Page 56 of Savage Don's Captive

Christ, not this again. “Alessa, baby, we had such a good night. Don’t ruin it now. You got three seconds before this duvet disappears, clothes or no clothes.”

She makes a strangled noise and burrows deeper. Like she can smother me quiet. Fat chance.

“One...”

“Dominic, I’m tired! I hardly slept—“

“Two. Keep talking while you drag that sweet ass out of bed.”

She throws the pillow with a huff, whipping around to glare daggers at me. It’d be scarier if she didn’t look so damn edible, all sleep-warmed and rumpled. Even pissed as hell, she’s a goddamn vision. And she’s put back on a little weight, not the half-starved wreck I brought home anymore.

“God!” She kicks off the covers and stomps for the bathroom, short nightie riding up her thighs and just begging to be peeled off. I shake my head at the sway of her hips.

“Would it kill you to do what you’re told without the attitude for once? Fucking hell,” I mutter, watching her leave.

“Screw you!” The door rattles when she slams it.

Chuckling, I walk to the window, listening with half an ear as the shower kicks on. Riling her up might be my second favorite pastime these days, right after keeping her alive.

Her room’s still depressing as shit though. Nothing like the posh setup I had done for her. Meant to be a cozy nest, decked out properly. But nah, it’s a mausoleum, dark and empty. No life, no personality. I’ll get my guys on that pronto. Call it a thank you for her spilling her guts last night. I’m a man of my word.

And speaking of ancient history...I went digging. Had my PI sniff around her mom’saccident,real hush-hush. Wasn’t my smartest play, casting doubt on the Commission’s version of events. But hey, my gut’s rarely wrong.

Something stunk about those bastards from the start. Dangling power in my face, letting me twist, knowing it’s my bloodline that keeps me around. Nothing personal, they claim. Bullshit. Making me wait for their table scraps, for the ceremony, for a little goddamn respect. And now this mess.

Sending me to handle Alessa was expected. But lying about offing La Falciante themselves? I thought they finally slipped, shown their true colors. Another knife in my back.

But then my guy’s report came in. And wouldn’t you know - they had jack shit to do with the crash. At least, nothing obvious. Isabella was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, according to the official story. An accident after picking up her little princess from that snooty private school.

Same one me and my brothers stayed out of thanks to. Good old St. Laurents.

But even a blind man could poke holes in that flimsy-ass police report. I still got questions. And Alessa’s gonna give me answers,like it or not. Because if the Commission’s hands are clean in this, then whose aren’t?

I’m jolted out of my thoughts by the bathroom door creaking open, a billow of fragrant steam betraying her. And oh, fuck me, there she is. “Freshly scrubbed and barely decent, a tiny towel the only thing between me and her fantastic tits. I’m aware I’m staring like a dog at a pork chop, but can you blame me?” The way that terrycloth clings and shifts with every breath...Dio Mio.

She startles when she notices me. “What the hell, Dominic!”

Scowling, I pin her with a stern look. “Can it, princess. Be grateful you’re vertical and not weighted down in the river,capiche?”

She clutches the towel tighter—a damn shame. She glares. “Not sure which is worse, honestly.”

Is she trying to give me a heart attack? I adjust myself discreetly while she turns on her heel and flounces to the closet.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna sit there and watch me dress like a creep?”

I tsk, eyes glued to her retreating backside. “Nothing I ain’t seen before, sweetheart.”

The violent clatter of hangers tells me she’s not in the mood for a walk down memory lane. “You’re deranged. Has anyone ever told you that?” Her voice is muffled by fabric.

“Not twice.”

“By the way, did you pick out these rags? There’s not a single pair of pants.” More clattering and rustling.

“Tragic,” I deadpan, buffing my nails on my shirt. “Guess you’re going sans pants today. You’ve got bigger problems, trust.”

She snarls something I don’t quite catch over the sudden roar of the hair dryer. But I get the gist. No fucking sneakers either. I file that intel away for later.

When the dryer cuts off, I clear my throat. “We need to talk about your mom, Alessa.”

---