Chapter 12 #2
"It's fine, sweetheart," he says, his voice completely calm as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it tightly against the wound. "Just a scratch. Let's get back before those bastards realize they lost us."
He restarts the engine, keeping to the quiet back roads, and races us safely through the gates of the estate.
The moment he kills the engine in the main driveway, Dominic opens his door. "I'll go find Helena downstairs. She used to be a field medic before she took over the estate management—she'll patch it right up."
"No," I say instantly, grabbing his uninjured arm before he can step out. "No, you're not going to Helena. I'm taking care of it."
Dominic blinks, looking at me with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Rosalia—"
"I said I'll do it," I insist, my tone leaving no room for argument.
I take his good hand and lead him upstairs straight into our master suite, pulling him into the spacious, marble-tiled bathroom. I make him sit on the edge of the deep vanity counter, instantly pulling out the first-aid kit from the cabinet.
I turn on the faucet, running warm water, and gently pull his hand toward me.
"This might sting," I whisper softly, looking up into his eyes.
"Go ahead," he grunts, his dark gaze pinned entirely on my face.
I carefully wash away the blood, using a wet cloth to clear the cut. Dominic doesn't flinch, doesn't even draw a sharp breath. He just sits there, towering over me even while seated, watching my every movement with an intensity that makes the air between us feel thick and heavy.
I pat the skin dry and open a roll of sterile gauze, stepping even closer between his knees to get a better angle. The scent of motor oil, warm leather, and sharp cologne radiates off him, invading my senses.
My fingers brush against his skin gently, as I wrap the white bandage around his palm and pull it snug.
Standing this close, I can feel the heat radiating off his chest. My breath hitches slightly, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs—not from fear of the chase, but from the sudden, suffocating intimacy wrapping around us.
When I tie off the bandage, I don't pull away. My hands linger over his wrist, my thumb softly tracing the edge of his pulse point.
I look, and Dominic is already staring at me, his eyes dark, heavy, and burning with an undeniable fire. He slowly lifts his bandaged hand, the back of his calloused knuckles brushing against my cheek, tucking a stray lock of wind-tangled hair behind my ear.
Neither of us says a word, the silence in the bathroom stretched taut, vibrating with a tension so thick it feels like a spark could set the whole room on fire.
Our faces are suddenly so close together.
I don’t know who leans in first, but I can feel the hot, steady whisper of his breath against my lips.
My pulse skyrockets, every nerve ending in my body screaming for him to close the tiny distance between us.
I'm desperate for him to kiss me, but I'm completely frozen, too nervous to make the first move.
Dominic’s thick lashes flutter lower, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
Just as he tilts his chin—thud!
A heavy, clumsy slam echoes from the bedroom, followed by the frantic patter-patter-patter of tiny paws. Before either of us can react, a furry little missile shoots into the bathroom, yapping at the top of its lungs and skidding across the marble floor straight into my feet.
Dominic swears softly, jerking back as the romantic tension vanishes like smoke.
I burst into a fit of breathless laughter, looking down at the ecstatic stray tail-wagging like crazy at my toes.
In the chaos of Dante, lawyers, and high-speed car chases, I had completely forgotten I brought a dog into the house!
Dominic is scowling down at the puppy as if it personally insulted him.
"Get it out," he grunts, his voice flat. "I don't want it."
Without waiting for a response, he pushes off the vanity counter and stalks out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
I scoop the soft, wiggling pup into my arms and follow right behind him. Dominic is standing by the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his grease-stained shirt, looking thoroughly annoyed.
"Come on," I say, stepping into his line of sight and holding the dog up slightly. "Help me name him."
"Absolutely not," he barks, tossing his shirt onto a chair. "I don't give a fuck what you call him."
"Okay," I say thoughtfully, nodding to myself. "I'll just stick with Dom, then."
Dominic snaps his head toward me, glaring with enough heat to melt steel. "Fine! Name the noisy, annoying little thing Yapper!"
A bright laugh escapes me. I look down at the puppy, who licks my chin right on cue. "Yapper... actually, that's surprisingly sweet. Yapper it is."
Just as he’s about to say something else, a firm knock echoes through the heavy oak door.
