I had walked into a building that was already being watched.
Dominic doesn't even turn his head. His eyes remain locked on mine, devouring every inch of my panicked face, cataloging the copper curls falling over my shoulders, the rapid pulse jumping at the base of my throat, the terrified dilation of my pupils.
"She's not a witness, Fabio," Dominic says, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with an intense, territorial rumble that rattles my teeth. "She's mine."
"Dom, you can't be serious?—"
"I said," Dominic roars, the sudden explosion of volume so violently loud that I flinch hard, shrinking back against the wood. The raw, guttural dominance in his voice silences the entire room. He takes a deep breath, visibly reigning in the explosive violence, his chest expanding massively beneath my hands. When he speaks again, it is a deadly, quiet command. "She is mine. Clear the room. Bag the trash. Call Nico to handle the cleanup and fetch the items I need."
From the far wall, the still man speaks for the first time. His voice is unhurried, flat, and absolutely certain, the way a man speaks when he's already three moves ahead of everyone else in the room. "They've had eyes on L'Ombra long enough to run plates. She was made the moment she pulled into that alley." A beat. His dark gaze moves from me to Dominic. "Which means she's already in the ledger whether she leaves here or not."
No one answers him. No one argues with him. The observation doesn't require either.
"What about her?" Fabio asks, his tone blunt now, the aggressive edge sharpened by frustration into something almost civil.
Dominic's thumb sweeps over my lower lip, parting it slightly. The gesture is wildly intimate, entirely inappropriate for a room coated in blood and plastic. My body betrays me, a heavy, liquid awareness swelling low in my stomach at the absolute possessiveness of his touch.
"Where is your van?" Dominic asks me, his focus narrowing until the rest of the world ceases to exist.
"In... in the alley," I whisper.
He glances at my hands, which are still gripping his shirt. He notices the red, chafed marks on my inner forearms where the heavy ceramic vase had dug into my skin. A muscle leaps in his jaw, a tight, furious ticking. He reaches down, peeling my hands off his chest, and threads his massive, clean fingers through mine. The size difference is absurd. My hand disappears completely inside his grip.
"Santi," Dominic barks without looking away from me.
The silent giant steps forward immediately, his calm, calculated gaze taking in the situation with sparse efficiency. "Boss."
"Take her keys. Pull the van into the underground secure garage at the brownstone. If anyone follows you, kill them." Dominic's thumb rubs soothingly over the back of my knuckles, a stark contrast to the brutal orders leaving his mouth. "Fabio. Bring the armored SUV around to the front. We are leaving."
"I... I can't leave my van," I protest, my voice entirely hollow. "I have a wedding setup at?—"
Dominic silences me by crowding into my space, his massive thighs boxing mine in, his broad chest pressing me back against the wood of the doorframe, his weight crushing the air from my lungs. He looms over me, a wall of pure, terrifying masculinity.
"You aren't listening, Sienna," he rumbles, his voice dropping into a register that makes my tits ache. "The life in which you worry about vans and weddings ended the second you broke that vase at my feet. You aren't a florist anymore. You're a guest of the Costa family. And I don't let my guests walk through alleys at midnight."
"You can't do that," I gasp, turning my head to glare up at him, finding a scrap of anger beneath the paralyzing fear. "You can't just kidnap me because I walked into the wrong room!"
A dark, arrogant smirk plays at the corner of his lips. It transforms his harsh, aristocratic features into something devastatingly handsome, and dangerously obsessive.
"I am Dominic Costa," he murmurs, his breath warm against my lips. "I spent the last twenty years burning down empires to get exactly what I want. You walked into my room, Sienna. You belong to me now."
He doesn't give me time to process the sheer madness of his words. He releases my waist, his hand lingering on the curve of my hip for a second too long, before he grabs his charcoal-grey suit jacket from the coat rack. He doesn't shed the holster. He doesn't give up the weapon. He simply layers the jacket over his broad shoulders, the tailored wool concealing the lethal steel beneath. He turns to the coat rack by the door, grabsa meticulously tailored, charcoal-grey suit jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders.
The jacket is massive on me. It falls to my mid-thigh, swamping my frame, heavy with the scent of him and residual body heat. He pulls the lapels together across my chest, his knuckles grazing my collarbone. The touch is deliberate. A claiming mark.
"You're freezing," he notes, his brow furrowing deeply. He looks genuinely furious at the fact that my spine is locked rigid with terror, completely ignoring the fact that he is the reason why. "Your hands are like ice."
"I'm terrified," I snap, my voice thin but defiant. "You have people tied to chairs."
Dominic glances back at the plastic-covered floor, looking at the mutilated Bellanti soldiers as if they are nothing more than inconvenient stains on the rug. The cold, sociopathic detachment in his eyes when he looks at them is terrifying, especially compared to the heavy, burning intensity he directs back at me a second later.
"They are monsters, Sienna. The men who murdered my family." He looks back at me, his gaze softening into something that looks dangerously like reverence. "I am a monster, too. But I will never be a monster to you. Do you understand me?"
I stare up at him, my throat working as I try to swallow the lump of panic. He isn't asking for my understanding. He is laying down the absolute law of my new reality. I am a captive, yes, but looking into his eyes, seeing the obsessive, unhinged devotion already sparking in the dark depths... I realize with a sickening jolt that he isn't locking me away to silence me.
He is locking me away to keep me.
"Santi, the keys," Dominic orders, holding his hand out.
