Chapter 14
Dominico
I could carry her around all day. The way her scent engulfed me as I did.
The weight of her hands around my neck. The way her chest rose and fell as she tried to contain how I made her feel physically.
It was like a hit of something strong. A drug that had no comparison.
And then there were her eyes. Pools of whiskey I could get lost in for hours, days without a concept of time.
I could drown in them and not even know I was dying until it was too late.
Like a true alcoholic, except my addiction was everything about her.
The slow claws of this infatuation caught me off guard.
And I wondered how I would overcome it. For it could never be.
She was a pawn—a powerful one, I suspected.
Not utilizing her would be foolish and scandalous if anyone else found out.
A weakness. They might think she meant something to me, and that would be dangerous.
Killing her parents, and I use that term fucking loosely, probably already gave that impression.
Yet, as I glance at her, seated in the oversized chair across from my desk, the urge to venture into those perilous waters is powerful.
The pale color of her face as she stares at the screen makes me angry. Angrier. Not at her, but at the man powerful enough to have that effect on her. Not for long, though.
I wait for her to speak, but her eyes stay fixed on the screen as her arms rise and cross over her chest, a comforting gesture that envelops her upper body.
“You know this man,” I prompt, her eyes drifting away from the screen to meet mine. I dislike the vacant look in their depths and resent the strength a mere photo holds over her emotions.
She nods, then opens her mouth as if to say something, only to close it again.
“Do you know he is looking for you? Even has a large bounty out on your head. If I hadn’t taken you from that shithole Basilio had you living in, you would probably be back with him. Or worse, dead.”
“Dead is not worse,” she says quietly, her statement boiling my blood.
“I would prefer that over returning. If you're going to send me back to him, then you might as well send me back in a body bag.”
The resolute way she says it makes me angry—not at her, but at the man who has made her this way. A man who has instilled such fear in her that she wouldn’t even fight against the cessation of her existence if that situation arose. I fucking hated it.
She is breathing quickly, jaggedly, as if just sitting here is an effort. I temper my fury, and I only speak again once I have it under control.
“Why is he looking for you?” This question carried significant weight.
When I returned from the hospital last night, I reviewed everything my IT team could find regarding Lily Valentine, and my blood was boiling.
So much so that after I was finished, I spent two hours in the boxing ring at one of our underground fighting clubs.
I eventually had to pay significant sums just for contenders to enter the ring with me, as most were dragged out unconscious and bloody. Such was my wrath.
Even now, reminiscing about the footage etched in my memory stirs my anger.
There were hours of it, predominantly of the penthouse, some of the building's corridors, and then the basement.
Her abuse occurred so frequently that I am surprised the neighbors didn't complain.
But this is how the wealthy operate—covering each other's secrets.
They all knew who he was and thus would never speak out.
Dirty fuckers. At least my sins were out in the open.
Wealthy individuals like these portrayed themselves as virtuous, yet beneath the surface, they reeked of decay.
Decay I would unearth and use against every last one of them.
My little flower, however, is good. Just looking at her now, she radiates it.
“Lily,” I urge as the silence lingers.
“We were supposed to get married. The newspapers were filled with it. He is probably embarrassed and wants me back to teach me a lesson.” She shrugs, and I can sense her almost folding in on herself, her voice as small as she tries to appear.
“For ten million? A bruised ego hardly seems worth such a price.” Her eyes widen to saucers as she gasps.
“Ten million." Her voice rises several octaves as she suddenly stands up, her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.
"Oh my god. He is never going to stop.”
Then her brown eyes meet mine, panic etched across her anxious expression.
“Are you going to hand me over to him?” I, too, stand and move slowly around the table while she sidesteps the chair and inches away from me .
“Stop. Do I look like I need ten million? Don’t insult me, Lily.” The relief my words bring is short-lived.
“But then, why are you keeping me here? Why not just get rid of me? You must have some motive for keeping me safe. No one gives up ten million without a good reason. You are not the kind of man who keeps someone without an agenda.” Her eyes have begun to water again, and I can almost feel her utter loneliness and helplessness pouring out.
She has no one to trust, no one on her side.
Before I can say anything, the door to my office suddenly swings open.
Lucille. Of course. She would pick now to make an entrance.
Green eyes dart around the room, shifting from Lily to me.
“Dom, I'm sorry to disturb you.” The sincerity usually accompanying an apology is nowhere to be found.
