Page 91 of Savage Don's Captive

“With everything!” He yells, and I flinch despite myself, the instinct to cower behind Dominic almost overwhelming. But I keep my back straight, refusing to show Raffy even a flicker of fear, letting him see I’m anything but intimidated. Isabella Russo’s daughter wouldn’t cower before anyone. I’m half terrified, half furious at myself for slipping into that identity so easily, as if my mother’s blood runs stronger than my own choices. “I helped you leave the Cosa Nostra untouched. I helped you get that penthouse for your safety. The Commission didn’t touch you because of me!”

Christ. Is this man fucked in the head?

“I have that penthouse because of my mother. Not you,” I snap, keeping my voice steady despite the anger bubbling under the surface. My fingers twist in the fabric of my shirt, anchoring me through the rage. As far as I’m concerned, Raffy is just a ghost from family parties back when the Russos were in their prime—a nobody when things started to fall apart. “I wouldn’t even know your name if you hadn’t shown up at my apartment all those years ago. So don’t stand here acting like you’ve done anything for me. I worked my ass off for the life I had.” My throat tightens at the last word—had. Because deep down, I know I may never get back to that sense of normalcy again.

“You think the Commission is going to be good to you?” He lets out a hollow laugh, his head thrown back as if amused, but the edge in his voice says otherwise. “They don’t care about you, Alessa. They make you think they do because they need you. Once this is all over, they’re going to treat you like shit before they kill you.”

“The Commission won’t touch her.” All heads turn in the direction of the voice. It’s Fabio, and he looks about done with this shit like everyone else. Gun still pointing towards Raffy, the old man grins. “The Commission’s fight is with Marco. Not her. And at the end of the day, she’s proven herself to be worthy.”

A sick feeling blossoms in the pit of my stomach. Worthy of what? Of carrying the blame for exposing my father’s location and sealing his fate with his possible death? No, I tell myself. Dominic gave me his word. My father wouldn’t die at the hands of the Commission.

I glance at Dominic, searching his eyes for confirmation of that promise. The memory of our bodies wrapped together, his whispered vows against my skin, flashes through my mind. “Trust me,” he’d said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t let anything happen to you or your father that you don’t want.” In that moment of vulnerability, I’d believed him completely.

“Alessa is not part of the Commission!” Raffy’s voice grows louder, his tone sharper, each word dripping with fury as he edges closer to losing control.

“She’s not,” Vincenzo echoes. “But she’s currently under our protection. And hurting her would be a declaration of war against four families.”

“No!”

We all jump when Raffy shoots up from his chair, slamming his hand on the table with a resounding crack before snatching up the gun. In one swift motion, he points it directly at me, his eyesblazing with fury and his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

The world narrows to the black barrel pointing at my chest. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out everything else.

Chapter twenty-eight

Alessa

Timeseemstoslowas I register the fine tremor in Raffy’s hand, the wild desperation in his eyes. This isn’t calculated violence—this is a cornered animal lashing out.

Dominic takes a side step, blocking Raffy and pressing himself firmly in front of me, his body acting as a shield as he continues to block Raffy’s line of sight. The gesture—so instinctive, so protective—makes my throat tighten with emotion. For all his violence, for all his darkness, Dominic would put himself between me and death without hesitation.

“Step aside, Dominic.”

“Over my dead body.”

The conviction in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. There’s no hesitation, no calculation—just raw protection. And in that moment, something shifts inside me, a realization that terrifies me more than the gun— I would do the same for him.

Raffy scoffs, shaking his head as he takes a step towards us, closing the distance between them before cocking his gun and redirecting it to Dominic’s forehead. Three more guns cock, and I don’t need to turn my head to see that it’s Paolo, Fabio and Vincenzo.

My blood runs cold, my body locking up like stone as I take in the sight before me. Every instinct screams to shove Dominic aside, to step in front of him, shielding him with my own body. I don’t care if it means staring death in the face—I won’t let him fall for me. Not like this. Not now.

The Commission may not see each other eye to eye, but they’re loyal to their own. And although Dominic isn’t yet officially one of them, they’d cease to function without him. They’d be like a table with a missing leg.

“Put the gun down, Raffy,” Paolo warns. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I?” Raffy challenges. “Because I want Alessa to understand that you’re all monsters! And me? I’m the salvation the Cosa Nostra needs. The redemption Isabella Russo would have wanted! I will reform the Commission and make it a place where men like you, Paolo, wouldn’t be seated as fucking head.”

I study Raffy’s face—the way his eyes dart nervously, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight tremor in his hands. Behind the bravado and threats, I see something I recognize all too well— a desperate need to belong, to matter, to carry on a legacy that was never meant for him. For a fleeting moment, I feel a twisted connection—we’re both shadows of Isabella Russo, both trying to carry her torch in our own ways.

“Oh, yeah?” Vincenzo chimes. “If you kill us, what then? Do you think our families are going to allow you to reign over them? You’re a nobody, Raffy. And something tells me that you haven’t thought this plan through.”

I want to tell Vincenzo that he probably shouldn’t be antagonizing the man especially when Dominic and I are at gunpoint. And from the looks of it, the overly confident mask he has on is slowly falling. As his upper lip quivers, his eyes twitch, and beads of sweat gleam down the sides of his face.

Raffy snarls like a rabid dog, his head snapping in my direction before he swings the butt of his gun, aiming to strike Dominic. Dominic sidesteps just in time, the swing missing him by a hair. But in that split second, Raffy shifts his focus, seizing the opportunity to lunge past Dominic. His hand clamps around my arm like a vice, yanking me toward him before I can even react.

The world spins as I’m jerked forward. His palm is hot against my skin, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. The scent of his cologne—expensive but overpowering—fills my nostrils, making me gag. This close, I can see the fine network of broken capillaries in his eyes, the result of too much liquor and too little sleep.

Dominic freezes for half a heartbeat, his breath turning sharp as he processes the scene. Then he snaps, his fury igniting like gasoline on fire. In one swift, feral motion, he lunges, grabbing Raffy by the throat with an iron grip, his fingers digging in with a vengeance. The sheer force of it sends Raffy stumbling back, dragging me with him, his unyielding grip on my arm twisting painfully.

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