Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
DOMINIC
"Drive faster, Keane! Step on the fucking gas!"
I shout so loud the veins in my neck feel like they're going to burst, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. The speedometer on the SUV is pushed to its absolute limit, the engine screaming as we weave wildly through the midnight traffic.
Less than an hour ago, I was standing outside one of my primary uptown clubs, watching smoke pour out of the shattered front doors. The arson was clean, precise, and calculated—a sudden fire meant to draw my full attention and pull my top security detail away from the estate.
And then, minutes ago, while still managing the chaos, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
A single, high-priority panic ping from the lead guard assigned to Rosalia's escort team.
They had radioed in just twenty minutes before that to confirm they had left her sister's house and were en route home.
Everything was supposed to be fine. Everything was supposed to be safe.
But the second that red emergency alert flashed on my screen, a sickening, suffocating dread settled in my gut, choking the fucking air right out of my lungs.
I’ve been calling the lead guard’s cell over and over for the last fifteen minutes. Nothing. Straight to voicemail. I called the secondary unit. Nothing. I tried calling Rosalia directly, but her phone goes straight to a dead ring.
Fuck. Fuck!
If anything happens to her out there—if anyone touches a single hair on her head—I will lose my mind. I will burn every street in this godforsaken city to ash, and I will tear apart whoever dared lay a hand on her with my bare hands.
"Dom, I'm doing eighty down a sixty!" Keane grunts, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, taking a hard left turn that makes the tires screech against the pavement. "We're two minutes away from the last pinged GPS coordinate!"
"It was a trap," I growl, the horrific realization hitting me like a physical blow to the head. "The fire at the club... it wasn't about my money or my territory. It was a distraction. It was a play to pull me away from her side!"
Pure, unadulterated rage boils through my blood, wild and terrifying.
Unable to contain the violent surge of adrenaline tearing through my veins, I slam my fist violently into the passenger side window. The reinforced glass cracks under the force of the hit, webbed fractures spreading across the panel.
"Hurry up, Keane!" I roar, staring out into the dark, empty stretch of highway ahead. "Hurry the fuck up!"
The second Keane slams the brakes, I fling the car door open before the vehicle even comes to a complete halt.
The scene on the road is a nightmare. The red and blue lights of abandoned police cruisers cut through the dark, illuminating blood on the asphalt and the motionless bodies of my men. The attack is already over.
"Rosalia!" I roar into the night, my hand instantly drawing the weapon at my hip.
Then I see her.
She’s standing near the edge of the road, trembling violently, her face pale as a sheet. My heart slams against my ribs with violent relief. I sprint across the distance between us, tossing my gun aside, and pull her hard into my arms.
"I've got you, I've got you," I breathe harshly against her hair, my chest heaving as I cup her face and press desperate, hot kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
I scan every inch of her, checking for blood, for tears in her clothes.
She isn't hurt. She isn't bleeding. But she’s shaking so hard she can barely stand.
A dark, blinding fury boils in my gut—raging at myself for letting that damn fire pull me away from her side.
Keane rushes up behind us, taking in the carnage with a grim face.
"I'm taking her home right now," I order Keane, my voice a dangerous, low vibrate. "Stay here. Call for backup, clear the road, and deal with the dead. Send me every single one of their names tonight, Keane. We're going to make sure their families are taken care of for the rest of their lives."
"Understood, Boss," Keane says firmly.
I don't let go of Rosalia for a single second.
I usher her into the back of a car, pulling her flush against my chest the entire ride back, my arms wrapped around her like steel bands.
I keep her close, staring out the tinted windows with barely controlled rage, ready to put a bullet through anyone who even looks at this car wrong.
When we finally pull into the gates of the estate, I don't even let her walk. I step out, pull her up into my arms, and carry her straight through the front doors.
Helena rushes into the foyer, her eyes wide with panic as she sees us. "Dominic! What happened? Is she—"
"Not now, Helena!" I snap, my tone so sharp and lethal it cuts her off mid-sentence.
I carry Rosalia straight up the grand staircase and into our private suite, kicking the heavy wooden doors shut behind us.
"Dominic, I'm fine," she whispers softly, her voice small and trembling as I set her feet gently onto the carpet. "Really, I'm fine..."
I look at her, my jaw clenching. She’s trying to be strong, but I can see right through it—the wide, haunted look in her eyes, the faint quiver in her lips. She is terrified.
"I want to take a bath," she murmurs, staring down at her boots.
"Okay," I say instantly, stepping past her into the bathroom.
I hurry over to the large tub, turning the handles to draw a hot bath, pouring in soothing oils until the water steams. I step back out to where she's standing, gently unbuttoning her coat, sliding the heavy fabric off her shoulders, and helping her out of her clothes with slow, careful hands.