“Alison is ready for her,” she says, her gaze drifting to Lily, who stares back with an expression I have never seen on her face before: dislike. Their first interaction, when I asked her to check on Lily yesterday, must not have gone well.
“And,” Lucille says, her eyes and hand gesturing from the top of Lily down to the bottom, “we definitely need all the time we can get before we have to leave.” The insult is clear. Lily blushes as she looks down, her hand smoothing her plain blue summer dress.
“Matteo,” I call, knowing he is standing outside the door.
The fact that he did not stop Lucille from interrupting us shows how habitual the occurrence has become.
Previously, I had let it slide, and she had been careful not to interrupt something important.
However, today’s little intrusion rubbed me the wrong way.
Not to mention the insult she had thrown with such ease at a woman I clearly deemed important enough to take with me to tonight's event.
She was overly comfortable—something I would need to address.
“Boss,” Matteo says, his eyes cautiously darting around the room.
“Take Lily to Alison while I have a word with Lucille. Only the best, and be ready in one hour.” Matteo nods and approaches Lily, gesturing toward the door.
“A word. Of course, Dom, anything for you.” Lucille smiles that sultry smile that reminds me of Basilio's whore. Trying too hard and being too obvious was a massive turn-off for me.
Lily narrows her eyes as she glances at Lucille, then at me, a fleeting emotion crossing her face. Jealousy. I nearly smile, but when Lucille places her hand on my arm, all thoughts of smiling disappear.
That is the last thing Lily sees before she leaves the office.
I step back, breaking the contact I had never allowed, and move around my desk.
“You have become too comfortable here. This is something I have allowed, but it needs to stop. It conveys a message that is false and will never be true.” While I had considered the possibility of entertaining an arranged marriage with this woman, at this moment, with Lily’s face flashing through my mind, I knew that would never happen.
Lucille's eyes widen, and she shakes her head as if that will allow my words to settle more clearly into her skull.
“What are you saying, Dom? I thought we were to be married. Father said you were on board with it. I thought that was a formality. We are clearly perfect for one another. And this match would unify our two families. Make you even more powerful.”
This makes me laugh.
“I don’t need your family for power. I create my own power, and the fact that you think otherwise just proves how incompatible we are. You are not the right person to stand beside me.”
I had never met anyone I considered my equal or who I visualized beside me—until now. And it wasn’t the woman before me. No. It was the little flower upstairs.
“If I am not the right person, then who is?” Lucille dares to ask, her arrogance and pride shining through.
I don’t bother answering. I don’t need to justify my choices to her.
“Wait. Wait.” Her hand shoots up, pointing to my office door.
“You were fine with everything until that little slut came along. Are you seriously implying that she would be a better fit by your side than I would? Me. Part of the family. With connections, money, and looks. Are you casting me aside for that?”
My fist slams against the wood of my desk, cracking the surface and making Lucille jump. I circle the table, stalking toward her as fury surges through me.
“Remember who you are talking to. I am not a man who turns the other cheek when an insult is hurled. While I abhor killing women, I will make an exception for you. My name is Dominico to you. Or Don. You should also remember my other name, Ange de la Mort .” Lucille, who has grown increasingly pale as I slowly approach her, drops to her knees, finally recognizing her danger.
She starts sobbing, her hands gripping my ankles as she pleads for my forgiveness, apologizing for her behavior and begging me to spare her.
“Dante!” I shout, knowing he is nearby.
“I’m at your beck and call,” he says, strolling into my office just seconds later.
“Take Lucille to her room to pack. She will be leaving us and returning to her father. And if she dares to say anything negative about our family or anyone under my roof or my protection, you will fetch her from wherever she is and take her to the warehouse. Understand?” I say, locking eyes with Lucille as I speak the last word.
“Sure.” Dante's lighthearted mood disappears at the mention of the warehouse. That’s where bad things happened. Yet we had never sent a woman there.
“I swear, Dominico, I would never say anything to tarnish the family name. Never.” Lucille is still on the ground pleading with me, her mascara-streaked face staring back at me as more tears fall from her eyes.
“Get out.” I turn away from her, freeing my legs from her grasp. She scrambles up and quickly moves toward the door.
Dante hovers, remaining in the office after Lucille has left.
“What?” I say, rounding my desk and surveying the damage I have caused.
“I’ll order you a new one then.”
I almost want to laugh at how absurd the situation is.
Lily thought she was powerless.
What she didn't realize was that she had the Don of the Mafia wrapped around her finger, making her the most powerful woman alive.
Fuck.