Page 25 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

Beyond Dominic, across the pier, another set of headlights slices through the darkness. A second car pulls in, then another,and another. The air shifts, suddenly electric, brimming with an unspoken agitation that causes a sharp jolt of fear to race through me.

More cars.

More men.

And guns.

I suck in a sharp breath, my body going rigid as I watch them emerge—figures cloaked in the night, their faces obscured by the low light. They move with a quiet efficiency, their postures rigid, their hands armed. The unmistakable gleam of metal catches the dim glow of the streetlights, the glint of weapons shifting in their grip.

My stomach drops, a sickening realization curling in my gut.

Dominic isn’t here for a meeting.

He’s walking straight into a war zone. And I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Before I can stop myself, I call out, “Dominic!”

Chapter 10 - Dominic

This is war.

But none of that matters—not the Delgados, not the shipment, not even the gun strapped to my hip—when I hear her voice.

“Dominic!”

The sound is sharp, slicing through the icy night like a blade, and I freeze.

No.

I turn, dread coiling in my gut, and find her standing behind me, shoulders squared, chin lifted in defiance, her dark eyes blazing with reckless determination.

She followed me.

I feel my pulse hammer against my ribs, a fear clawing its way up my chest.

Not for me.

For her.

I stalk forward, closing the distance between us in three strides, my fingers biting into her wrist before she can think to run.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” My voice is low, sharp, but there’s a crack in it I can’t control. “Do you have any idea where you are right now?”

She winces, but she doesn’t back down.

“I know exactly where I am.”

I glare at her, searching for a trace of doubt—but all I find is stubborn resolve.

“Go home, Isabella.”

She shakes her head, pulling against my grip. “No.”

My patience snaps.

“This isn’t a fucking game,” I grind out, stepping closer, my chest almost brushing hers. “You’re standing in the middle of a warzone, and you think—what? That you can just waltz in here and be safe?”

“I couldn’t let you do this alone.”

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