Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROSALIA
The morning sun filters softly through the high windows of the dining room, warming the quiet space as I butter a piece of toast.
Across the long table, Dominic sits with his coffee, his phone in his hands, a small frown on his face, as he scans the screen with that sharp focus he carries everywhere.
I take a small sip of orange juice and set the glass down.
"I'm going to the hairdresser today," I announce, looking over at him. I’ve been wanting to tell him since yesterday, but I’ve hesitated because I know how dramatic he can be, especially after the little fiasco days ago.
Dominic’s eyes immediately leave his screen, locking onto mine. The easy atmosphere in the room vanishes in an instant, replaced by that dark, protective rigidity that takes over whenever I mention leaving the house.
“Do you have to?”
“I have to,” I answer stubbornly.
“Rosalia, your hair is perfect.”
“Dominic!” I draw in a breath. “Please. I have to.”
"Fine. I'll take you," he says flatly, setting his coffee cup down.
I let out a soft sigh, resting my chin in my hand. "You don't need to play chauffeur today. You have a mountain of work, and I'm just getting my hair washed and styled. I'll take a security detail with me if that will make you feel better."
"Going with you myself will make me feel better," he corrects, leaving zero room for negotiation. His tone is entirely firm, those dark eyes tracking my face as if expecting me to launch a full l debate.
"You are so overbearing," I tell him, narrow-eyed.
"I'm keeping you alive," he replies without skipping a beat.
I roll my eyes and throw my napkin onto the table. "You know what? Fine. Have it your way, Captain."
“Thank you.”
An hour later, the garage door hums open, and Dominic's vehicle glides out onto the estate driveway.
I sit in the passenger seat, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the familiar iron gates swing open. True to his new security rules, a second SUV filled with four armed guards pulls out right behind us, trailing at a discreet distance as we turn onto the main road.
Dominic rests one broad hand over the steering wheel, his knuckles relaxed, though his eyes constantly flick to the side mirrors, checking every angle of the road.
"You’re not usually this tense when you drive," I snap, turning in my seat to look at his sharp profile.
"Only when high-value cargo is in the passenger seat," he says smoothly, a faint, dark glint touching the corner of his eyes as he casts a brief glance my way.
I laugh softly, shaking my head as the city skyline begins to loom in the distance. "Unbelievable."
When the vehicle smoothly pulls up outside the salon, Dominic cuts the engine and immediately scans the street with a practiced, lethal eye. Behind us, the second vehicle comes to a halt, and I see two of his guards preparing to step out onto the pavement.
"Your guards stay outside," I state firmly, pointing toward the window. "All of them. Only you can come in with me."
Dominic turns in his seat, his brow furrowing as his jaw locks tight. "Rosalia, no. Two men inside to secure the entrance and back exits, and the rest hold the street—"
“What?”
Is he joking? Ugh.
“Rosalia, this isn’t the time to be difficult. You were almost stabbed and kidnapped the—”
“No. I am not walking in looking like I’m under armed federal custody.”
His frown deepens. “Let’s not—”
"No," I cut him off, my voice rising in exasperation. "Dominic, please, be reasonable! It’s a salon, not a combat zone. Can I not have one normal outing without a full infantry unit breathing down my neck?"
He stares at me, his dark eyes searching my face. I brace myself for another rigid, dictatorial battle, but to my absolute surprise, the harsh line of his mouth slowly softens.
He lets out a long, quiet breath, resting his wrist against the top of the steering wheel.
"Fine," he says softly, his gravelly voice catching me off guard. "Just me."
I freeze, my sharp retort dying right in my throat.
He conceded. The big, terrifying mobster who commands an army of soldiers just yielded to me simply because I asked him not to ruin my day.
A sudden, traitorous flutter catches in my chest, making my heart skip a beat. It’s not the first time.
I look at him, taking in the quiet sincerity in his dark eyes, and realize something that terrifies me even more than Dante's threats: Dominic actually cares.
Beneath all his overbearing, dictatorial orders and heavy-handed protection, he genuinely cares about my happiness.
He cares for me. Truly.
And as for how I feel about him... I quickly push the thought far into the back of my mind. I am nowhere near ready to dissecting the tangled, overwhelming knot of feelings blooming in my own heart for the man who bought me.
"Thank you," I whisper softly, offering him a small, genuine smile.
Dominic taps his comms unit, instructing the rest of the security detail to hold a wide perimeter outside, before stepping out of the SUV and opening my door.
