Page 34 of Defying Love

Beneath the soft glow of the ballroom chandeliers, her skin shimmered like alabaster, and I watched as a flush of pleasure colored her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered back, her eyes still holding the embers of the spotlight's attention. "It was easier with you by my side."

A shadow fell over us, and I straightened to see my father approaching. His presence was a cold draft in the warmth of our moment, a specter that threatened to choke the life out of the evening's joy.

"Son," he said, his voice a gravelly undertone that only I could hear above the festivities. "A word, if you will."

I nodded, offering Alexa a reassuring smile before trailing him to a secluded corner. The air grew denser with each step, the weight of his impending words hanging heavy between us.

"Remember what this marriage entails," he began, his eyes like flint, sparking warnings in the dim light. "Don't let your guard down. Don't get too attached. Her life is now a beacon for our enemies, an Achilles' heel that can be exploited."

His words, sharp as barbed wire, tore at me, but I kept my expression impassive. "I am aware of the risks, Father," I replied, though my heart rebelled against the thought of Alexa being anything less than safe.

"Good," he said curtly, patting my shoulder with a hand that felt more like stone than flesh. "Keep it that way."

Returning to Alexa's side, I masked the turbulence within me with a practiced smile. She was a light in the pervasive darkness of my world—a light I had unwittingly made vulnerable. But in her trusting gaze, I found a resolve I hadn't known I possessed. No matter the shadows that loomed, I would shield her brightness with every fiber of my being.

The melody swelled, a haunting symphony that seemed to echo the turmoil in my chest. With each note, I felt the tug-of-war within me, the longing for normalcy clashing with the perilous reality of our union. Alexa's hand rested lightly in mine, her touch both a balm and a reminder of all that stood at stake.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Perfect," I lied smoothly, twirling her. It was both beautiful and bitter—this dance of ours. For every step we took, there was a shadow that followed, one I had brought into her life.

I wished then, more than anything, for a world where her smile wasn't laced with hidden dangers, where the sparkle in those bright-blue eyes wasn't dimmed by the threat that now hung over us like a shroud. But wishes were as flimsy as cobwebs and just as easily brushed aside by the harsh hand of reality.

A fierce determination kindled from the embers of fear—a vow to stand between her and the abyss that sought to claim her. I looked down into her upturned face, saw the trust she placed in me, and knew, despite the looming specter of danger, that being married to Alexa was worth every risk.

As the party guests began their farewells, I knew with unwavering certainty—I was going to relish every heartbeat of this lifetime with her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dominic

The heavy door creaked, a sound that seemed to groan with the weight of history and secrets as I stepped into my father's study. Shadows clung to the edges of the room, reluctant to dissipate even in the presence of the low-burning lamp on the desk. The familiar scent of aged leather mingled with the dense aroma of cigar smoke, wrapping around me like a cloak—comforting yet suffocating.

Father, a silhouette of power seated behind the imposing mahogany desk, did not lift his gaze immediately, allowing the silence to stretch taut between us. When at last he looked up, his eyes were hard as flint, his mouth set in a line that hinted at displeasure or perhaps challenge. The stern expression carved into his craggy features was one I knew all too well; it heralded a conversation that would brook no argument.

"Sit," his father commanded, the single word spoken with an authoritative rumble, echoing off the walls. The command was needless; I had no intention of doing anything but.

I moved across the room, each step measured and deliberate, the soles of my shoes muffled against the rich Persian rug. I settled into the chair opposite him, back straight, hands resting calmly on my knees. The leather creaked under my weight, a subtle reminder of the thousands of times I'd sat here before, receiving orders, absorbing lessons in control and dominance.

"Time is passing, Dominic," he began, his gravelly voice reverberating through the room. He folded his hands on the desk, papers and pens organized meticulously around us—a battlefield laid out with precision. "You've proven yourself in many aspects, but there's more to our empire than strength and fear."

My jaw tightened imperceptibly, but I remained silent, a statue waiting for the sculptor's chisel to reveal its next cut.

"Surely you don’t think she can handle our world. She’ll leave you within a year. She isn’t cut out for this."

I stood, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. “This is one choice you have no say in. So either accept it or don’t, but Alexa is my wife. It’s done.”

Matteo busted in. "Boss, we've got company. Uninvited."

The old man behind the desk didn't so much as flinch, eyes never leaving the ledger before him as if the disruption was no more than a gust of wind rustling the pages. "Handle it, Dominic," he said. "Show them the cost of trespassing again."

I turned on my heel, each step purposeful as I departed from the sanctuary of strategy and into the night where the real game awaited. The corridors of the mansion whispered with the ghosts of past confrontations, and the familiar surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"Lock it down," I ordered Matteo, my voice a hardened edge of command that echoed off the grandeur of the fortress. It was time to remind the world why the Gambino name evoked whispers of fear. Time to prove I was not just a son, but a sentinel forged in the fires of my father's world—a world where blood was currency and trust was a luxury we could seldom afford.

My pulse thrummed. With each step, the air grew dense, the darkness of the mansion’s opulent halls a contrast to the blaze of determination igniting. I summoned my men with a gesture sharp as a blade, their presence materializing from the shadows like specters ready for war.

"Positions," I commanded, voice low and steady, betraying no hint of the storm raging in my chest. They fell into formation, an extension of my will, their footsteps a muted drumroll against the marble floor. The dull gleam of pistols and the soft shing of unsheathed knives accompanied their procession, a deadly orchestra tuning up for the night's grim concerto.

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