Page 87 of Savage Don's Captive

“Is this a matter of public record, or is it just internal Commission documentation?” My reporter’s instincts rise to the surface, curiosity overriding caution.

“The latter.” His fingers trace the edge of my exposed shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Did you know Isabella had you through a C-section?”

“Did she, now?” My breath catches as his touch moves to my collarbone, tracing the faint surgical scar there.

“She did.”

“So, you know all this about me and I don’t know jackshit about you?” How the hell does this man know my funking birth story, my work habits, my coffee preferences, while I know almost nothing about him beyond what I’ve picked up in captivity.

“How about this?” Dominic’s lips curve into that devastating smirk that makes my stomach flip. “When we survive this shit, I’ll sit down with you and tell you everything you want to know.”

“There’s a ‘we’ now?” My heart stutters at the casual inclusion, at the assumption of a shared future.

“There is.” His voice drops to a near-whisper, dark and possessive.

“What are we, Dominic?” The question that’s been haunting me finally spills out, hanging in the charged air between us.

“You’re mine, Alessandra,” he growls, the words vibrating through me like a physical touch. “Not my assignment, not my captive—you’re mine. And I don’t give a fuck what the Commission has to say about that, but whoever dares to lay a finger on you will suffer. We’re in this together now. Whether you like it or not.”

A sinking feeling spreads through my stomach at his words. “You’re dragging me back to the Cosa Nostra, Dominic,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been running from it since I was a child.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he challenges, his eyes burning into mine. “I can’t change who I am, Alessa. And the Cosa Nostra, the Commission, all this shit—I’ll soon be part of it, so if you don’t want to have anything to do with it, tell me. Because once we get through this, I’ll return you to New York, I’ll make sure you get your job back, and I’ll make sure the Commission will never utter your name again. You’ll finally get what you want.”

What I want?

The question echoes in my mind. Do I want my old life back? The monotonous office hours, the endless caffeine, the empty penthouse where I’d sit alone on Friday nights with nothing but memories of my dead mother and absent father?

A life without Dominic?

The thought alone makes my chest constrict painfully, as if someone’s reaching inside to squeeze my heart.

“I—I don’t even know what life is anymore without you,” I confess, the words torn from some deep, vulnerable place I didn’t even know existed. My voice trembles, raw and unfiltered.

It’s more than just physical attraction, more than the undeniable chemistry between us. Dominic has never forced himself on me, never raised a hand to me in anger. He’s protected me, shielded me from threats I couldn’t face alone. With him, I feel truly seen—not as Marco’s daughter or Isabella’s legacy, but as myself.

In this moment of crystal clarity, as my heart thunders and my mind reels, I know one undeniable truth—Dominic has become my safe harbor in a storm I’ve been fighting alone for too long.

“Then don’t try and find out.” His words are both plea and command, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Dominic—”

“Please, Alessa, I’ve spent my entire life chasing the title of a made man, but none of it—none of it—makes sense without you,” his voice cracking with rare vulnerability. “I want you beside me when I succeed. I want you standing next to me as my equal.”

“I’m not a fan of the murders, Dominic.” My attempt at lightness falls flat, the tremor in my voice betraying me.

“I’ll take care of it for you,tender,” His thumb strokes my lower lip, the tender gesture at odds with the casual promise of violence.

“I don’t want to end up like my mother.” The core of my fear finally emerges—that I’ll be consumed by this world as she was, leaving nothing but a shattered legacy and unanswered questions.

“I promise you, you won’t. I’m not like Marco. I protect what’s mine.” The absolute conviction in his voice makes me believe him, despite every rational thought screaming caution.

I take a shuddering breath, feeling as though I’m standing at a precipice. Then, slowly, I nod.

“Okay.”

His expression transforms, a genuine smile breaking through the hard lines of his face like sunlight through storm clouds. He leans forward, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s possessive, tender, yet demanding.

“Okay,” he echoes, the word a seal on our pact. “Okay.”

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