Together, we walk past the heavy glass doors and step into the warm, fragrant air of the luxury salon.
The moment the glass doors swing shut behind us, the sharp scent of floral hair oils, warm steam, and expensive shampoos washes over us. Pop music drifts softly from the overhead speakers, accompanied by the gentle buzz of blow-dryers and the bright chatter of clients.
And right in the middle of it all stands Dominic Kane.
He is hilariously, wildly out of place. Standing over six feet tall in a bespoke dark suit, broad-shouldered, rigid, and scanning the room like he's looking for enemy snipers, he sticks out like a loaded weapon at a tea party.
The moment he steps into the lobby, two women waiting on a velvet couch instantly stop talking.
He doesn't even notice the terror he's causing.
He just stands beside me, one hand tucked casually into his pants pocket, radiating an aura so intense that a man near the front desk instinctively takes two steps back to give him space.
I would laugh if I wasn't the subject of attention.
We walk up to the front desk. Anna, the receptionist who has managed the front desk and booked my appointments for years, looks up with a bright, welcoming smile. "Rosalia, hi! It is so good to see—"
Her voice completely cuts off the second her eyes shift to the colossal man looming directly behind me.
The familiar warmth on her face vanishes, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock.
Anna blinks rapidly, swallowing hard as her posture goes rigid, clearly terrified by the silent aura radiating off Dominic.
"Hi, Anna," I say smoothly, trying to offer a reassuring look.
"Hi, darling," Anna stammers out, her voice a full octave higher than usual as her eyes dart nervously between me and Dominic. "Uh... Marcus is just finishing up with a client's color. If you could take a seat in the waiting area for a few minutes, he'll be right with you."
Dominic’s brows furrow violently, his jaw locking tight as he towers over the counter. He turns to me.
"No," he growls, his low baritone silencing the entire front room. "We are not waiting. We are leaving. I'll take you somewhere else right now where you will be the priority client and won't be made to stand around."
Anna gasps. “I’m sorry, sir. Rosalia is a priority client, and we’re very happy to have her. She’s—”
“Anna.” I reach out to pat her hand. “You don’t need to explain. I’ll wait.”
She smiles with relief as I grab Dominic’s arm, pulling him back a step before he completely traumatizes the poor woman. "Stop it right now!"
I tug him away from the desk toward the plush velvet lounge chairs, forcing him to sit down beside me.
"I am not leaving," I tell him in a sharp whisper, turning to face him fully. "I like it here. I've been coming to this salon and having my hair done by Marcus for years. They know me, they do amazing work, and I am not going anywhere else."
Dominic leans back against the cushions, his dark eyes flashing with livid frustration as he crosses his broad arms over his chest. "You shouldn't have to wait for anyone. And who the fuck is Marcus?”
My goodness. This man is never coming with me to the salon ever again!
I roll my eyes, shaking my head at his absurd, overbearing nature. "In the real world, Dominic, people wait their turn. That's how things work. And Marcus is my hairstylist. Please, don’t cause problems when he arrives, or I’ll never come to a salon with you ever again.”
That’s already a given. But he doesn’t have to know that.
“Fine.” Dominic lets out a harsh scoff, turning his head toward the window, but he says nothing. He stays firmly planted in the chair, radiating enough dark, restless energy to keep every other client in the room at a respectable distance.
Eventually, after about twenty minutes of Dominic brooding like a dark cloud beside me, the lead stylist, Marcus, finally steps out from behind the partition.
He takes one look at Dominic's terrifying, stone-cold expression, then at my flushed, exasperated face, and lets out a warm, delighted laugh. "Rosalia, darling! So sorry for the wait!"
"Marcus, hi!" I greet him, jumping out of my seat with a relieved breath. "It's so good to see you."
I step aside and gesture toward the giant wall of a man beside me, who slowly rises to his feet like a shadow blocking out the ambient salon lighting. "This is my husband, Dominic."
Marcus steps forward with a bright, welcoming smile, offering his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Dominic! I've heard so much about Rosalia's mysterious man. I'm so glad you could join her today."
Dominic looks down at Marcus's outstretched hand for a beat longer than necessary before giving it a firm, brief shake.
"Mmm," Dominic grunts, a sound that could mean anything from nice to meet you to if you burn her hair, you die.
Marcus just chuckles, and gestures toward the back. "Right this way, my dear!"