Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROSALIA
I can’t bring myself to speak on the drive home.
I’m angry. Furious, really. But not for the obvious reasons.
Like I told Dante back in that office, I don’t actually need Luciano’s wealth or his money.
I don’t care about his fortune. But the sheer injustice of it all irks me to my core.
I hate the way the DeLorenzo family is treating me.
After ten agonizing years trapped with that pig bastard, I deserve something.
Anything.
Not to mention how terrified I still am, every waking–and sleeping–hour that I will eventually be accused of his death. My heart starts beating erratically just at the thought of it.
Beside me, Dominic drives us back to the estate in silence.
I can tell he’s just as restless as I am—his fingers drum an aggressive rhythm against the leather steering wheel, and his leg bounces with pent-up energy.
He’s pissed off.
Despite the tension thick in the air, a small, quiet warmth blooms in my chest. I liked the way he defended me in that office. It’s becoming a habit of his.
First, he stood up to my father, and now he put Dante in his place without missing a beat. No one has ever done that for me. Ever. I can’t help but wonder why he does it.
I know this isn't a marriage built on love, but sometimes he treats me with so much care—more care than my own father has ever shown me in my entire life.
I steal a glance at him through my peripheral vision, watching his sharp profile as he stares straight ahead out the windshield.
Still, a subtle prickle of unease settles in my stomach.
Something about the sharp, specific questions he asked back in the parking garage felt weird. It almost seems like he knows more about my marriage with Luciano than he’s letting on, and it rubs me the wrong way.
That marriage is wrapped in entirely too many dark secrets. Secrets I intend to keep buried, because the absolute last thing I want is for Dominic to ever look at me with pity—or anything even remotely close to it.
Just before he turns the vehicle through the iron gates of our estate, Dominic slows the car to a crawl and turns to face me, his dark eyes searching my face.
"How do you usually calm down when your head is full of noise?" he asks softly.
I blink, caught off guard by the question, before looking out the window with a bitter, faint smile. "I... I don't really know," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was married off at seventeen, Dominic. I never had the chance to learn what I actually like, or what makes me feel free."
Dominic hums low in his throat, a thoughtful, unreadable expression washing over his sharp features. Instead of pulling up to the main mansion, he veers off the main driveway and takes us straight back to his private garage.
He kills the engine, steps out, and walks over to open my door. "Come on."
I step out, looking around at the rows of polished, vintage machinery. "Why are we back here?"
"Choose one," Dominic says, sweeping a broad hand across the collection of classic sports cars. "Pick whichever one calls to you."
A light laugh escapes my lips as I look at him like he’s lost his mind. "What are you up to?"
He gives a careless, arrogant little shrug. "Just choose, Rosalia."
My eyes wander over the sleek, shining frames until they land on a breathtaking, cherry-red 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. Its low stance and aggressive curves practically scream speed.
"That one," I say, pointing toward it.
A slow, approving smirk spreads across his face. "Hop in."
I laugh again, shaking my head. "Really? Right now?"
"Yes, really," Dominic says, rolling his eyes as if I'm being ridiculous. He strides over to the driver's side of the Corvette, opens the passenger door, and holds out a hand to help me climb down into the low leather seat.
Once I'm settled, he circles the hood, tosses his suit jacket into the tiny space behind our seats, and slides into the driver's side. The moment he turns the key, the massive V8 engine roars to life, vibrating through the floorboards and making my heart leap straight into my throat.
Without giving me a single second to brace myself, Dominic shifts into gear, slams his foot on the gas, and zooms right out of the garage, the tires squealing against the pavement as we fly out into the open air.
"Oh my God!" I squeal, my fingers digging into the plush leather seat as the sudden burst of acceleration pins me back.
We rocket down the private estate road and eventually hit the open highway, the classic Corvette tearing through the asphalt with raw, unrestrained power. Dominic reaches over to pop the latch, dropping the convertible top completely, and the world explodes into light, sound, and rushing air.
Within seconds, the wind completely wrecks my neat, controlled hair, whipping dark strands across my face and tossing them into a wild, tangled halo.
The cool air hits my skin like electricity, washing away the suffocating weight of Dante’s words, the dark shadows of my past, and the rigid expectations I've forced myself to carry for a decade.
