Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
The house was dead quiet at three in the morning, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass.
Beatatrice had showered in the spa-like marble bathroom, washing away the hairspray, makeup, and heavy adrenaline of the ballroom. She was wrapped in a plush, oversized white terrycloth robe provided by the suite, her damp dark hair falling around her shoulders.
She couldn't sleep. Her brain was still spinning through numbers, logistics, and the electric memory of Dominic’s hands on her waist.
She pushed open the heavy oak door connecting the bedroom to the private study.
Dominic was sitting at a massive mahogany desk, dressed only in a dark grey t-shirt and dark trousers. The shirt stretched tight across his massive chest and shoulders, revealing dark, intricate tattoos creeping down his biceps—symbols of loyalty, family, and protection. He had a glass of whiskey at his elbow and a stack of printouts spread before him.
He looked up the moment the door creaked, his hand instinctively dropping toward the pistol resting beside his arm. When he saw her, his posture relaxed instantly.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice a low, raspy velvet in the quiet room.
“So should you,” she replied, walking softly across the thick Persian rug. She sat on the corner of his desk, crossing her ankles. Without makeup, her skin was pale and clear, her deep dark eyes soft under the dim lamplight.
Dominic stared up at her, setting his pen down. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt thick, charged with an unsaid attraction that had been building since the first measure of the waltz.
“I’m sorry about what Mateo said tonight,” Dominic said suddenly, his tone dropping into a grave, quiet register. “About the dare. About the way those fools looked at you.”
Beatatrice looked down at her lap, her fingers tracing a pattern on the cotton robe. “You don't have to apologize for them, Dominic. I’ve lived in this body my whole life. I know how society rates women like me. If you aren't thin and dainty, people treat you like a punchline or a shadow.”
Dominic stood up slowly from his chair. His massive frame dominated the space, but his movements were surprisingly soft as he stepped closer to her. He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers gently lifting her chin so she had to look into his eyes.
“Those men are blind, blind fools,” Dominic said, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, terrifying sincerity. “They look for fragile dolls they can break and toss away. I look at you, Beatatrice, and I see power. I see softness where a man can finally rest. I see a woman who looks like a queen.”
Beatatrice’s breath hitched in her throat. “Dominic...”
“When I took your hand on that dance floor, I didn't give a damn about Mateo’s dare,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from hers. “I wanted to touch you the moment you walked into the room. You were the only real thing in that entire fake hall.”
Her heart thumped violently against her ribs. “I’m just an accountant.”
“You’re my accountant now,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her soft lower lip. “And you are the most beautiful woman who has ever walked into this house.”
Before she could speak, Dominic leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, slow kiss.
It wasn't aggressive; it was reverent, possessive, and warm. His heavy hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her damp dark hair, while his other arm swept around her waist, pulling her full, soft body flush against his chest. Beatatrice let out a quiet gasp against his mouth, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, holding onto him as the world melted away into heat and fire.
May you like
When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily. Dominic rested his forehead against hers, his hands resting firmly on her hips, anchoring her to him.
“I’m going to tear Mateo’s world down tomorrow,” Dominic growled softly against her skin. “Not just because he betrayed the family. But because he dared to make you feel small.”
