Eight

Chapter 8
Dominic
I can’t stop thinking about her. Those dazzling grey eyes, the gentle curl of her raven locks, her pouty, full lips I craved to taste. When I turned around and saw her in that beautiful dress, I damn near lost my mind. Every fiber of my body screamed to hold her, kiss her, tear that beautiful lace off her so I could make her mine in every sense of the word.
There were two perfectly good reasons why I didn’t, though:
If word ever got back to Lorenzo that I fucked a woman on his desk, I can guarantee a watery grave at the bottom of the Hudson
I didn’t want to put Arin in an even more complicated position.
She walked into this office looking for money. I can’t very well make a move on her without my ethics being called into question. I’m a man who takes what he wants, but not at the risk of abusing my power—especially not over a woman in dire straits.
My mother raised a gentleman.
A soldier for the Cosa Nostra, sure, but a gentleman all the same.
Seated behind Lorenzo’s desk, I look over Arin’s business plan again, studying every page with an almost amused fascination. She forgot it in her haste, but I’m thankful she left it behind because now I finally know her name. After five long years of not knowing who she truly was, she’s given me all the answers herself.
Marina Wilson. She apparently works out of a small storefront in Mott Haven. This new information makes me frown. That’s one of the rougher parts of the city, known for rape, murder, assault, robbery… I could go on and on but thinking about Arin walking to and from work alone makes my blood boil. It just isn’t safe for a beautiful woman like her to—
I take a deep breath. Where is this burning protectiveness coming from?
All I need is for someone to give me a chance.
Her words echo around inside my skull. If I’m being perfectly honest, I was this close to giving her the money straight out of my own pocket. I’d rather she owe me than be in Lorenzo's books, but I was too distracted by how gorgeous she looked in that dress. I don’t know the first thing about fashion, and I sure as fuck don’t care about style or clothes, but there’s no questioning her talent.
She looked like a fucking goddess in that sleek black gown. A seductress of the night. I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous of a dress before. The way the fabric hugged her body, flowed over her curves and accentuated the dip of her waist…
My cock strains against the confines of my pants.
I ignore it because I’m a man capable of self-restraint.
Three sharp knocks sound at the door. Before I have a chance to look up, Milo fucking Palerma waltzes in with a smug grin on his face.
“Dom, my old friend! You’re looking good. Been hitting the gym lately?” “You missed the last two meetings I called.”
“Ah, classic Dom. Always straight to business.”
“I’m being serious, Milo. You can’t keep slacking like this.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one without a care. “Give me a break, Dom. We never discuss anything important in those meetings. As long as I get my reports in to you, who gives a shit?”
“I give a shit. Lorenzo expects me to stay on top of things.”
“Yeah, because the boss is too busy pissing away all his money on slots and whores.”
“Careful,” I warn, shooting him a glare. “We’re all entitled to our own vices. As long as he follows orders and doesn’t do anything to piss off the Family, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”
Milo crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his hip casually against the edge of the desk. “And what about you, Dom? What are your vices?”
“Did you come here to check in, or are you trying to waste my time?” “Can’t I spend a little quality time bonding with my dear old friend?”
I squint at him. He’s as subtle as a knife stabbing me straight through the chest. I’ve known Milo long enough to know he hates my guts just as much as I hate his. There’s always an ulterior motive with him. The only question is what?
Despite his easy air and annoying personality, there’s a murderer hiding
under that smile. I’m not afraid of him, but only in the same way I’m not afraid of a dog until it starts showing off its fangs.
I might be Lorenzo’s earner, but Milo is Lorenzo’s killer. His ledger is at least half a mile longer than my own.
Standing, I gather what little paperwork is scattered over the desk and tuck everything away. “I have places to be, so unless you have anything important to say, I expect to see you the next time I summon you.”
His suspiciously friendly facade finally cracks, his mask slipping for the briefest of seconds. “Summon me? It sounds like someone’s getting a little too comfortable playing head honcho. Don’t get too used to ordering everyone around. I’m sure Lorenzo won’t appreciate it very much when he gets back. You should be careful, old friend.”
