I’m careful to keep the skirt of my dress down as I slide off the seat. And when my feet touch the ground, Dom takes my hand, and we walk across the wide sidewalk.
It’s late enough that there aren’t a ton of pedestrians around, but there are definitely some. And they’re watching. But Dom’s men ignore them, so I do, too.
I know we’re making quite the scene, but if it keeps me from dying from some invisible threat, I’m okay with it.
Rob follows Dom and me inside, but the other four men stay where they are.
Phil is seated behind the front desk when we walk past, but everything feels too serious to break the silence, so I just raise my hand as we pass.
When Rob follows us onto the elevator, my paranoia creeps up another notch. Dom must be really worried if he’s having someone come all the way to the door with us.
The ride up is silent, and when the doors open, Rob presses the button that will keep them that way.
With Dominic’s palm on the small of my back, I walk toward our door. And since I’m closest, I place my hand on the reader next to the door, but Dom reaches out to open it after it unlocks.
I step inside, then turn to face Dominic. “Be careful,” I tell him, and at the same time he says, “Stay inside.”
Dom grips my chin and lowers his face to mine. “Be a good wife and stay inside. I’ll be fine.” He presses his lips to mine.
Then he’s gone, the door locking behind him.
CHAPTER 57
Dom
When I step back into our home, fury is still boiling under my skin. Another business was hit, and this time someone got hurt.
With the lights off, I cross the great room.
But I don’t go upstairs, I go down the lower hall to my gym.
Because they didn’t kill my man. But they drew blood.
We’ll track them down soon.
And we’ll take our revenge.
But we don’t have them right now.
And I’m too angry to be gentle.
CHAPTER 58
Val
My bare feet are silent on the stairs.
I’ve waited.
I waited for an hour after I heard Dominic come home. But he didn’t come to bed. He didn’t come upstairs at all.
He’s alone—I’m certain of that much—which means he’s unhurt.
I keep my hand on the railing until I reach the main floor.
I know I’m still naive compared to Aspen—and probably all the women in Dominic’s family. Hell, I googled what is the mafia just weeks ago. But I know enough to know it’s dangerous. And even though my first day here was spent attending a funeral, I don’t think I really understood it.
Tonight, I understood.
I’ve felt sick to my stomach with worry since Dom left me here—alone. And I need to see him. Knowing he’s back isn’t enough. I need to see him.
I feel like I’m doing something wrong as I walk down the dark hallway, but this is my home, too. And I’m not trying to spy. I’m just trying to find my husband.
Light comes from behind the cracked-open door that leads to the gym.
I pause outside it, listening to the rhythmic sound coming from inside.
Placing my palm on the door, I hesitate for only a moment, then push it open.
And catch my breath.
Dominic is in the center of the room, pounding his fists into a large punching bag suspended from the ceiling.
Only half the lights are on, casting shadows across the floor, but it’s the man himself that holds my gaze. Because he’s magnificent.
His suit coat is lying on the floor, as if tossed aside while Dominic strode through the room. And his white shirt is still on but unbuttoned, the open sides moving with him as his body shifts and turns with each punch.
And his body.
Jesus.
His shirt is soaked through with sweat, making the white material transparent over his back and arms, showing me every ripple of muscle. Every inch of inked skin.
And I want him.
I want him so bad that I start across the room.
Dominic is facing away from me, but in front of us is the wall of windows, and with the darkness outside and lights on inside, it’s become a mirror, alerting Dom to my approach.
He drops his arms to his sides while his chest heaves.
He doesn’t turn to face me, just stares at my reflection in the glass.
My yellow dress swishes with my steps, my loose hair lying across my shoulders.
And I don’t say anything.
I just circle around the punching bag until I’m standing in front of him.
He’s quiet. Just breathing heavily. But I can see it in my husband’s eyes. He’s tired. And angry.
And I want to give him something.