Page 75 of Savage Don's Captive

“A misguided sense of redemption,” I echo. “That makes sense.”

“Exactly.” There’s something softer in his voice—a glimpse of the person he might have been in another life. “This church was one of my grandfather’s first major projects when he settled here. The Gianellis have been patrons ever since.”

I look around with new eyes. Blood money built this place. God’s house funded by the devil’s work. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

“So, about this talk with the reverend. He’s not going to ask me to confess my sins, is he? Because we’d be here all day.”

Dominic laughs quietly, and I hate how much I like the sound. Before he can answer, his phone buzzes. He checks it, and his face immediately darkens. Just like that, the spell breaks. Reality rushes back in—we’re not normal people on a normal date. We’re captor and captive playing house.

“I need to make a call,” he says, standing and adjusting his jacket. He hesitates. “I think Reverend Giuseppe knows your mother. That’s probably what he wants to talk about.”

“Really?” My pulse quickens. I have so many questions about my mother, about her life before me, about who she really was.

“I’ll be in the car,” he says, then stops. “No funny business. I have guys everywhere.”

I roll my eyes. Does he think I’m stupid enough to make a break for it in a town where everyone clearly works for him? “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he grins, leaning closer, his voice low and rough against my ear. “You can use that one again while I fuck that sweet pussy of yours.” My face burns. “You think I keep you close because you’re a pawn in this game? No, baby. You’re the queen. And in my world, the queen belongs to the king.”

My stomach tightens, my pulse pounding in my throat. The worst part is, some reckless, traitorous part of me likes the way he says it. Like I belong to him, whether I accept it or not. I should be pissed. I should throw his words back in his face. Instead, they linger, sinking into the cracks of my resolve like poison I’m too tempted to swallow.

Before I respond, he’s already walking away, phone to his ear, issuing orders in rapid Italian. I watch him go, then turn back to Reverend Giuseppe. He’s smiling with a young couple and their baby in a frilly pink dress. Something tugs in my chest at the sight—a life I’ll probably never have.

I’m aching for answers—whatever the reverend knows about my mother, I need to hear it. What was she hiding? How deep did her secrets go?

I push myself up, ready to step forward.

And then the world detonates.

The explosion is deafening, a force so violent it rattles the foundation of the church.

The walls shudder, as if the building itself is gasping for air.

The stained-glass windows—Dominic’s family’s so-called offering to God—burst apart, sending jagged, jewel-toned shards cascading down like a shattered prayer.

Heat and smoke rush in, choking me.

Breathe,I tell myself.Just breathe.But I can’t. My lungs burn. My eyes water.

My legs give out, and I hit the floor hard.

Everything spins. People are screaming. Running. Trampling each other to escape.

Through the chaos and smoke, I see a figure running toward me—Dominic. His perfect suit is torn, face streaked with dirt. He’s got a gun in his hand, shoving people aside to get to me. He’s shouting something, but my ears are ringing too loudly to hear.

What catches me off guard isn’t the gun or the blood on his shirt. It’s his eyes.

I’ve seen Dominic pissed, smug, cruel, even amused. But for the first time since I’ve known him, I see raw, unfiltered fear. A terrifying thought grips me—if Dominic Gianelli is scared, I need to run for my life.

I try to call his name, but no sound comes. Darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision.

The last thing I see before everything goes black is Dominic, fighting through the crowd. His gun is already drawn, his mouth a sharp line as he shoves people aside like they’re nothing.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he snarls, voice pure fury as he storms toward me. One man stumbles in front of him, too slow to move—Dominic doesn’t hesitate. A brutal punch to the ribs. A body hitting the floor.

He’s coming for me.

And God help anyone in his way.

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