Chapter 14 Dom
DOM
I miss her cooking.
The thought comes to me, unbidden, as the waiter from Salt & Stone brings me a still-sizzling ribeye steak.
“What’d the cow do to you?” Aceto teases from across our four-top table. “That’s a grade-A cut of meat, and you’re giving it a look like it talked shit about your sister.”
I pick up my knife and fork, grinning. “Guess I got my mind elsewhere these days.”
“Hey, I understand. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Congratulations, by the way, on the marriage. Serafina’s a lovely girl. She’s helping my daughter Valeria get the flowers and decorations set up for my promotion dinner.”
Riccardo weighs in from Aceto’s side. “She’s a good girl. Damn shame about her sister.”
“Yeah,” I say unconvincingly.
Riccardo would have zero fucking knowledge of any of my wife’s qualities, so I’m not sure why he’s opening his mouth.
Aceto cuts in. “Did she tell you I’m renting out a yacht for the party? I know what you’re thinking. ‘In the winter, are you fucking crazy?’ But have you ever seen the Navy Pier in January? Me and the Missus…”
As Aceto drones on, I nod and chew through the rest of my steak, slower than usual.
It tastes like shit—it’s overcooked, and practically swimming in butter.
Annetta keeps a little jar of bacon grease next to the stove and cooks with that, but hell if I know what her secret ingredient is.
All I know is, for the first time in my life, I’m pushing aside the meal in front of me in favor of the one I know I have waiting at home.
“This place is known for their steaks,” Aceto stops his own monologue to say. He glances nervously at my half-eaten plate. “You get a bad one or something?”
I shrug. “Something like that.”
Aceto goes on about the caterers he’s going to hire—some company he scammed to work at half price, and my thoughts drift back to Annetta and what she’s cooking back at the house. Maybe I can get her to bake up more of that cheese bread she made the other night.
I’m painfully aware of her hooks in me when my next thought is a jealous stab toward Eduardo for smelling her food. He already heard her moans drifting downstairs—the only reason he’s not a dead man is that she was saying my name.
I’ve never had to wrestle with jealousy like this before.
When my ex-girlfriend Marla cheated on me after two years together, I was over it in a day.
The trash took itself out. So what if she complained that I picked the Family over her?
She knew what she was signing up for when we got together.
I treated that woman to extravagant vacations and fancy jewelry, and made her come every night.
If a woman can’t be loyal after all that, then that’s on her.
But Annetta? She already knows the Family comes first, and she’s been loyal, even when all she’s seen is the worst of me.
The grumpy, asshole me when I’m sick and begging her mom for hot soup.
The way-too-fucking-loud me when I’m drunk with her brothers.
And now, she has a clear idea of the fucked-up shit I do with her dad.
I haven’t treated her like a wife for a single moment since she’s been in my penthouse, and all she’s done in turn is treat me with kindness and home-cooked meals.
That’s not a woman you give up easily.
Mom was like that. No matter how much Dad yelled or how badly he beat us, she stayed. She was loyal to a fault, and all it got her was misery. But I’m not interested in carrying on Dad’s legacy. And I don’t want a woman to be with me because she thinks she doesn’t have other options.
I’m not fooling myself about Annetta. She already told me why she wants me—I can protect her, and her standards for husbands are in hell. She deserves more than the bare minimum of a man who doesn’t hit her and shows up to eat her food.
This morning was different. Her soft, peaceful contentment when I walked out of the bedroom? While she’s with me, the least I can do is make that happen for her every chance I get.
“So, tell me, Aceto,” I say once he’s done blabbering about his stupid yacht. “How’re the houses doing? Still got a bunch of buzz flies?”
Riccardo had been complaining about all the police at their warehouses, but I haven’t heard anything about it since. It’s rare for a situation like that to go away on its own, though wouldn’t that be peachy?
Aceto strokes his mustache and smiles, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the first interesting thing to happen tonight. “They’re doing real good. Got all the buzz flies taken care of.”
I make note to swing by for a little surprise inspection of Aceto’s warehouses in the next couple of weeks.
Just long enough that he forgets about this conversation, and just short enough that he doesn’t change anything up.
I know a lie when I see one. There’s no way he took care of all the police buzzing around his warehouse without Turi hearing anything about it.
