Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DOMINIC
I have an insane, overpowering urge to lie.
To spin some quick, polished story. To throw out a technicality. Anything to stop the cold, agonizing disappointment currently pooling in Rosalia’s eyes.
I wasn't thinking.
Fuck. I shouldn't have said that.
But the words are already hanging out there between us, and I can literally see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she pieces it together.
"Dominic," she breathes again, her voice trembling, laced with an awful, fragile fear. "How did... how did you know?"
My tongue feels like lead in my mouth. For the first time in my life, I am utterly afraid. I stand frozen against the marble counter, holding her gaze, watching the warmth we built over the past days crumble into dust in a matter of seconds.
How the hell could I tell her?
How could I possibly admit that I was the one who slipped through the shadows of the De Lorenzo estate in the dead of night?
That I bypassed a full perimeter of armed guards without making a single sound, stepped into Luciano's bedroom, and ended his life with my own hands?
I knew his eyes were wide and vacant because I was the last thing he saw before the air left his lungs forever.
Fuck!
"Rosalia—" I start, my throat bone-dry.
"Please don’t lie to me.” She steps back, her hands coming up to cover her mouth as tears pool in her eyes. "Just tell me. Please, Dominic. Tell me the truth."
The air leaves my lungs in a harsh, ragged exhale. The lies die in my throat. I can't do it. I can't look at her trembling frame and feed her another rehearsed story.
"I killed him," I confess, the words falling heavily between us like iron weights. "Luciano betrayed me. He was playing both sides, and in our world, that carries only one penalty. I killed him, Rosalia."
A sharp, ragged gasp escapes her lips. She stumbles back another step, hugging her arms tightly around her stomach as if trying to hold herself together.
Every instinct in my body screams at me to close the distance, to pull her into my arms and wipe away the tears spilling down her pale cheeks.
But I stay rooted to the spot. I know if I reach for her right now, she will shrink away from my touch—and I don't think my heart could stomach her rejection.
Fuck!
Luciano was still causing problems for me even after his death.
The old man was a bastard. Plain and simple. For years, Luciano had worked directly with me, helping move dark money connected to off-the-books defense contracts, mercenary outfits, and high-profile political assassinations.
But Luciano wasn't just a partner; he was a paranoid fox. During those years of quiet cooperation, he had secretly compiled a massive, ironclad ledger of proof detailing my entire illegal infrastructure—and he hid it inside a heavily encrypted private account in Rosalia’s name.
If that file ever sees the light of day, if federal prosecutors or rival syndicates get their hands on it, it will be the absolute end of me. My empire will crumble to dust, and I will spend the rest of my life in a supermax cell.
I needed Rosalia to win today. Now that she controls the entire De Lorenzo estate, accessing Luciano's core archives and private vaults is going to be infinitely easier.
This is what I wanted. This was the entire damn plan from the minute I put a ring on her finger.
So why the hell doesn't it feel like a success?
Why does it feel like losing her would not be worth it?
She’s currently staring at me in horror, her beautiful eyes wide with shock and something else—utter disappointment.
My chest clenches.
“Rosalia.”
I look at her—at the tense curve of her shoulders—and the truth hits me like a blow to the ribs.
Seeing Rosalia happy is the ultimate high. There is nothing better. Nothing in my entire bloody, brutal life has ever felt this clean, this right.
And that is precisely what is tearing me apart.
It feels like I’ve betrayed her.
My heart slams against my ribs like a battering ram. A sudden wave of ice-cold sweat breaks out across the back of my neck.
"So... you've always known?" Rosalia chokes out, her voice breaking. Her wide eyes search mine, desperate and completely heartbroken. "You've known the whole time that I didn't kill him?"
I bow my head, unable to bear the sheer agony in her gaze. "Yes," I say solemnly. "I knew."
"Then why?" she cries, a tear streaking down her face. "Why did you marry me, Dominic? Why go through all of this?"
I swallow hard, the truth scraping against my throat like broken glass.
"Because Luciano hid the encrypted files under your name," I whisper, the absolute, ugly truth finally laid bare. "He tied access to your legal identity. I married you because I needed those files. I needed what you had."
Rosalia gasps again, the sound small, fragile, and utterly shattered.
