Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
The aftermath of a mafia war is not cleaned with brooms and dustpans. It is purged with fire and iron.
By three in the morning, the Moretti estate was under complete lockdown. Marco, Dominic’s fiercely loyal second-in-command who had survived the dining room mutiny with only a flesh wound to his shoulder, had mobilized three hundred loyal soldiers from the docks. The bodies had been cleared. The traitors had been systematically rounded up across Boston.
Antonio Moretti’s body had been recovered from the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs below the balcony. The snake was dead.
Dominic refused to go to the hospital. He had a private surgeon stitch the laceration on his forehead in the library while he sat in a leather armchair, holding Leo on his lap. The boy refused to leave his side, his small hand permanently curled into the fabric of Dominic’s torn shirt.
Lily had finally fallen asleep on the leather sofa, wrapped in a plush cashmere blanket, her breathing soft and rhythmic.
I stood by the window, watching the rain wash the residue of war from the courtyard below. I was still wearing my stained maid's uniform, my chignon completely undone, dark strands of hair clinging to my pale face.
"You should sleep, Isabella," Dominic’s deep voice broke the silence.
I turned around. The private doctor had packed his surgical kit and quietly exited the library, leaving only the four of us.
Dominic looked battered, bruised, and completely exhausted, but his gray eyes were warmer than I had ever seen them. The ghost that had haunted his gaze for three years had finally been laid to rest.
"I can't sleep," I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself. "My adrenaline is still through the roof. I keep hearing the glass breaking."
Dominic shifted Leo gently, resting the sleeping boy against his broad chest, and patted the arm of the leather chair beside him.
"Come here," he commanded softly. It wasn't an order from a boss; it was an invitation from a man.
I hesitated for a second before walking over and sinking onto the plush leather chair beside him. The heat radiating from his massive body was intoxicating, chasing away the cold chill that had settled into my bones.
Dominic reached out with his uninjured hand, gently taking mine. He looked down at our joined fingers—his large, calloused, bruised hand engulfing my smaller, slender one.
"Antonio’s men tracked your background yesterday morning," Dominic said quietly, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.
I stiffened, a flash of fear piercing my chest. "Dominic, I swear I have nothing to hide—"
"I know," he interrupted gently, squeezing my fingers to calm me. "I know everything. I know your ex-fiancé walked out on you the day Lily was born. I know you worked three cleaning jobs while putting yourself through nursing school before your mother got sick and you had to drop out to pay her medical bills. I know you gave up every dream you ever had to keep a roof over that little girl's head."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I looked down, biting my lip to keep from crying.
"You came into this house as a maid," Dominic murmured, his voice rich and deep, vibrating straight through to my soul. "You wore a uniform. You cleaned my floors. But you did something no army, no fortune, and no power on this earth could ever do."
He looked down at Leo sleeping peacefully against his chest.
"You brought my son back to me, Isabella. You looked past the blood, past the violence, and you saw a broken boy who needed to be loved. And you risked your life to save him."
"He's a sweet boy, Dominic," I choked out, a tear finally escaping and tracking down my cheek. "He just needed someone to hear him."
Dominic reached up, his rough, calloused thumb gently catching the tear and wiping it away. His touch was electric, sending a fierce shiver down my spine. His eyes held mine with a terrifying, breathtaking intensity.
"You saved both of us, Isabella," he whispered, leaning slightly closer, his breath warm against my lips. "For three years, I was dead inside. I was a ghost walking through an empire of stone, waiting for someone to put a bullet in my head so I could stop feeling the guilt. But then you walked into my kitchen with soap bubbles in your hair, and my son laughed."
He smiled—a genuine, breathtaking smile that transformed his rugged, scarred face into something devastatingly handsome.
"That was the moment I started living again."
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. The unspoken feelings that had been simmering between us beneath the fear, beneath the social divide, beneath the violence of this house, finally erupted into the light.
"Dominic," I breathed, my voice trembling. "What happens now? You're the Don of Boston. I'm just..."
"You are not 'just' anything," he cut me off fiercely, his grip on my hand tightening. "You are the woman who holds my heart in her hands. And if you think I am ever letting you put on that maid's uniform again, Isabella, you severely underestimate me."
Before I could answer, Leo stirred on his lap. The little boy rubbed his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling, before looking between his father and me.
"Daddy?" Leo murmured sleepily.
"I'm here, buddy," Dominic whispered, wrapping his arm tighter around the boy. "I'm right here."
Leo looked over at Lily sleeping on the sofa, then back up at Dominic.
"Is Miss Isabella going to stay with us forever?" Leo asked, his innocent, hopeful question hanging in the quiet library like a fragile prayer. "Can she and Lily be our real family now?"
Dominic looked at me, a soft, predatory warmth gleaming in his silver eyes.
"That," Dominic said, his gaze never leaving my face, "is entirely up to Miss Isabella."
I looked at the little boy who had stolen my heart, at my daughter sleeping peacefully across the room, and at the fierce, dangerous, fiercely protective man holding my hand.
The fear was gone. The shadows had lifted.
May you like
"Yes, Leo," I whispered, smiling through my tears as I leaned my head against Dominic’s broad, solid shoulder. "I'm staying."
---
