Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2)

by Natasha Knight

  No emotion crossed her face. She watched mine instead, waiting.

  “I should be dancing, right?” I said wildly, standing swiftly, rubbing the back of my neck, walking a circle, not seeing her rise, not seeing anything. “I should celebrate.”

  “Dominic.”

  She touched my shoulder. I flinched, shrugging her off.

  “Dominic.”

  She was more persistent this time, her touch more firm. “He was the only father you knew. It’s natural—”

  I looked at her, unable to speak. Not wanting her to see me, not now, not like this. Too much fucking emotion I should not be feeling. Too many memories flooding back, too much anger, too much rage, too much fucking goddamned regret.

  “Go away, Gia.”

  “No.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  She shook her head.

  Franco Benedetti was dead. And his last words to me had been to deny me. To humiliate me. His last fucking words disowned me.

  “Dominic.”

  “Fucking let me go, Gia,” I snapped.

  What she saw in my eyes frightened her. I knew it. I saw it. Hell, I felt it. She stepped backward, like she’d done in that room in the cabin. She kept her eyes on me, watching, as if she waited for her enemy to strike. To be prepared for when he did.

  I ran a hand through my hair. I almost said something, but then I didn’t. I walked out the door instead, fished the keys out of my pocket, made sure she was locked in the house behind me, and I drove off the property. I needed to think. To get these fucking emotions under control. He had made me weak in life; he would not do so in death. I wouldn’t give him that power over me, not ever again.

  I hated him.

  I needed to remember that I hated Franco Benedetti.

  18

  Gia

  Dominic’s cell phone rang again. He’d left it in the study. I rushed back into the room and picked it up, reading the display before swiping to answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  Hesitation on the other end.

  “Salvatore?” I asked.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Gia. Gia Castellano.”

  Silence.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Where’s my brother, Gia?”

  “He just left. He wouldn’t talk to me. I think he needs space to process what you just told him.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Where are you? No, don’t tell me.”

  I heard a final boarding announcement in the background.

  “Look, I don’t know you. I heard about your brother, though, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I snorted. Didn’t people know it didn’t help to hear that?

  “But my brother needs someone right now. He probably shouldn’t be alone, Gia. I don’t know your relationship—”

  “He’ll be back.”

  “You sound confident of that.”

  “I am. And I’ll be here when he is.”

  “If you can, try to get him to come to the house. The funeral will be tomorrow afternoon. It’s probably good for him to say good-bye.”

  “I don’t know that he’s ready for that. I don’t know the whole story, but from what I’ve seen, he’s been running from this for seven years.”

  “I know. That’s Dominic. Predictable. He’ll always take the most extreme route.”

  It irritated me that he called Dominic predictable, but then, in the way Salvatore said it, I had to agree. My mind moved to something else. “Will the Scava’s be at the funeral?”

  There was a pause. “I assume Angus Scava will be.”

  A woman’s voice came through, telling him they would be closing the doors if he didn’t board immediately.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You have to go. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him come.”

  I disconnected before he could ask again. I had a feeling he knew at least a little bit about me. I paced the study, thinking, planning. The auction would take place tomorrow. But now, with the funeral on the same day, it changed things. I didn’t know Dominic’s plan about the auction, but the funeral opened up another door, another way in. Maybe a smarter way.

  I went upstairs to Lucia’s closet and found an overnight bag and began to pack. I found a black dress. I’d look stunning in it. It would be perfect for the funeral. And for showing Victor Scava he’d failed. That he’d now pay. Tomorrow may be Franco Benedetti’s funeral, but it was my coming-out party. I didn’t care about Benedetti. No, check that. I cared that the news held so much power over Dominic, considering their history. I knew now he’d truly done nothing but run, nothing but dig himself deeper into this black hole over the last seven years. A hole he would not be able to climb out of, not on his own. I saw it in his eyes, read it in his reaction. It was the same thing that I’d seen while he’d held me at the cabin. That hint of the humanity, the vulnerability behind all the hate and rage. Dominic Benedetti may be a monster, but he was a monster with a bleeding heart. That heart was in no way made of gold. It was more barbed wire and steel and sharp, deadly edges.

