Chapter 5 - A Crack in the Armor
The drive back to Long Island was silent and tense. The rain had returned, pouring down in sheets that blurred the highway. Leo had fallen asleep in the back seat of the armored Cadillac, his head resting against Beatrice’s lap.
When they arrived at the estate, the storm had knocked out the main power line. The grand house was bathed in the flickering gray light of lightning and emergency wall sconces.
Marco met Dominic at the front door, his face grim. "Boss, the south perimeter fence alarmed five minutes ago. Security is sweeping the woods. It might be a false alarm from a fallen tree, but we're locking down the master wing."
Dominic’s expression hardened into iron. "Get Leo into the panic room off the master suite. Now."
Beatrice picked up the sleeping boy, her heart hammering against her ribs. Dominic led them swiftly up the back stairs, through his private quarters, and into a hidden room behind a mahogany bookshelf. The room was lined with thick steel doors, concrete walls, and security monitors.
"Stay inside," Dominic ordered, reaching into his jacket and pulling a sleek black pistol from his holster. He checked the magazine with cold, mechanical efficiency. "Do not open this door for anyone except me or Marco."
Beatrice gripped his forearm, her eyes wide with terror—not for herself, but for him. "Dominic, please. Be careful."
Dominic paused, staring at her hand on his sleeve. In the dim emergency lights of the panic room, the air between them grew thick with unspoken tension. He cupped her face in his free hand, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
"I always survive, Beatrice," he whispered. "Because I have things to come back to now."
He pulled back, closed the heavy steel door, and the lock clicked into place.
For forty-five agonizing minutes, Beatrice sat on the leather sofa inside the panic room, holding Leo close as thunder rattled the heavy structure. She listened to the distant, muffled echoes of shouting and what sounded dangerously like gunfire outside. She prayed frantically—not for the estate, not for her job, but for the man with the dark eyes and bruised hands.
Finally, the electronic lock chimed. The heavy door swung open.
Dominic stood in the threshold. He was drenched in rain, his tuxedo jacket gone, his white shirt stained with mud and blood. His hair hung in dark wet strands across his forehead.
"It's clear," Dominic said, his breath coming in heavy ragged gasps. "It was a scouting team from Moretti. We handled it."
Beatrice didn't think. She didn't pause to remember that she was an employee, that he was a dangerous don, or that they belonged to entirely different worlds.
She stood up, rushed across the small room, and threw her arms around his neck.
Dominic froze for a fraction of a second in sheer shock before his arms came around her like iron bands. He pulled her flush against his chest, lifting her off her feet as he backed her against the heavy steel frame of the open door.
"You're safe," she sobbed into his neck, her fingers tangling in his wet hair. "Thank God, you're safe."
"Bee," Dominic groaned, his voice breaking.
He pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her eyes were shining with tears, her lips parted, her breathing as fast and panicked as his own.
The control that Dominic Russo had cultivated for four long, lonely years shattered into a thousand pieces.
He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his.
The kiss was fierce, possessive, and desperate. Dominic kissed her like a dying man reaching for air, his lips crushing against hers with an intensity that burned away every doubt Beatrice had ever held about herself. She let out a soft, shuddering gasp and melted into him, opening her mouth to his, her hands clutching at his wet shoulders.
His hands moved down her back, pressing into the soft velvet of her gown, pulling her lush, full curves tightly against the hard angles of his body. He groaned into her mouth, a dark, primal sound, anchoring her against him as if she were the only real thing in a world made of blood and shadows.
"Dominic..." she whispered against his lips when they finally parted, both of them breathless and trembling.
May you like
Dominic pressed his forehead against hers, his chest heaving. His hazel eyes were wild, consumed by a fierce, terrifying devotion.
"I've been going insane watching you, Beatrice," he whispered against her skin, his lips moving to her jawline, her neck. "Every single night. You've invaded every room in this house. Every thought in my head."
