Page 22 of The Don's Hidden Heir

We finish up the rest of our food and move to the living room. Moira turns on the tv, and just as I’m about to slump into one of the cushions, my phone buzzes from the tv console.

“Late night messages,” Moira teases. “That’s suspicious.”

I amble to the console. “Hush, woman. It could be Lucas.”

“Or not,” she argues. “Lucas falls asleep before the sun slips past the horizon. There’s no way he’s texting you by almost midnight.”

“You’re right.” My eyes expand as I glare at the message on my screen, and my stomach flips. “It’s not Lucas.”It’s Dominic.

My lips quiver as I read the text a second time.

I’m glad you got home safe. It was lovely seeing you last night.

Moira flies up from her chair and scurries to me. “Who is it?” She grabs the phone from me, then she throws a hand over her mouth as she reads the content of the text. “Oh my fucking god.” She drags her gaze to me. “Did you exchange numbers with him?”

I shake my head.

Dominic’s connections reach far and wide. He can have whatever he wants in just a snap of his fingers. I’m not surprised he somehow has my number. No, I’m just stunned he cared enough to try and reach me.

“Then how did he get it?” She snaps her head to the window. “What if he’s outside?”

My chest tightenes.What if he is outside?I nearly trip on the monochrome rug in the middle of the living room as I hurry to the window and part the curtains.

Streetlamps light the lonely road outside, a gentle wind flutters the trees. There’s no sign of Dominic anywhere. Still, my heart roars loudly in my ears, as if he’s lurking in a corner, watching me and sniffing out my secret from afar.

What if he finds out about Lucas?

Chapter Seven

Dominic

I’m an inch close to pulling out my gun and shooting at the flickering neon light, but it’s the loud music in the background that makes my headache flare.

Dante sits across from me, sipping on his alcohol and staring at a whore with lustful eyes.There’s a dark smile on his face and his hands move as if they can’t wait to grab her ass.

I just can’t stand him.

Not because of his insane obsession of waking up to a new woman beside him every night. My loathing for him stems from the fact that he reminds me of the man I used to be before I met Elena.

After she left the party, I had Dante follow her home to make sure she was safe. I don’t like that she’s mixed up with men like David Peterson and Kirill Vadim. Even more, I detest she’s part of some stupid plan they have to take me down.

I want to keep her away, but she’s far too stubborn for me to try and keep her from them unless I tell her the reason, which I can’t, since it will only put her in more danger.

My best bet in protecting her is having some of my men watch her.

And image of her in that sapphire dress flashes through my mind and it makes my cock throb. How can she be so fucking sexy without even trying?

I swear that woman will be the death of me. It’s been seven years, and I want to flip her over my lap and spank her ass as much as I want to wrap my fingers around that slim neck of hers.

That woman is like venom to me, burning through my veins with no antidote.

Fuck.I loosen my tie, pour myself a finger of whiskey and down it in one gulp. “Why did you ask us to meet here of all places?” I ask as I slam the empty glass on the table.

Dante smiles at me. “Don’t you miss partying here, boss? This used to be your favorite spot.”

I recline in my seat, irritation creeping over me. “I have fucking PTSD from nightclubs,” I spit out. It reminds me too much of the night Elena left me. “Get to business.”

“Easy, man.” Dante glances at Marcus who’s sitting beside him, and then to my cousin, Lorenzo. When he sees no one is sharing in his excitement, his expression turns serious. “Alright. Alright. Word came from one of the men watching the New York bratva.”

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