Page 90 of Savage Don's Captive

Chapter twenty-seven

Alessa

Deathstaresmedownfrom the wrong end of a gun barrel, and all I can think about is how the universe’s twisted sense of irony led me here.

The Commission—the organization I’ve spent my life running from—now forms a protective barrier around me, weapons drawn. Dominic stands at the front of this unlikely shield, his broad shoulders tensed as he positions himself between me and the threat. My captor. My protector. The lines between those roles blur more each day, and now isn’t the time to untangle what we’ve become to each other.

I stay as still as possible, terrified that one wrong move, one wrong intake of breath, and Raffaele—my mother’s unhinged cousin—might finally snap and pull the trigger. He doesn’t standa chance against four armed men, but Dominic is the first person in his line of sight. If Raffaele decides to fire, it’ll be Dominic who takes the bullet. And I’d rather not bet on the former’s aim to find out if it’s true.

The memory of my mother flashes through my mind—her teaching me to shoot, her hands steadying mine as I aimed at paper targets. “Never point unless you intend to fire,” she’d whisper, her breath warm against my ear. “And never fire unless you intend to kill.” The contrast between those cherished lessons and this nightmare makes my chest ache with a hollowness I can’t fill.

“How did you get inside?” Dominic asks, his body shielding me from having eye contact with Raffy. The tension radiating from him makes the air between us feel electrically charged, and despite everything, I find comfort in his protective stance.

“Do you want the long version or the short version?” Raffy asks but laughs out loud before anyone can even say something as he walks closer to the table. His cologne—expensive and overwhelming—mixes with the metallic tang of adrenaline and fear that fills the room. “Who am I kidding? Let’s just say all it took for me was one mole, and I was able to hack through your system. Now, all of your security details are my hostages. And naturally, I’ve got three men standing by, ready to step in if things... take a turn. And by ‘step in’, I mean put a bullet in each one of you.”

All eyes are on Raffy as he rights Dominic’s toppled chair and calmly positions it at the head of the table before settling into it. Something in the casual grace of his movements reminds me ofmy mother—the same controlled precision, the same economy of motion. A family trait I never wanted to inherit.

He smirks at the men before him, unfazed, as he places his gun on the table—a silent warning that he can grab it in an instant if they dare to do something reckless. And something deep inside me says that if they do, I’ll be the one to bear the brunt of the fallout.

My gaze lingers on the family sigil etched into the gun’s hilt, and I can’t help but wish I’d brought my mother’s pistol with me as well. Maybe that lonesome bullet will serve its purpose if it burns a hole through Raffy’s head. Maybe it’s going to be far more rewarding if I take the shot myself. The violent thought shocks me—this world Dominic inhabits is already changing me, already making me think in terms of survival over morality.

“I can’t believe the gang’s all here.” Raffy shakes his head in disbelief. He licks his lower lip and reaches for Dominic’s cigarillo tin, helping himself to one. Striking a silver Zippo, he lights, inhaling deeply as the tip flares to life. He picks it from his mouth, holding it between two fingers, and exhales, a cloud of smoke puffing out in slow lazy tendrils. “Oh. It’s the good stuff, I see—I quite like it.”

A deep woody aroma with hints of cedar and spice kisses the air as we all watch the intruder take the tin and keep it in the inside pocket of his white blazer. Sweat trickles down my spine, my silk blouse sticking uncomfortably to my back as the tension mounts with each passing second.

“What do you want?” Dominic asks and I squeeze his hand to tell him to tread lightly, that Raffy is a ticking time bomb and none of these men know him well enough to predict what he’s going to do next. The warmth of his skin against mine is my one tether to sanity in this surreal standoff.

Raffy ignores his query as he reaches for the pitcher of lemonade mimosa and refills the glass on his right like he’s some kind of esteemed guest.

“Hello, Alessa, dear,” he smirks, extending his hand toward my face. I flinch, instinctively pulling my head back as his fingers edge closer. The golden rings stacked on each digit glint in the light, matching the gaudy gold chains adorning his wrists, as if he’s desperate to flaunt his excess. I’d bet they’re not even his, to begin with.

His hand smells of expensive tobacco and something darker—gunpowder, maybe. It’s a scent that sends my mind racing back to childhood visits with my mother’s side of the family, moments where tension hung thick in the air as business was discussed in hushed tones behind closed doors.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Dominic hisses, stepping forward with swift precision to block Raffy’s advance, his hand snapping up to slap Raffy’s arm away before it can reach me.

“So territorial.” Raffy doesn’t seem the least bit offended as he pulls back his arm, rubbing the spot where Dominic struck him. Instead, a manic smirk spreads across his face, dark and foreboding. The pit in my stomach churns with unease, anunshakable sense that Raffy’s revenge is inevitable—and it’s only a matter of time before he comes to collect.

“What are you doing here, Raffy?” The staredown between Raffy and me is interrupted when Paolo says sarcastically from the other side of the table. My mother’s cousin rolls his eyes like a damn diva—like we’ve somehow inconvenienced him.

“Ciao, Paolo.” He sounds like he gargled venom this morning before deciding to stop by as he slowly turns to face the head of the Russo clan. “I’m surprised you’re here considering how lazy you’ve gotten over the years. I didn’t even think you’d ride a plane at all.”

“Are you bullshitting me right now, Raffy?” Christ. Even Paolo can’t convince himself about the situation. He’s timid to a fault. “You’re lucky I ever let you live.”

Raffy throws his head back as he laughs hysterically, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The sound scrapes against my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard, making me wince.

“You? Let me live? Please, Paolo. You’ve been sitting as head of this family for years and where did that get you? You sent your sons out unprepared, leading them straight to their graves.” This comes as a surprise to me, considering I’ve made it my mission to steer clear of the Commission entirely. But even I can’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for Paolo for losing his sons like that. “And for the first time in decades, someone amazing like Isabella resurfaces from your clan. And what happened… she died while being under your protection.”

The memory of Dominic’s theory of my father killing Isabella tickles my brain, and I can’t help but wonder what the Commission thinks about it. My heart tightens at the thought, a complex mixture of denial and dread swirling in my chest. If my father really had killed her... No. I can’t travel down that path, not now, not with Raffy’s predatory gaze fixed on me like I’m prey.

“What are you trying to say? That you can do better than me?” Paolo challenges, slamming his hand on the table.

“Let’s just say that if it were me sitting as head of the family, Isabella would still be alive.” Then he grins, a slow, calculated motion as his eyes shift toward me, a predatory gleam lurking in their depths. “And her only living heir wouldn’t be running away from the only family that she’s got left. Isn’t that right, Alessandra?”

“Fuck you, Raffy,” I spit and Dominic nudges my arm as he stays unmoving between me and Raffy. The protective gesture doesn’t go unnoticed—his thumb stroking my wrist in a subtle gesture of reassurance, a silent promise that he won’t let anything happen to me. Despite everything, despite the danger surrounding us, I feel safer with him than I would alone.

“Is that how you thank me?” he spits, his lips twitching. All I can think about is how satisfying it’ll look when someone finally shuts this man up. “After all the shit I’ve been through to help you?”

“Help me with what?”

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