  And those were the things that drew me.

  Maybe it was because he wasn’t the only monster in this strange thing happening between us. Maybe we had both truly met our match.

  Love wasn’t always beautiful. It wasn’t always kind or sweet. Love could be a twisted, ugly bitch. I’d always known this was the kind of love I’d find. The only kind that could touch me. Because some of us, we belonged in the dark, and Dominic and I belonged in the dark.

  After I finished packing my bag, I went into Dominic’s room and found his duffel. He hadn’t unpacked it since arriving. I emptied it to see its contents. Two pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, that was it. That and a small, worn-out envelope that fell out from the pocket of one of the jeans. I picked it up off the floor and opened it. I pulled out a worn photo of a little girl wearing a hot-pink cast on her arm and beaming into the camera. Dirt smeared on her face and wisps of hair stood wild, defiant, unwilling to be contained by her ponytail. She looked to be about nine years old.

  I had to smile back at the little girl with creases across her face from the much handled photograph. Effie. I would have recognized her to be related to Dominic even if I didn’t know about her. It was her dimple in exactly the same place as Dominic’s. But more so, her eyes betrayed her heritage. The color, the shape, the shrewd cockiness inside them. It was all Dominic.

  How could he stay away from her? If I had a child, could I stay away from her? Walk out of her life? He loved her. I knew it from the way he talked about her. But it was his punishment, his self-flagellation. And it made perfect sense. Dominic hated himself for what he’d done. Hated himself for who he was, and more importantly, who he was not.

  I tucked the photograph back into its envelope and went into the closet to find him a suit. I figured Salvatore’s clothes were likely still there like Lucia’s had been, and I was right. I wondered why he’d left in such a hurry. I’d have to ask him.

  I realized he’d asked me where we were. He didn’t know we were at his house? Well, Dominic had said it was his house now. I wanted to meet Salvatore, wanted to see the dynamic within the family. I wondered if Salvatore would recognize the suit I chose for Dominic. I grabbed Dominic’s toiletries, finished packing his bag, and went downstairs to wait for him to return, knowing what I’d do while he was gone.

  He’d left his laptop in the study, and the little flash drive I recognized as the one he’d used to copy Mateo’s file stuck out of one of the ports. I sat behind the desk and listened, steeling myself, telling myself it would be over soon. That I’d have my revenge soon.

  Darkness had fallen when a car door slamming shut startled me awake. I lifted my head up off the desk and looked around, confused for a moment before remembering. I looked at the time on Dominic’s phone. A little after two in the morning.

  I ejected the flash drive from the computer and tucked it into my pocket then walked out into the foyer. D
ominic stood just inside the door, his eyes looking as though he were a million miles away.

  “Hey. You okay?” I asked.

  “Why are you still up?”

  “I was waiting for you. Thought you might need someone.”

  He seemed confused by my answer.

  Shadows darkened his eyes, and his hair looked as though he’d been running his hands through it for the last few hours. “You don’t look so good.”

  “What are those?”

  His gaze fell on the bags I’d packed and set at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I figured we’d need clothes for the funeral.” I stood anxiously awaiting his response.

  He studied me. “You can’t go.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Scava will be there. Not to mention others who may be involved.”

  “I’m not hiding. I already told you that. I’m going to use this as my debut.”

  “A funeral for a debut.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are one twisted girl.”

  “What difference does it make anyway? He’s going to find out day after tomorrow we’re MIA when I don’t turn up at the auction. What better place to confront him than publicly within his own community?”

  “There’s more, Gia. More players. These are very dangerous men you’re talking about.”

  “Ever hear of David and Goliath?”

  “What are you going to do, take Victor Scava out with a slingshot?”