She steps into the warm water, sinking down until it hits her chest.
Without bothering to take off my own clothes, I climb right up to the edge of the tub, reaching down and wrapping my arms around her.
I pull her back against my chest, settling into the warm water with her.
The fabric of my dress shirt and trousers gets completely soaked, but I don't give a single fuck.
I just wrap my arms tighter around her, resting my chin on her shoulder, letting her feel the solid weight of my body holding her safely.
"Can you talk to me?" I ask softly against her skin, my voice a quiet rumble over the sound of the gently rippling water.
A tiny, breathless chuckle escapes her lips, though it carries no real humor. "Yes," she whispers, leaning her head back against my shoulder. "It was Dante."
"I know," I say grimly, my jaw tightening until it hurts. "I already knew."
She takes a deep, shaky breath, her fingers tightening over my wet sleeves.
Then, the words start spilling out of her—the truth about what happened on that road.
She tells me about the blade pressed against her throat, the way he dragged her by her hair, and the poisonous ultimatum he delivered: yield every single piece of Luciano's legacy to him at the arbitration, or he would put a bullet in my head and make her watch me die.
By the time she finishes, the rage inside me is an inferno. My whole body goes rigid, blood pounding in my ears with a lethal, violent rhythm.
"Dominic..." she whispers, turning slightly in my arms, her eyes searching mine with a terrifying vulnerability. "I can't let him kill you."
"Listen to me," I say, my tone absolute as I frame her face with both hands, ignoring the water dripping from my cuffs.
"Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Do you hear me?
Dante is a dead man walking. You are not surrendering a single document, a single code, or a single cent to him on Monday. I promise you."
The raw fear, the crushing relief, and the sudden, overwhelming need between us shift the air in the bathroom entirely.
Rosalia doesn't answer with words. She reaches out, grabbing the lapels of my soaked shirt, and pulls my mouth down to hers in a fierce, desperate kiss.
It’s not slow; it’s frantic, needy, and electric. I kiss her back just as hard, but as her hands slide down my chest, I try to gently pull back, breathing heavily against her lips. "Rosalia, wait... You've had a traumatic night, sweetheart. I don't want to hurt you."
She lets out a sharp, impatient hiss against my mouth. "You're not going to hurt me."
Without dropping her gaze, her hand slides down into the warm water, reaching between us. Her fingers move with swift, unyielding purpose, undoing my belt and zipping down my fly. She reaches inside, pulling my aching, fully hard cock free into the cool air above the waterline.
A low, guttural groan tears straight from my throat, my head snapping back as her warm, slick hand wraps tightly around my shaft.
Before I can force a single warning past my lips, she raises herself up in the water, positioning herself directly over me, and sinks down in one slow, smooth motion.
My head thrashes back against the tiled wall as a harsh, ragged groan tears from my chest. She takes every single inch of me, her hot, impossibly tight walls wrapping around my length like a velvet vise.
"Fuck, Rosalia..." I gasp, my hands flying out to grip her hips, my knuckles turning white. "You're so fucking tight, baby..."
Water sloshes violently over the porcelain rim of the tub, splashing onto the bathmat and hardwood floor, but neither of us gives a single shit.
She wraps her arms tightly around my neck, digging her fingers into my hair as she uses her hold on me to propel herself up and down, setting a frantic, desperate rhythm.
Driven completely wild by the feeling of her around me, I take total control, locking my hands around her waist and driving up into her from below with unrelenting thrusts.
She moans, a high, breathless whimpering sound that echoes off the tiled walls as I pound up into her, sinking deeper with every single stroke.
I lean down, pressing my mouth against her skin. I kiss every scar within my reach—her shoulder, her collarbone, the delicate line of her neck—whispering broken promises into her skin between gasps of air.
"You're so beautiful... fucking perfect," I growl against her throat, my voice rough and thick with raw emotion. "I’m never leaving your side again, Rosalia. Never."
I pull back just enough to slide my hand under the water, lifting her breast to take her peak into my mouth. I suck hard, my tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, and that finally pushes her over the edge.
Rosalia's back arches wildly, her fingers digging deep into my wet shoulders as her body shatters around me. She cries out my name—a sweet, desperate scream that fills the entire room.
“Dominic!”
The violent, pulsing contractions of her walls gripping me tight instantly trigger my own climax. I snap, driving up into her one last time as my own release rips through me, shouting her name into the crook of her neck as I pour into her.
“Oh, fuck, Rosalia, fuck!”
We collapse against each other, gasping for air as the water settles around us. I wrap my arms around her trembling body, holding her so tight there isn't an inch of space left between us, letting our racing hearts slow down together in the quiet room.
Fuck.
I’m madly, irrevocably in love with this woman.
And I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.