Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Family
The morning light broke gray and cold over the city.
In the penthouse kitchen, Chloe stood by the marble island, watching coffee drip slowly into a glass carafe. She hadn't slept a single minute. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the echo of gunshots she had imagined in the night, or saw Dominic’s dark eyes staring down at her with that terrifying, intense promise.
Sam was sound asleep down the hall, curled up under three thick duvets with his new red sneakers sitting neatly beside his bed.
The private elevator chime echoed softly through the foyer.
Chloe turned quickly, her heart catching in her throat.
Dominic stepped out of the elevator. He looked terrible. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his jacket was gone, and a thick white bandage was visible beneath his dark vest, wrapping around his ribs on the left side. Blood had seeped through the gauze, blooming like a dark red rose against the white cotton.
Paulie followed behind him, looking equally bruised, holding a heavy leather briefcase.
"Dominic!" Chloe dropped her coffee mug onto the counter and ran across the living room. "My God, you're hurt!"
"It’s a grazing wound," Dominic grunted, waving off her hands as she reached for him. He walked heavily toward the large leather armchair and collapsed into it with a suppressed groan. "Salvatore had a third man in the hallway."
"Salvatore?" Chloe stopped, her eyes wide. "Your underboss?"
"Former underboss," Paulie corrected grimly, setting the briefcase on the coffee table. "He won't be attending any more board meetings."
Chloe looked from Paulie’s grim face to Dominic, who had closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and rapid as he fought the pain in his side. The sight of him—this immovable wall of power and violence—looking vulnerable filled her with a strange, panic-laced grief.
"Paulie, get the medical kit from the bathroom," Chloe ordered, her tone shifting instantly into sharp command. "Now!"
Paulie hesitated, looking at Dominic for permission.
"Do what she says," Dominic muttered without opening his eyes.
Within two minutes, Chloe was kneeling on the rug beside Dominic’s chair. She carefully unbuttoned his blood-soaked shirt, peeling the fabric away from his skin. The bullet had torn a three-inch furrow along his ribs—not deep enough to be fatal, but jagged, ugly, and bleeding heavily.
She prepped the antiseptic and clean gauze with steady hands. Her time spent raising Sam on a shoestring budget had made her adept at treating cuts and sprains, but this was different. This was flesh torn by lead.
"This is going to burn," she whispered softly.
Dominic opened his dark eyes, watching her face through a haze of pain. "Do it."
She pressed the alcohol-soaked pad directly into the wound.
Dominic didn't make a sound. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath his skin, and his big hand shot out, gripping Chloe’s wrist. His strength was immense, even injured, but he didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt her. He simply anchored himself to her.
"You have good hands," he gritted out through clenched teeth, his dark eyes locked onto hers as she began applying the clean bandages. "Steady."
"They have to be," Chloe whispered, her fingers working deftly, wrapping the white tape around his torso. "If I fall apart, my brother doesn't eat."
Dominic looked down at her small, capable hands pressing against his ribs. The heat of her body was inches away, her soft scent of vanilla and rain cutting through the smell of blood and gunpowder in the room.
"Salvatore’s capos are going to come here today," Dominic murmured, his voice rough. "They’re going to demand a sit-down. They want to see if I’m strong enough to hold the family together after what happened last night."
Chloe paused, wrapping the final strip of tape. "And are you?"
Dominic reached up with his free hand, his long, calloused fingers gently catching her jaw, forcing her to look straight into his dark, relentless eyes.
"I survived the docks when I was twelve, Chloe," he whispered. "I survived twenty years of war in this city. A bullet from a traitor isn't going to finish me."
He leaned closer, his thumb tracing her lower lip.
"What scares me," he added, his voice dropping into a register so low and intimate it made her blood run hot, "is that if I die, there won't be anyone left to keep you safe."
Chloe’s breath hitched. She didn't pull away. She couldn't. The boundary between hatred, fear, and something dark and electric had dissolved completely over the last twelve hours.
"Don't die then," she whispered back, her own hand rising to rest gently against his uninjured shoulder. "That’s an order, Mr. Rossi."
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A faint, real smile—the first she had ever seen—touched the corners of Dominic’s lips. It transformed his harsh face completely, revealing a breathtaking, dangerous warmth that made her heart skip a beat.
"Yes, boss," he murmured.
