Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Isabella
The knock on my door yanks me out of my book, though if I’m honest, I hadn’t been following the words anyway. I’ve read the same damn paragraph five times. The male lead is cruel and impossible to like in ways that remind me of Dominic. I close the book with more force than necessary.
When I open the door, Sharon is standing there, eyes fixed to the ground. She still refuses to look at me despite my efforts to make her feel comfortable.
Leaning against the doorframe, I ask, “Is everything okay?” My tone is soft, so she doesn’t shrink further.
“You’ll be attending the Black Rose Gala with the Master at 8 p.m.,” she says softly.
“The what? With Dominic?” A laugh escapes from my lips.
After the way he treated me yesterday? Yeah, right. Who the hell does he think he is? He expects me to dress up and play a loving, devoted wife? That man is out of his goddamn mind.
“Master asked that you be accompanied to get what you need,” she continues, extending a black card. Her hands tremble as she holds out the card like it’s going to bite her. For a second, I almost laugh again.
Poor thing looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. It’s not her fault her boss is a tyrant, not her fault she has to follow me everywhere and report back to Dominic, like some kind of bodyguard. Not that I mind her presence. I enjoy her company, even though she keeps to herself most of the time.
I glance at it, then back at her. “What’s that for?” Though I already know the answer.
“To get what you need.”
“I don’t need anything from him.” I know I sound childish, but he’s a sadistic bastard. I bite down my next curse and soften my tone for Sharon’s sake. “Not your fault he’s an ass.” Her shoulders relax a fraction. “Just… tell him I’m not interested in being seen anywhere near him.”
Her head jerks up, eyes wide and horrified. “I don’t think—”
“Sorry, Sharon. This isn’t on you,” I say, forcing a half-smile. Then I pluck the card from her hand, pinching it between two fingers. “I’ll tell him myself.”
I storm out of my room, heading straight toward the west wing.
My knocks go unanswered, so I damn the consequences and go inside.
The sound of running water tells me he’s in the shower.
I’ve never been in Dominic’s room, but it is exactly what I would have imagined.
Dark green walls. Black bedding. The curtains are shut, preventing even the barest light from coming in.
There’s no personal item that says someone lives here. A space deserving of the monster he is.
And apparently, I’m the fool who wandered straight into his web.
With nothing else to do, I pace back and forth, crossing and uncrossing my arms while I think about my next move. Do I snap the card in half for dramatic effect? Throw it at his face and tell him exactly what I think? Or run back to my room and pretend I was never here?
No. He needs to know he can’t treat me like shit.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Dominic’s growl pulls me back to reality. I jolt, spinning toward the sound. My eyes widen as I take him in. Water trails down his chest, cutting over well-defined abs. My gaze drops lower, to the bulge straining against the towel at his hips.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. My throat suddenly becomes dry.
“I-I came to return this,” I stammer, thrusting the card toward him.
He doesn’t take it. “It’s yours,” he says flatly.
He grabs another towel, dragging it through his thick, dark hair. Then turns his back to me, dismissing me.
My traitorous gaze slides to his back. How is a girl supposed to concentrate?
I’ve never gotten a clear view of Dominic’s tattoos.
A dragon coils across one shoulder, and a jagged cross splits the center of his back.
Lower, a skull grins near his spine, hollow eyes staring at me.
I hate how badly I want to trace every line of ink with my fingers while I listen to him tell me their stories.
“When you’re done ogling, leave.”
I snap my eyes away, heat crawling up my neck. “What makes you think I’m going to any stupid event with you?”
He pauses, then turns to me. “Oh, Princess, you will”—his eyes narrow darkly—“because when the devil gives an order, even heaven bows.”
“I’d rather burn in hell than bend to your orders.” I plant my feet adamantly on the ground.
The silence that settles next is unnerving when he chuckles darkly, the sound rippling across my skin, raising the hairs on my arm.
“Then burn, little wife. But remember, when you call for God, I’ll be the one answering.”
My breath seizes in my chest, but I manage to seethe. “Fuck you.”
His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. In the next breath, he storms toward me until my back hits the wall. With a primal growl, he slaps a palm on the wall beside my head, caging me in. “Watch your mouth.”
My chin lifts in defiance. “Or what?”
His eyes darken, mouth curving in something too sharp to be a smile. “I’ll put that fucking mouth to good use…make you choke on my cock until the only thing you scream is my name.”
The air between us crackles, and I feel the heat spreading between my thighs. My heart hammers so loud I swear he hears it. I try to talk, but somehow the words are stuck in my throat. Jesus, it’s hot in here.
His eyes drag over every inch of my body, making me feel like I’m being stripped bare. Then, finally, he steps back, just far enough for me to breathe again.
“You’ll go to dinner with me,” he continues. “You’ll use the card. And you’ll stay the fuck out of my room.” He pauses, staring at my lips briefly. “Unless I decide to ruin you in it.”