Her knees buckle, and she sinks heavily onto the edge of the plush bed, burying her face in her hands.
Standing across the room, watching the light I had just put in her eyes burn out completely, my heart breaks into a thousand irreparable pieces.
"If you came into his room that night so quietly, so undetected," she begins, her voice tight and trembling with realization, "it means you knew I wouldn’t be there. You knew where I was."
My jaw tightens, but I say nothing. The truth is, I didn't actually find out about the termination of her pregnancy—the secret, illegal procedure she did that night—until after we were already married.
But pointedly correcting her on the exact timeline right now would just sound like defensive semantics.
To her, it’s all part of the same terrible tapestry.
When I don’t respond, her eyes flash with a sudden, violent spark of fury.
As much as I hate her anger, as much as it burns to see it directed at me, I'm infinitely glad she’s not crying. I don't think I could survive watching tears fall from her eyes without losing my mind completely. Especially knowing I caused it.
"You used me," she says, her voice rising, sharp and acrid with betrayal.
“Rosa—no.”
"You forced me into this marriage just to get to that account! You let me carry the terrifying guilt of thinking I might be accused of his murder—you let me sit in fear every single day—just to protect yourself!"
"Rosalia, listen to me—"
"No! You knew about Luciano. You knew about the murder.
You knew about what happened to me that night, and you sat back and leveraged my absolute worst trauma into a business deal!
" She stands up from the bed, her chest heaving, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides.
"I need you to get out. I need space, Dominic. "
"Rosalia," I choke out, taking one slow, agonizing step toward her, holding my hands up in surrender. "Whatever reason I had in the beginning... whatever I felt when I signed those papers... it changed. I care about you now. In a way I've never cared about anything in my entire life."
She lets out a harsh, cruel scoff, turning her face away from me.
"And I actually believed you did. God, I was so stupid. When you fought for me in this case, when you handed me Luciano’s properties, I really thought that finally...
finally... someone in this world cared about me for me.
But it was just another transaction. Another selfish play. "
She looks back at me, her eyes hollow, cutting straight into my chest. "You’re no different than Luciano. You’re no different than my father."
The words hit me like a physical blow, slicing through my chest with an agony so sharp I almost stagger backward. Being compared to the monstrous men who abused and controlled her is the worst insult she could ever throw at me. But as the pain burns through my veins, I force it down.
Her pain is a thousand times worse than mine, and I caused every single drop of it.
I drop to my knees in front of her, ignoring the protest of my pride, swallowing every ounce of arrogance I’ve ever carried.
"I admit I was not thinking of you when this started," I say, my voice raw, entirely stripped of control as I look up into her guarded face.
"I won't deny that. But please... hear me when I tell you this: watching you smile in that courtroom today meant more to me than those fucking files ever could.
I would burn every paper Luciano ever wrote to keep that look on your face. I care about you, Rosalia. I do."
"Get out," she whispers, her voice flat, immovable, and colder than ice. "Just leave."
I search her face for a single crack in her resolve, but there is none.
Sadly, slowly, I rise to my feet. Every muscle in my body feels lax, as if I’m dragging a hundred pounds of iron. I step back, deciding it's best to give her the room, to give her a little space to breathe for the day before I completely ruin what's left of us.
I turn and pull open the mahogany suite door.
The second the crack widens, Yapper comes bounding into the room, his tiny paws skittering wildly across the polished hardwood floor as he trots straight toward Rosalia, letting out a small, happy bark.
A surge of quiet gratitude washes over me for the tiny dog. At least he’ll keep her company. At least she won't be entirely alone in the quiet of this room.
I step out into the hallway, shut the door softly behind me. I need to move. I need to direct this dark, suffocating energy into something I can actually control.
I have to go check on Dante anyway. A man like Dante doesn't take a public, devastating loss like today's ruling sitting down. He’s cornered, furious, and desperate, which makes him more dangerous than ever.
I pull out my phone, dialing Keane as I stride down the long hallway toward the grand staircase.
I need to find him so we can go out and track down whatever Dante is planning next. Crushing my enemies is the only thing I know how to do right now—and keeping myself busy is the only way I'll survive giving Rosalia the space she requested.