20. Lena
Lena
I wake up slowly, still drifting in that sweet, hazy space between sleep and consciousness. I open my eyes. Dominic’s room . Of course. Last night. The whole dramatic showdown over the bed.
Well, here I am. In his bed. Like a good, little contractually obligated wife. And yeah, still naked. I didn’t bother getting dressed after he left in the middle of the night. If he wants his wife in his bed, fine. He can have the full package. No reason to make it easier for him.
But who am I kidding? The way he held me when he came back, the way he slipped into bed like I was something breakable. The way he whispered, thinking I was asleep, “ Don’t go away from me, baby. It’s killing me.” It’s all wearing me down.
Dominic isn’t just in my bed. He’s under my skin.
And worse, he’s starting to make his way into my heart.
And if I let that happen, if I let myself believe he’s really all in, that he’s not going to wake up one day and remember he was never built for this.
I’m not only setting myself up for heartbreak.
I’m handing him the power to break me wide open.
I try to move without waking him, carefully sliding my hand out from under his, easing out from beneath the blanket.
I pause beside the bed, watching him. He looks peaceful.
Vulnerable in a way I doubt many people ever see him.
Before I even realize it, my fingers are in his hair, threading through the messy strands.
I linger for a second, soaking in the softness.
There’s a faint crease on his cheek, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his lips slightly parted in sleep, completely at ease.
I trace a line down the side of his face, then let my hand drift to his arm, skimming the firm muscle there.
Just one more second. Then I pull back before I let myself fall in again.
I need my phone. Not for work. Not for emails. I need to talk to Lexi before I completely lose my mind next to this sex god. She knows a thing or two about falling for men like this.
I spot his shirt from last night tossed over a chair and slip it on before tiptoeing into the living room.
My phone is exactly where I left it, on the dining table, half-buried under a corner of that mille-feuille we never finished.
I dip two fingers into the cream. Heavenly .
I could probably order another one right now.
Perks of being Mrs. Dominic Monti . Not that I’m thinking about last night.
Not the kind of perks that make my face burn all over again—no, I mean the other kind.
Comfort. Luxury. That dangerously tempting kind of ease.
Licking the cream off my fingers, I unlock my phone. 10:15 AM. Dominic will probably sleep for at least two more hours. He’s a night owl. That comes with running an empire after dark.
It’s Saturday. And I don’t remember the last time I felt this calm. This light. I grin to myself. Okay, fine. Maybe it also has something to do with the orgasm, delivered generously by my husband . Well, lovely Saturday before the storm. Because Monday, it all begins.
The Mayor’s deadline is up. We’ll be going public with Anton. Police involvement. Protection for the victims. We’ll do it by the book, me, Dominic, and Damien.
The nightmare that’s eaten up years of my life is finally nearing its end. After that, maybe I’ll start figuring out what it means to actually be Mrs. Monti. I’ll deal with that part when I get there.
A message pops up from Lexi: “Urgent!! Check this link.”
I click. It’s a live stream from a local news outlet—camera fixed on a small, makeshift stage outside City Hall.
Well, stage is too generous to call it. It’s just a wooden platform on the front steps.
No podium, no proper mic setup. A few reporters are there, scattered around.
Not the usual press pack you’d expect at a formal announcement. Everything feels last-minute.
Mayor Lang steps up, speaking directly into handheld mics, smiling stiffly, his tone calm but clipped: “This morning, I’m officially announcing my candidacy for another term as mayor.”
Camera flashes. Low murmurs ripple through the crowd. “I also regret to announce that Mr. Anton Rinaldi, my chief of staff for the past few years, is stepping down for personal and family reasons.”
I frown. God. It’s starting. The endgame.
A journalist asks, “Will we hear from Mr. Rinaldi? Will he make a statement?”
The Mayor glances over his shoulder like he’s pretending to look, then turns back with the same tight, polished smile: “Unfortunately, Mr. Rinaldi has already stepped away. He won’t be giving further comment.”
The world tilts. Anton. Out publicly. Just like that.
Footsteps behind me. I turn. Dominic stands there, completely naked, phone in hand. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still heavy and narrowed from sleep. His gaze drops to my phone, still playing the video. “Ah. So you’ve heard the news,” he says, voice low and rough.