My hands tremble at my sides. I want to spit in his face. I want him to drag me back against the wall. I want both, and that’s the problem.
The bastard knows it.
***
If there’s one thing Dominic is unaware of, it’s how far I’ll go to make a point.
The car drops me in front of a boutique so grand that it looks like a museum. Two of Dominic’s men wait outside the entrance.
When Sharon and I walk inside, we meet a row of attendants standing at attention like they’re waiting for a queen.
My eyes briefly scan the exquisite interior, and my heart skips a beat when I catch a familiar figure. Average height, with more than a few strands of grey hair and a composed stance. But as the person turns, I realize that it’s not him. It’s not Enzo, and I am oddly disappointed.
Maybe because, in my books, he’s still the only one who defied the odds of what a man in his position should be like.
He’s ruthless, but I believe there’s a part of him…
that’s different. Unlike other people, when Father mistreated me—which he did frequently before his people—Enzo didn’t glance at me like I was trash; rather, the look in his eyes usually held the opposite.
Initially, I dismissed it as pity, but when you see enough of someone’s suffering, pity fades. His didn’t, in fact, I think it grew.
A short brunette steps forward, pulling me out of my thoughts. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Of course they have. Dominic doesn’t do anything unplanned. He probably sent them a dossier on me: height, shoe size, measurements, favorite color, psychological profile... And knowing him, he probably even told them how they should smile when they greet me.
The brunette sales associate leads me toward a rack of muted-colored, straight-cut evening gowns. I stare at them for a full five seconds before my mouth curls in distaste.
“I’ll take that one instead.” The words leave my mouth before I can think twice.
The associate blinks hard, taken off guard as she assesses the gown I pointed at. “That’s not among the selection.”
“Then that’s the one I want.” My voice is assertive because I already smell Dominic’s assholery at play.
She hesitates, wringing her hands. “Mr. Moretti was very clear about the kind of gowns to prepare.”
My brow arches. “And what did he say?”
Her voice drops cautiously. “He said it must be modest. No bare skin.”
I roll my eyes, already irritated. Not only did Dominic book the entire place, but he also hand-picked a collection of gowns he deemed “appropriate” for me. “Well, you can report back to him that I’m not getting any of those.”
I bet Sharon is already doing that.
For a second, the associate looks like she might protest again.
Her mouth opens, then shuts again when I arch a brow.
It’s amazing what the right angling of your head can do.
Finally, the woman nods. With a flick of her wrist, another sales associate scurries to strip the mannequin.
If Dominic thinks he’s going to control my entire life, he has another thing coming.
The dress I chose is blood red, featuring a very high slit on one side and a bare back.
I imagine walking into dinner in it, Dominic’s brain mentally crashing out. He won’t say a word, of course. But I’ll know.
“I’ll take the shoes, too,” I say, pointing at a pair of black patent leather stilettos on display. Louboutins, if I remember correctly. I once overheard Elena gushing to a friend about how the red sole was iconic, how every woman should own at least one pair.
The associate signals to another woman, who scurries off to fetch them in my size. I sink into a velvet sofa, pretending to be calm. My pulse, though, is erratic.
The black card in my hand is warm from where I’ve been spinning it between my fingers.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been in boutiques just like this, but always trailing behind Elena.
My sister had the taste for labels, the boldness to run her hands over fabrics with price tags that made me sweat.
And even though our mafia is a modest one, Dad always had the money when it came to polishing Elena like the doll that she is.
“Would you like to try it on?” the associate asks carefully.
“Yes.”
They lead me into a fitting room lined with mirrors on three sides.
I peel off my clothes slowly and step into the gown.
The silk feels soft against my skin, pooling at my feet before I tug it up and over my shoulders.
It hugs my body perfectly, the slit exposing my thigh in a scandalous invitation.
When I slip into the stilettos, I nearly laugh.
The heels are sky-high, and exactly what I need.
I straighten and stare at my reflection.
For a moment, my throat tightens. The woman staring back at me looks like she could ruin a man with just a glance.
I’ve never looked at myself this way… never looked like this.
Guilt creeps in, and that voice in my head whispers about bills, about how this money could change someone’s life. About how I shouldn’t want this.
The associate clears her throat softly, bringing me back. “It suits you, Miss.”
Of course it does.
“I’ll also need a purse,” I say lazily, gesturing with one hand. “Something small. Classy. Preferably something that will put a dent in this card.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. She moves quickly, returning with a diamond clutch. I accept it without a word, tucking it under my arm as if I’ve always carried things like this.
When the bill is tallied discreetly on a little screen, I nearly choke. That’s… that’s someone’s annual salary. Maybe two. More money than I’ve ever seen in one place. For one terrifying second, I almost back out.
But then I think of Dominic’s reaction when he sees me. The twitch he won’t be able to suppress.
The reaction I’m going to get drives me into motion.
And I swipe the card with a huge smile on my face.