Page 72 of Fractured Allegiance
Only one person knocks like that.
Because I know exactly who it is, I don’t answer right away. Instead, I take my time hanging the wrecked dress over the back of a chair and wiping my hands with a dishtowel. The floor feels cool under my bare feet as I walk across the room, tension already pressing behind my eyes like a warning.
I’d say I’m hoping he’ll just fuck off, but I know better.
Like clockwork, there’s another knock. Same rhythm. Relentless man.
I finally open the door with a sigh, too tired to pretend I even have a choice.
Dom stands there in his usual rumpled blazer, bottle in hand, smile already peeled across his face like he’s carved it there.
“You’re not dead,” he says.
“No thanks to you.”
He lifts the bourbon. “I come bearing apologies.”
“You’re not the one who shot at me.”
“No. I just brought you to the place where it happened.”
I stare.
He grins wider.
“I figured you’d be nursing a few bruises. Thought I’d offer something smoother than ice packs and accountability.”
I don’t invite him in. But he steps across the threshold anyway.
He always does.
Dom has that way of walking into a room like he built it, even when he’s uninvited.
He glances around, takes in the half-washed dress, the faint smell of antiseptic, the half-closed curtain near the window.
His gaze lingers there for a beat too long.
“You expecting someone?” he asks, nodding toward it.
“No.”
“Mm.”
He drops the bourbon on the counter. Doesn’t open it. He just leans against the fridge like he’s settling in.
“Drazen’s pleased.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Partly. He said you made an impression. That your performance tonight was—” he winks, “—effective.”
I cross my arms.
Dom’s eyes narrow, reading me.
“He also said something interesting,” he adds. “Said you weren’t the only one who reacted… intensely.”
The word hangs.