He sinks onto the giant couch beside me, close but not quite touching. One pillow lands in his lap. He tucks another under his arm, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“Morning habits,” he mutters, nodding toward the pillow in his lap, one brow lifting to make his point.
I glance there, then snap my eyes away, heat rushing to my cheeks. Get it together, Lena.
He hands me his phone. “It’s from the mayor. Read it.”
The screen shows a message thread already open.
I read aloud: “Sorry, I didn’t give you a heads-up.
This morning, I found out Anton was planning to announce his own candidacy and accuse me of corruption.
I acted fast. I turned everything I had on him over to the police and kicked him out of City Hall.
Now it’s your turn. You can count on me. The cleanup has officially started.”
My blood pulses hot in my veins. I look up at Dominic. He’s already watching me closely, reading every flicker of my reaction. There’s concern in his eyes.
“I wish he’d told us first,” he says, running a hand down his face, then back through his hair. “But I get it. He wanted the element of surprise to stop Anton from turning it against him.”
He glances down at his phone and lets out a dry laugh. “He even tried to call me. Missed it at seven. I was dead asleep. With you in my arms, baby.”
And just like that, last night comes rushing back— his body wrapped around mine, the heat between us, like nothing outside those sheets mattered. He catches the shift in my expression and gives me a warm, intimate smile. Like there’s no one else in the world but me.
“Thanks for sharing my bed,” he says, voice low and teasingly serious. “Like you promised, Mrs. Monti.”
Heat floods me from head to toe. There’s something in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.
Adoration, quiet and deep, mixed with that low, burning fire that never really fades.
Even with everything falling apart around us.
My fingers slide over his wrist instinctively. A small, almost possessive touch.
But then something shifts in his face. The softness fades, replaced by focus. The heat in his eyes dims, just a little, giving way to concern. He adjusts his position, straightening up a little against the cushions, both feet flat on the floor now. Fully present.
“Let’s talk strategy,” he says, voice steady now. “What’s the next move? How can I help?”
He glances at me, eyes searching. “Do you want me to call the mayor? Or should we bring in Damien, Alice, and Valerie? Maybe even Gabriel and Lexi?” His tone softens. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, baby.”
“Anton’s going to lose it. Desperate men do unpredictable things.”
Dominic nods, jaw tight, eyes darkening. “Then don’t give him a window. No more going anywhere alone. Not even to the shelter. Not until he’s behind bars. You’ll have full security.”
His voice stays calm, but I see it. The worry flickers in his eyes, wired tight beneath his skin.
“I’ll call Valerie and warn the shelter too,” I say. “They need to be on alert. I’m not letting anyone else get hurt because of him.”
Dominic reaches for my hand. “We’ll talk to Damien. That file, your case, it needs to land in the right hands. Otherwise, everything you’ve done could disappear into a drawer somewhere.”
I lift my chin, trying to hold onto confidence, even if it feels fragile. “I’m ready to go to the police with Damien. I want to discuss how we’ll do it before I hand over anything. I want guarantees. For the victims. For their safety. I need to know they’ll be protected before I go public.”
He studies me for a moment. “And… have you thought about the press? About your career? Are you thinking about writing it?”
I meet his eyes. “First, I want justice. If publishing helps take the Rinaldi family down, I’ll do it. If not… I’ll decide later.”
A weak smile tugs at his lips, caught somewhere between pride and pain. He squeezes my hand a little tighter this time. “Then let’s get started,” he says. And in his eyes, I see the promise: whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
Dominic stretches and lets out a long breath before rising from the couch in one smooth, unbothered motion. Still completely naked, he crosses the room without a hint of shame and pours himself a glass of water. I try not to look. I fail.
“I’m going to shower,” he says over his shoulder, flashing that slow, dangerous, barely-awake smile. “Unfortunately, today’s kicking off earlier than I wanted.” Then, with a wink: “If you want to join, the invitation’s open. My bed, my shower, my body… You know it’s all yours. Anytime.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse skips. “How can you be this relaxed?”
His smile softens. “I’m not. I’m just trying to keep your brain from spiraling before the storm hits.” He turns more serious now. “I’ve got your back, Lena. Always. I’m texting everyone now. We’ll meet in my office in an hour.”
He pauses, setting down the glass. His tone dips low. Protective.