abuse wasn't on the record. Why?"
"I saw scars," I say, keeping the description bare and guarded. I don't owe him the details, but I need the truth. "Fresh enough to be recent, enough of them to mean it happened more than once."
Keane’s jaw tightens. "Dominic..."
"Dig deeper," I order, pointing a finger at him. "Gather every piece of information on Rosalia and Luciano’s dynamic. Beyond the basic intel we already have. I want to know every room she stayed in, every doctor they called to that house, and every guard that stood outside her door."
Keane gives a single, sharp nod. "Consider it done."
I grab the glass, knock back another shot of vodka, letting the burn coat my throat, and stride out of the office to find my wife.
Rosalia is already waiting for me when I reach the foyer. She smiles tentatively as I approach, her posture slightly guarded, as if she’s bracing herself for a barrage of invasive questions about the marks on her back.
Instead, I let a calm, reassuring smile touch my lips. The moment she sees it, I watch the tension leave her shoulders as she visibly relaxes.
Almost an hour later, we’re sitting in Dante’s executive office suite. Her lawyer is already seated beside us, briefcase open, reviewing notes.
Dante keeps us waiting for a full fifteen minutes.
By minute ten, I’m already fucking enraged. I’m certain he’s playing these pathetic little power moves because he thinks Rosalia came here alone and vulnerable. He doesn’t know I’m here, and he’s treating my wife with a total lack of respect. I'm going to have to rectify that real fast.
I’m completely up to date on their family feud. Dante firmly believes Rosalia was involved in his brother’s death, and he’s been using that paranoid theory to harass, bully, and victimize her ever since.
At 01:15 pm, the heavy double doors finally swing open, and Dante strides in. His smug expression vanishes the exact second his eyes land on me sitting in the leather armchair. I watch pure, unadulterated shock flash across his features before he quickly forces a neutral face and clears his throat.
"Mr. Kane," he greets, his tone tight. "I didn't expect you."
"Dante," I reply, forcing a sharp, hollow smile as I check the face of my watch. "We’ve been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. It’s not a good look for a man who claims to run a tight ship."
He clears his throat again, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he moves behind his desk, offering a reluctant, stiff apology. "I was held up with urgent business."
"You were the one who set this meeting for precisely one o'clock," I remind him, leaning back and resting my ankle over my knee. "If you set the time, you make damn sure you’re available for it."
Dante stands awkwardly behind his massive desk, his jaw clenching so hard I can hear his teeth grinding. He’s glaring at me, bristling at being dressed down in his own sanctuary. "Some circumstances cannot be foreseen, Kane."
He shifts his furious gaze over to Rosalia, his lip curling slightly. "In any case, this meeting was meant for Rosalia alone."
Before I can even open my mouth to tear him apart, Rosalia speaks up. Her voice is calm, steady, and cut through the room like a blade.
"Are you forgetting that I am married now, Dante?" she asks, tilting her head with cool disdain. "I have a husband. Where I go, he goes."
Dante looks like he’s about to have a full-blown aneurysm right then and there, his face turning a dark, mottled shade of crimson as he stares at the woman he thought he could intimidate.
I’ve always known Rosalia has teeth. I wonder why others can’t see that yet.
Dante swallows hard, his hands gripping the edge of his mahogany desk as he tries to regain control. "Congratulations on the wedding," he says, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Rosalia opens her mouth, probably about to give him a polite, hollow thank you, when Dante cuts in, his voice morphing into an ugly, venomous sneer.
"Although we both know why you rushed down the aisle. I’m very certain you killed my brother Luciano just so you could jump straight into Dominic Kane’s bed. "
A dangerous surge of adrenaline hits my bloodstream. I’m about to rise out of my seat and break his jaw right over his desk, but Rosalia’s small, cool hand suddenly squeezes mine.
She doesn't flinch.
Instead, a light, melodic laugh escapes her lips.
"Tell me, Dante," she says, leaning forward with effortless elegance. "If you had a daughter, would you marry her off to an old pig like Luciano... or a handsome, young man like Dominic?"
Dante’s face turns a violent shade of dark crimson.
The atmosphere in the room detonates into pure hostility.
Dante slams a fist on the desk, his composure completely shattering.
"You arrogant little bitch! I will make sure you receive nothing—not a single fucking cent—from Luciano's will!