  “Don’t laugh at me. It’s not always the biggest and the baddest who wins. I’m going to win this round, and I’m going to win this war.”

  “I said no.” He turned to walk toward the kitchen.

  I chased after him. “You don’t get to decide for me. Not anymore.”

  “No, Gia. N. O.”

  We walked into the kitchen, and I tugged his arm back, forcing him to stop. “You don’t get to tell me no. Not this time.” Anger fueled me. I would not stay back. No fucking way. “You know you owe me this. I have a right, Dominic.”

  “You have every fucking right, but you’re going to get yourself killed. Let me go. I’m tired, and I’m hungry.”

  “Well, there’s no food in this house that isn’t seven years old! Turn around and talk to me.” He freed his arm and opened the pantry door. “Look at me, damn it!”

  “You don’t understand how these men work. The ruthlessness with which they kill.”

  He kept his back to me, like he couldn’t care less.

  Well, I’d make him care. “Like you, you mean?” I said, stepping backward as his body tensed before my eyes.

  Dominic turned then, closing the space between us. He stood facing me, all his fury focused on me.

  I forced myself to hold my ground even as my mind worked frantically, wishing to somehow call the words back the instant they’d spilled from my mouth.

  He gripped me by the arms and walked me as far back as the counter. My heart raced, sending adrenaline-charged blood pounding in my ears.

  This was scary Dominic. This was loose cannon, wild Dominic.

  This was the Dominic that made me wet.

  And he knew it.

  I saw the change instantly, saw how one side of his mouth lifted into the smirk that said he knew his power, he read it on my face, he was used to it. Used to having women doing as he said. Used to them dropping to their knees before him.

  Fuck him. I wouldn’t kneel for him. Not for any man. Not again.

  Wrapping one hand around the back of my neck, he thrust his other one under my dress and roughly up between my legs to grip my sex.

  “You talk like you have a dick,” he whispered. “But all I feel here is a dripping wet pussy.”

  “You’re a sexist pig,” I said, swallowing hard.

  “I think you like this. You like fighting with me. It makes you hot, doesn’t it, Gia?”

  His grin grew wider, his cock hard at my belly while his hand began to work, fingers sliding inside my panties and finding my clit.

  “Stop,” I managed.

  “Were you like this with your boyfriends?”

  His eyes darkened when he said it as his finger thrust painfully inside me.

  “No. Never.”

  “But you like it with me?”

  I failed to contain the tremor that ran through me, but I forced myself not to look away. Not to let him win.

  “You like it rough with me?”

  He kneaded my clit, and I sucked in air. Fuck. I gripped his forearm, trying to pull his hand away.

  “Stop.”

  “Make me.”

  He curled the hand at my neck into my hair and tugged my head backward.

  “Make me stop, Gia.”

  His voice came dangerously low, a warning.

  A challenge.

  I watched him, hating the weakening in my legs as he slid his now slippery fingers inside me.

  “Look at you. You’re one woman. You’re no match for me, and I don’t have some twisted vendetta against you. How do you plan on fighting Scava’s army off?”

  “I’m going,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

  “I like your fight, Gia. I do. But you need to learn to listen.”

  “What are you going to do, whip my ass again to make me?”

  He rubbed the length of his cock against me, and I felt every inch of his hardness even through the barrier of clothes.

  “Maybe.”

  He kissed me hard before twisting my head so his mouth was at my ear.

  “But I don’t think I need to.”

  Fingers slid into my pussy, then traveled back toward my ass, smearing my arousal over it. I sucked in a ragged breath.

  “I think, in fact, fucking your ass will be much more effective than whipping it, and I might like it even more.”

  He turned my face to his again.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  I had to close my eyes when he began to play with my clit again.

  “You wanted my attention. You’ve got it.”

  He released my neck and tugged the dress up and over my head, tearing it a little as he forced it off me.

  “You’re playing with fire, little girl.”

  He threw the dress aside and looked down at me standing before him in borrowed bra and panties. He tore the bra away then met my gaze again.

