Page 83 of Reckless Dare

“He didn’t do it.” Dominic puts his hands into his pockets. I don’t know if it’s another attempt to lessen the gravity of this conversation or to keep them from shaking me. His nostrils flare slightly. He’s trying to control his frustration.

“Like he didn’t launder money?” My voice bounces around the walls with velocity matching its volume.

We’re arguing about a stupid case, but all the while that isn’t the issue here.

“This time he’s been framed.” Dominic rakes his hair and walks away. I hear paper rustle and a bang like a heavy book being dropped.

I dash around to his dining table/desk. He’s filing papers and organizing his working chaos.

“You are going to leave to defend a murderer?” I shout and swipe my arms over the surface, papers flying around.

“What the hell, Chils?” He raises his arms in question, glowering at me. An angel? Fuck. A god of rage. “Someone has pinned a murder on him.”

“And what about the other crimes he’s never been prosecuted for?”

“Jesus Christ, Chils, are you for real? This is life. Real life. People do shit and people deserve justice. I’m going to make sure Napoli doesn’t pay for a crime he didn’t commit. We can talk about the future direction of my firm afterward. I’ll be back in a week tops, and I’ll stay here to prepare for the trial.”

I don’t know how to reconcile a man who is simultaneously defending criminals and helping defenseless victims of the healthcare system. I don’t want to look away from some of his work.

I’ve been so proud of all the results he’s single-handedly facilitated for the patients and caregivers, the clients of the nonprofit.

I can’t condone his work in Chicago. It goes against everything I believe in. Also, it’s something that can so easily seep into my work.

I experienced firsthand the satisfaction of getting rid of Felicity Warren. That blackmail resulted in a positive outcome for people who needed it the most. To influence change at the bureaucratic level requires a lot of patience, and often loads of disappointment.

Advocacy can easily be replaced with bribery for much faster results. For a good cause, the end would justify the means. I know that. But I can’t allow that. It’s not right.

If Dominic continues donating money and time to my causes, I’d always keep the source of such donations in the back of my mind, questioning what I’m getting mixed up with.

I know I have no right to derail his career. No right to ask him to change what he’s been doing all his life. What he’s succeeded and excelled at.

Still, I thought…

“It looks like your stay here hasn’t changed you much.” Disappointment weighs me down, my shoulders shuddering under its mass.

I don’t know if I’m disappointed on his behalf or mine. Most probably on ours. Because I let him pull me into this. I allowed him to manipulate me into believing there could be an us.

“I didn’t come here to change. I moved here to recover, and rediscoverjoie de vivre.” The frustration vibrates through his body. He shakes his head, cracking his knuckles again. “I found that with you.” He steps closer and reaches out for me, but I recoil. “For fuck’s sake, Chils. I can’t just abandon him now. I’m his only option.”

The safety and thrill of our morning together flicks through my mind. I could let him do this one last job. But there will always be one last urgent case, and I will always navigate between the acceptable levels of corruption, between all the shades of gray.

“No, Dominic,youhave another option. You can stay here. With me.” Even to my ears the words have a dusting of finality. I didn’t start this argument believing I’d go this far, but why postpone the inevitable now?

A flicker of surprise flares across his face, dilating his pupils, but it’s quickly replaced by defiance and something else. Anger? “What are you saying, Chils?”

I didn’t know that was what I was saying, but I don’t have any doubt right now. “I’m saying if you go to Chicago now to defend Napoli, you don’t have to come back.”

Dominic eliminates the distance between us, and I yelp as he grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. I won’t give him the satisfaction and flinch. Deep down, I know he won’t harm me.

His nostrils pulse along with the vein on his neck, but there isn’t anger in his eyes. It’s more disbelief. He’s looking at me as if wondering who I really am.

Glaring, he grinds his jaw so tight that he might crush his molars. “Is this some twisted way to demonstrate your fear that I’d leave you? I’m not leaving you, Chils. I’m going to Chicago for work, and I’ll be back.”

I jerk away from him. Losing his touch—however brutal—and his scent feels acute, like a fatal wound. “As I said, if you go, don’t come back.”

“Nobody fucking gives me an ultimatum,” he bellows, and sends the rest of the things on his desk flying. At least that’s what I think the sound is because I’m rushing to the door already.

I dash home and, relieved my parents are in their room, I lock myself in my bedroom. Sinking down to the floor, I close my eyes and refuse to cry.

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