We both walk toward it, Yapper trotting right at my heels. Dominic pulls the door open to reveal Keane standing in the hallway. A wide, shocked smile instantly breaks across his face as his eyes drop down to the furry intruder standing between us.
"Who owns the dog?" Keane asks, utterly stunned.
"It’s mine," I say proudly, scooping the puppy back up into my arms. "His name is Yapper."
Keane throws his head back and laughs, throwing an amused glance at Dominic. Dominic just rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
Keane clears his throat, bringing his focus back to business. "The Command Council men are gathering for poker in an hour, and the wives were invited. You need to be there."
"No," Dominic says instantly, his tone flat and unyielding. "I’m not going."
"Dominic, it’s important," Keane pushes, dropping the playful tone. "The captains are already arriving. It’s a bad look if you skip out."
Dominic's jaw tightens as he weighs Keane's words. Finally, he lets out a harsh breath. "Give me a minute."
Keane gives a sharp nod and turns to head down the corridor.
Dominic shuts the door and turns back to face me, his dark eyes searching mine. "Will you come?"
"Yes," I nod without hesitation. If standing by his side at a poker game sends a message to his men, I'm more than ready.
He holds my gaze for a long beat before giving a single, decisive nod. "Let's go get dressed."
I quickly enter the bathroom to check my face in the mirror, dabbing on a bit of powder and reapplying a swipe of gloss. By the time I step back out into the bedroom, there’s an outfit laid out neatly across the center of the bed.
It’s a stiff, high-collared black midi dress—completely modest, suffocatingly conservative, and buttoned straight up to the throat.
Dominic stands by the wardrobe, adjusting his cufflinks, without even looking up. "I chose that for you. You’re wearing that tonight."
What the heck is he on?
A sudden, sharp heat spikes in my chest, burning through the lighthearted mood we’d shared all afternoon. In an instant, the sight of that carefully chosen dress snaps me straight back into the past.
It reminds me of my father dictating how I walked, talked, and breathed. It reminds me of Luciano keeping me covered, hidden, and controlled like a doll he owned.
Every man in my life has tried to govern how I present myself to the world—and I promised myself I would never bow down to that again.
"No," I say, my voice cold and dangerous.
Dominic pauses, his hands dropping from his wrist as his dark eyes snap to mine. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not wearing that," I say, taking a step toward the bed and throwing a disdainful gesture toward the fabric. "I don't need you playing stylist, Dominic. I am more than capable of picking out my own clothes."
"It's a meeting with the Command Council," he says, his voice lowering into that heavy, commanding tone he uses with his soldiers.
"The men there are traditional, aggressive, and disrespectful. You met them during the wedding dinner. I’m not having them stare at my wife all night. Put the dress on, Rosalia."
"I am not one of your soldiers!" I fire back, my eyes flashing with absolute rebellion as I step right into his space, chin held high. "And I am certainly not your property. If you think for one second that you get to order me around and dictate what I wear on my own body, you're out of your mind!"
"I'm protecting you!"
"You're controlling me!" I snap, my chest heaving as I glare up at him, refusing to yield an inch.
"There is a massive difference, Dominic!
I spent ten years being told what to wear, how to sit, and when to speak by a man who thought he owned me.
I will never let another man do that to me again. Not even you."
Dominic freezes, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticks beneath his shadow of stubble. For three tense seconds, the silence in the room vibrates like a drawn bowstring as he stares down at the fierce, unyielding fire in my eyes.
I turn my back on him, stride straight into the walk-in closet, and grab the outfit I want to wear—a sleek, sharp silk trousersuit with a plunging neckline and structured shoulders that screams power, confidence, and absolute defiance.
I throw it on in record time, zip the heels, and sweep my hair over one shoulder.
When I step back out, Dominic is still standing by the bed.
His dark eyes track me from head to toe, burning with a mix of heavy frustration and unreadable intensity.
He opens his mouth, looking like he's about to re-ignite the argument, but the hard, uncompromising wall in my posture shuts him down before he can make a sound.
He clenches his jaw, swallowing whatever command was on the tip of his tongue, and simply steps aside.
"I'll be waiting at the car," I say coolly, not bothering to check if he's following.
I pick up my clutch, stalk out of the bedroom, and head straight downstairs to the courtyard, my heels clicking loudly against the marble floor with every proud, rebellious step.