I don’t bat an eye. I brush right past him after grabbing my coat off the back of my chair. “Lorenzo knows where my loyalties lie,” I tell him simply. “I don’t think he can say the same for you.”
With a final glance, I leave.
Looks like he’s showing his fangs, after all.
* * *
“Are you sure this is the address, boss?” Elio asks me from the driver’s seat.
I peer out the window and take in our surroundings. Elio’s got the car parked by the curb, but my Maserati still sticks out like a sore thumb. The sidewalks are crowded with street vendors peddling their wares — bootleg DVDs, knockoff designer purses, other more questionable items I can’t identify from where I’m seated — all in front of a small storefront big enough for one dress in the window display.
Marina’s Lil’ Dress Shoppe.
Cute.
“Are we here to collect on rent or something, boss?” Elio asks me, frowning. “A little outside our territory, isn’t it?”
“This one isn’t ours,” I tell him.
“But it will be? I’ve got the tire iron and baseball bat in the trunk—” “No. We’re not making a move.”
“Then what are we doing here, Dom?” Elio grins at me in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Are you gonna buy me a pretty dress? If you must know, I prefer pink frills over blue ones.”
I snort. “Would you shut up? I’m trying to—”
Inside the shop, movement. The front door swings open, the tiny brass bell affixed just above it jangling as a woman and a little girl walk out. There’s a third person just behind them, and although her face is blocked from view, I instantly recognize her silky raven hair. I roll down the tinted window an inch so I can listen.
“Thanks so much for the quote,” the older woman says. “We’re still doing a bit of shopping around, but I adore your work.”
“Thank you very much,” is Arin’s soft reply. She sounds a bit run down. “Ugh, Mom,” the teen beside her says with a dramatic eye roll. Her hair’s
dyed blue, pink and green. Very much an I’m-not-like-other-girls vibe. “I already told you. I can just buy a cheap dress online. You’re going overboard with all this prom crap. It’s not even your prom.”
The mother shushes her daughter. “No, sweetie. I already told you that shopping online isn’t a good idea. You never know if what you buy is going to fit you, and then you end up looking like a sack of potatoes. Mark my words, my daughter’s going to be prom queen just like I was.”
“There, ordered it,” the girl says, her thumbs swiping over her phone. “It’ll be here in three to five business days.”
“Now, young lady—”
“Come on, Mom, I’m starving.”
“What am I going to do with you?” the woman grumbles as she rushes after her angsty teen.
Arin remains at the doorway, her gaze far off and distant. Her expression is blank. Defeated. I watch as she takes a deep breath, chewing on the inside of her cheek before slowly flipping the Come In, We’re Open sign on her front door. She retreats inside and locks up, the lights inside flickering off.
I can’t describe the feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
“Dom?” Elio calls to me from the front seat. “What do you want to do?” I roll up the window and settle in my seat, mulling the question over.
What I want is to go in there and ask her for one more amazing night
together. What I want, for reasons unknown to me, is to take all her troubles and worries away. What I want is to ask her what she’s been up to in the five years since and to ask if she’s free tomorrow night and the night after that so I can spoil her rotten.
But a man like me means trouble. I don’t mean that in a hyper-inflated bravado kind of way. My line of work is dangerous, as are the people I am surrounded by. A beautiful, sweet, passionate young woman like Arin isn’t built for my world. No matter how interested I may be, bringing her into my life will only complicate her life.
And yet…
“Tell Johnny he’s on sentry duty. Place him across the street and have him keep an eye on the shop. It’s under our protection now.”
Elio arches a brow. “But we’re not collecting? I don’t think Lorenzo —” “This isn’t Lorenzo’s order. It’s mine.”
I glance towards the shop as Arin is leaving. She walks to the nearest subway station and descends the steps, disappearing from sight. Elio notices. He gives me a cocky smile.
“I read you loud and clear, boss.” “Good. Now, take me home.”