I am going to the judge myself, and I will tell them the full truth about what you are! "
Rosalia just tilts her head, looking at him like he’s an annoying fly. "And why on earth would you think I would waste my time fighting you over Luciano's will? Why would I care about his money when I am already married to someone far richer... not to mention endlessly more desirable?"
I am fucking enjoying every single second of this back-and-forth.
Clearly, Rosalia is wiping the floor with him, and I am reaping all the collateral benefits. She’s called me young. She’s called me handsome. She’s called me rich and desirable.
Hell, I could sit in this air-conditioned office and listen to my wife brag about me all damn day.
"You filthy, dirty slut—" Dante spits out.
The world stops.
The smug smile wipes completely clean off my face. The lighthearted amusement evaporates, replaced by a dark, suffocating fury that turns the air in the room to ice.
Before the last word can even leave his fucking mouth, I go insane.
I rise in one fluid, terrifying motion and vault straight over the heavy mahogany desk, scattering documents and pen holders in every direction.
Before Dante can even draw a breath to react, my hand clamps around his throat, hauling his body up and slamming him backward against the wall with violent, bone-rattling force. The sharp crack of his head bouncing off the drywall echoes through the room, sending dust spiraling down into the light.
His eyes bulge, his hands scrambling frantically at my iron grip as he gagged for air. I press my weight into him, my face inches from his, letting him feel the suffocating heat of my rage.
"If you ever use that word to address my wife again," I whisper, my voice dangerously low, stripped of all humanity, "I won't just ruin you, Dante. I will take a pair of rusty shears and remove your fingers one by one. Do you understand me?"
I shove him back into the wall once more, for good measure, before releasing his throat. Dante collapses into his leather chair, coughing violently and clutching his neck.
Without another word, he scrambles up, glaring at us with pure, terrified hatred before storming straight out of his own office, slamming the heavy double doors behind him.
The walk back to the SUV is tense and quiet. As we step into the private parking garage, Rosalia’s lawyer hurries along beside us, adjusting his glasses and wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Mr. Kane, Mrs. Kane... while I appreciate the firm stance in there," the lawyer stammers, clutching his leather briefcase to his chest, "we have a significant problem. Legally speaking... Dante might actually be right."
Rosalia stops near the open rear door of the vehicle. I wait beside her as the lawyer fires off an explanation.
"Luciano’s preliminary estate filings were uncovered late last night," the lawyer explains cautiously, looking between the two of us.
"There are specific clauses and heavy debt attachments.
If Dante pushes this contested claim, Rosalia could be left with absolutely nothing.
No inheritance, no property rights, no settlement from the estate. "
My jaw tightens. I honestly don't give a damn about Luciano's money, but I refuse to let that scum rob my wife of what is rightfully hers out of spite.
Plus, if Rosalia is unable to get all the necessary documents in her name, it would pose a problem for me. The thought sends a frisson of annoyance up my spine. I will not let that happen. Ever.
I turn to face Rosalia, my eyes narrowing as my mind starts working through every legal and personal angle.
"How was the marriage structured?" I ask, stepping closer and lowering my voice. "Did Luciano have you sign a prenuptial agreement before the wedding?"
Rosalia frowns, thinking back. "I... I signed a stack of papers at his lawyer's office a week before the ceremony. He told me it was standard procedure for the family assets."
"Did your own independent counsel review those papers before you put pen to paper?" I press, looking at her lawyer.
"No, sir," the lawyer admits, looking down. "At the time, the late Mr. Caruso handled all legal representation internally."
"Unbelievable," I mutter, turning back to Rosalia. "What about the secondary accounts? Properties titled under your name directly? Did he transfer anything to you as a dowry or marital gift during the marriage?"
Rosalia shakes her head slowly, a quiet frustration settling into her eyes. "Nothing directly. Everything was kept secret. He controlled every cent."
"Then we hit them somewhere else," I say, my voice hardening as a cold, strategic plan begins to form.
"If Dante wants to play dirty with Luciano's estate, we'll drag every single hidden ledger, every offshore asset, and every piece of dirty laundering Luciano ever engaged in into open probate court. Let’s see how much Dante likes the legal system when it starts dismantling the entire De Lorenzo empire piece by piece. "