  “And if you’re not very careful, you’re going to get burned.”

  He reached down and took my nipple into his mouth while working my panties off.

  “Stop,” my voice came out weak. “I don’t want this.”

  “I think you do.”

  He rose up again to look at me.

  “You want me, Gia. As fucked up as it is, you want me.”

  “I don’t.” It didn’t even sound convincing to me.

  He grinned. “It’s okay, though.”

  He leaned his face toward mine, licking away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

  “I want you too. I want you to fight me. I want to make you. I want to hold you down and fuck you until you scream my name. I want to come all over you, so you know who you belong to. So you know who owns you.”

  He released me to tear his shirt over his head, baring his chest. He stood with his arms on either side of me, caging me in but not touching me.

  “Touch me, Gia.”

  His low, deep whisper made me shudder.

  I stared up at him. His pupils had dilated so that thin rings of blue-gray circled black. My breathing grew shallow, every hair on my body standing on end.

  I moved slowly, tentatively, dropping my gaze to his muscled chest, the tattoo there, and down to his belly, to the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Hands shaking and with the lightest touch of my fingertips, I did as he said. I touched him, the tops of our heads coming together as we both watched my fingers move over hard muscle wrapped in soft flesh.

  “You make me fucking crazy.”

  His chest rumbled with the rawness of his words. He gripped my wrist hard and lai
d my hand flat against his chest, over his heart. His other hand circled my hip.

  “Feel this.”

  His heart beat a frantic staccato beneath my hand, and I found myself biting my lip when I turned my gaze to his, both our heads still bowed. He slid his hand over my belly and brought it to rest at my heart. He didn’t speak the obvious, that my heart beat as loudly and as frantically as his. I didn’t know what this meant. What he wanted. All I knew was that I wanted him. I wanted all of him.

  “Take my cock out,” he ordered.

  I let my fingertips slide down over his belly, obeying, both hands working clumsily to undo his jeans and push them and his briefs down far enough to grip his cock in both hands. I held the hardness, wrapped my hands around it, and smeared the wetness at the tip.

  “Get on your knees,” he commanded.

  I wouldn’t do that. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t kneel for him? For any man?

  Dominic’s hand nudged my shoulder, and, weak willed, I slid down, the floor cold and hard against my bare knees.

  He waited until I looked up at him.

  “Suck my cock, Gia. Keep your eyes on me, so I can watch you take me. So I can watch you choke and cry when I fuck your mouth.”

  He gripped my hair, and I felt a drop of my own arousal slide down one thigh as I opened my mouth to take him, liking the salty taste of him, wanting him to make me, to do it hard, to hurt me a little maybe. He was right. I was fucked up. And as I took him deeper and watched his eyes, I knew he was too. We were both fucked up, and somehow, we’d found each other, and together, we became something else, something twisted but not ugly. Dark but deep and full, and I knew without a single doubt that when the time came to walk away, I would be leaving a piece of myself behind. A piece that no longer belonged to me.

  I choked, and he thrust. He did this three times, until tears blurred my vision before he drew me to stand and kissed me, his mouth devouring mine as he lifted me only to impale me on himself, his thick cock calling a cry from me as I slid down over it, every inch stretching me wide, the touch of my clit against him making me cling tighter, wanting to be closer, to feel him, to feel.

  “Fuck, Gia.”

  He kissed me, trapping me between him and the counter, fucking me. When he dropped to the floor, I wondered if his knees hurt with the impact of both our bodies, but he only pulled back to look at me, to untangle my limbs and turn me and push me down on all fours. He shoved my legs apart, and I arched my back. When he drew me apart and thrust into me again, I cried out. He thrust harder, his breath coming in short gasps and grunts. When he stilled inside me, his cock throbbing, releasing the first rush of semen, I came. I came hard, my pussy squeezing him as if it too needed to cling to him, needed to be possessed by him, needed to be close to him.