Goddamn, I hope it’s something good. I’ve been needing a little stress relief lately.
As Aceto brags about how great his drug distribution is going, I get a text. After that shit with Annetta getting freaked out by the house cleaner, I’ve been pulling out my phone for the slightest phantom vibrations.
I barely read the entire message before leaping up from the table.
“Dom?” Some of the politeness melts off of Aceto’s face, probably because he’s worried I won’t pay for my food. Fucking cheap fuck.
I pull out my wallet, throw a thousand dollars in cash on the table, and I’m gone.
On the drive home, I squeeze the steering wheel until it feels like it might fold under my grip, but I don’t speed, even now. I call up Turi.
“Dom.”
“How the fuck did a hitman get into the building?” I know I’m shouting, but I’m spiraling, stuck in this vehicle like a caged animal.
“He only got as far as the lobby.” Turi’s reaction to me yelling has always been to get quieter, and right now, it’s pissing me off more than usual.
“What if he had a bomb? Aren’t you and Marisol supposed to have alerts for killers entering the building? And what about Mauro? He was on street duty. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Mauro called it in. He thought the guy looked funny.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
“Why don’t you check up on your wife? The guy’s getting delivered to my house within the hour. If he’s got something to say, we’ll know soon.”
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
He doesn’t say a word, but I swear to God, I can hear the stupid smile on his face before he hangs up.
I jab at the penthouse elevator button and pace around the small metal box in tight circles as it creeps to the top floor.
When the doors open, the scent of warm, sweet bread curls around me like a housecat’s tail. Her bodyguard Eduardo is lounging on my living room couch.
“Go home,” I bark.
He jumps up and vanishes into the elevator as I turn the corner to the kitchen.
Annetta, wearing a light blue apron with handfuls of flour dusted across the front, and her honey blonde hair swinging in a ponytail, turns to greet me.
Unfiltered delight at seeing me—me—spreads across her face and violently cracks into my heart.
The future lines up before me like a stack of dominoes.
This—what if this could be what I come home to every night?
A beautiful woman, home-cooked meals, and smiles?
For the first time in my life, I realize I’ve been missing out on something big.
“Annetta,” I say, stopping only a few footsteps from her.
She sucks in a breath, looking up at me with longing. “Yes?”
There’s a thin line of green through her brown eyes that I’ve never noticed before, though it’s swallowed by her pupils the longer I stare.
“Dom.” She reaches forward with her mom’s engagement ring still faithfully worn on her left hand and touches my arm.
“There was a hitman.” My voice is lower, softer than normal.
Her eyes widen, and I can’t tell if it’s in reaction to what I said or the clear desire in my voice.
Holding back my hunger for her feels like trying to contain a river behind a leaky dam, and after almost losing her again, I don’t want to. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she says, cupping her hand along my forearm. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do shit.” I can’t believe I wasn’t here to stop her would-be attacker. That’s supposed to be my job. “Turi took care of him.”
“Yeah, but you came to check on me.” She stares at my mouth for a beat too long, and the kitchen seems to fold around her, squeezing us together. “I want to kiss you again.”
I’m falling forward before she’s even finished saying those magic words, wrapping myself around her body and lifting her into the air with a tight hug. Her breasts press against my chest. This, at least, is something I can do for her.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur against her neck.
Her legs straddle wide over my hips, and her delicate hands thread into my hair like we’re long-lost lovers finally reuniting after months apart. “I want to taste you.”
“No,” I growl, and she stiffens against me. I knead my hands across her back, all sharp bones and surprisingly firm muscles. “I don’t want…”
Fuck, I can’t articulate this right now. There’s nothing more that I want than to feel her warm, wet mouth on my cock, but I don’t want to just take from her—not yet, not when I haven’t done a damn thing to earn my keep.
She laughs into my hair. “Then I want you to eat me out.”
For a moment, the only audible sound is the whisper of air pumped through the ventilation.
She’s holding her breath.
I can do that for her.
I ease her onto the kitchen counter, and she shivers.
“Cold?” I ask, running my palm up her arm. She’s got goose bumps.
She shakes her head with a smile. “I’m excited.”
Considering the fact that my dick is about to bust through the seams of my pants, she’s not the only one. Knowing my knees are going to hate me for it, I kneel, putting my face at the perfect countertop height.