For the first time in a long, long while, I don't feel like a pawn, a widow, or a victim trapped in someone else's war.
I feel completely, wildly free.
We turn off the highway and go down a quiet road. A loud, breathless laugh erupts from deep inside my chest—unfiltered and pure. I unbuckle my seatbelt, push myself up from the seat, and stand upright into the rush of the wind, gripping the top of the windshield frame for balance.
I throw my head back, closing my eyes, and stretch my arms wide open toward the sky, letting the roaring wind wrap around me like a shield.
Below me, I hear the deep, rumbling sound of Dominic’s laughter joining mine. I glance down, and the sight of him—his usual dark demeanor completely melted away into a genuine, beaming smile as he handles the wheel with effortless mastery—makes my heart swell until it aches.
I am laughing so hard my ribs hurt, completely intoxicated by the speed, the wind, and the undeniable, wild happiness surging through my veins.
We drive down the long, winding coastal road until every nerve in my body is buzzing with adrenaline. I’m so happy.
When Dominic finally takes a wide turn back toward the direction of home, I sink back down into the leather passenger seat, still catching my breath, a helpless laugh bubbling up every few seconds.
"Why did you bring me on this ride?" I ask, turning my head to look at his sharp profile. "How did you even know I’d enjoy it?"
He keeps his gaze fixed on the asphalt ahead, a small smile resting on his lips. "Driving like this always helps me clear my head when things get too loud. And since you mentioned that you liked my collection this morning... I thought you’d like this, too."
A rush of warmth hits my chest. "Thank you," I say, the sincerity heavy in my voice. "Honestly, Dominic... this is the best I’ve felt since I was seventeen."
He glances over at me, his dark eyes softening as our gazes lock for a long beat, before he turns his attention back to the road.
I’m still buzzing in my seat, watching the trees blur past, when he hums low in his throat.
"Sweetheart," he says, his tone completely shifting, cool and steady. "Can you fasten your seatbelt?"
I immediately notice the tight edge of concern underlying his words. I quickly reach for the strap and click it into place, my heart thumping against my ribs. "What's wrong?"
He looks at me for a split second, his jaw clenching. I ask him again, louder this time: "Dominic, what is it?"
"I think we're being followed," he says calmly.
My eyes widen, my head instantly snapping around to check the side mirror. Behind us, a dark, tinted SUV is maintaining a steady, aggressive distance, speeding up whenever we do. Panic flares up in my chest, but before it can take over, Dominic catches my eye and flashes a calm, dangerous smile.
"Do you trust me?" he asks.
"Yes," I say without a second of hesitation.
His smile widens lethally. "Then just hang on."
Dominic kicks the Corvette into high gear, engine roaring as he veers off the main highway onto a narrower, twisting backroad. The dark SUV behind us accelerates instantly, dropping all pretense of hiding.
They're persistent, cutting corners to keep up with us.
Dominic’s hands move with terrifying precision on the wheel and the stick shift, using every inch of the classic car's power to weave through tight turns, pushing the tires to their absolute limit.
Engine revving, wind howling around the open top, the chase blurs into a high-octane game of cat and mouse.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the door handle, my breath catching with every sharp drift and split-second dodge.
But as I look over at Dominic—completely focused, cold, and in absolute control—the panic subsides, replaced by a fierce, steady trust. I sit right there beside him, shaken by the raw speed, but completely confident in him.
With a sharp, violent wrench of the steering wheel, Dominic throws the Corvette into a tight, impossible drift around a blind cliffside hairpin.
The back tires scream against the pavement, kicking up a cloud of white smoke. He stomps on the brakes just long enough to slide the long nose of the car into an obscured dirt turnout tucked behind a dense patch of pines, cutting the engine and lights instantly.
The dark SUV roars past on the main road, its tires screeching as it disappears down the highway, completely oblivious to where we vanished.
Silence drops over us, heavy and thick, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine.
Dominic lets out a breath, releasing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. As he pulls his right hand back, I catch a flash of deep crimson.
"Dominic, you're bleeding!" I gasp, panic spiking in my chest.
During the sharp shift, a jagged piece of metal trim along the vintage center console sliced deep into the meat of his palm. Blood is already pooling down his wrist, dripping onto his trousers.