Chapter 10: Blood in the Water
A slow, devastating smile spread across Dominic Castelli’s face. He didn’t pull away from her vice-like grip on his wrist. He stepped even closer, his expensive dress shoes crunching against the frost-covered tiles.
“You shouldn’t smile, Castelli,” Riley warned, her voice a low, vibrating rumble in the freezing air. “There’s nothing funny about two dead men in my shop and an Irish mob boss coming for my head.”
“I’m not smiling at them,” Dominic replied smoothly. His dark eyes swept over her torn canvas apron, the terrifying twenty-inch blade in her hand, and the fierce, unyielding set of her heavy jaw. “I’m smiling because for the first time in my miserable life, I am standing in front of someone entirely real.”
Riley’s chest heaved, her breath pluming in thick white clouds. The adrenaline of the life-or-death struggle was still coursing fiercely through her massive frame.
She expected him to be intimidated. She expected him to try and assert his dominance, to reclaim his bruised ego after watching a civilian slaughter his top muscle. Instead, he was looking at her with an intensity that felt dangerously close to worship.
“You’re out of your mind,” Riley breathed, her grip on his wrist finally loosening.
“Probably,” Dominic agreed. He took another step into her personal space. His chest brushed lightly against her soft, heavy curves, entirely captivated by her fierce independence. “My entire world is built on fake power, Riley. Men who kiss my ring because they fear my gun. Women who smile at me because they want my wallet.”
Dominic raised his free hand, his manicured fingers gently tracing the line of her thick, calloused forearm. The contrast between them was absolute. He was sharp, angular, and tailored. She was massive, bruised, and bathed in the violent reality of her trade.
“But you?” Dominic whispered, his voice dropping an octave. “You don’t want my money. You don’t respect my title. You just beat my best enforcer half to death with a side of beef.”
If you were face-to-face with a ruthless mafia boss who was suddenly captivated by your lethal strength, would you trust his attraction, or view it as another manipulation?
“I told you, Dominic,” Riley said, her dark eyes narrowing. “I am not one of your trigger-happy soldiers. I am the woman who holds the knife. Don’t think for a second I won’t use it on you if you cross me.”
“I know,” Dominic murmured, leaning in until his lips were mere inches from hers. The scent of vanilla and copper wrapped around his senses like a narcotic. “That is exactly why I can’t stay away from you.”
Riley’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud against her ribs. She was entirely comfortable with violence, but this—this raw, unfiltered exposure to a predator’s affection—was terrifyingly new territory.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Castelli,” she whispered, her lips parted slightly.
“I’ve spent my whole life dodging blades, Riley,” Dominic replied, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Yours is the only one I want against my throat. You are the only person in this city I actually fear. And God help me, it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He closed the final distance. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that tasted of iron, freezing air, and undeniable power.
Riley hesitated for only a fraction of a second. She could feel the searing heat of him, the absolute, unwavering commitment of his attraction. Her heavy, powerful arms wrapped securely around his neck, pulling him violently against her.
She returned the kiss with the same fierce, crushing intensity she applied to everything in her life. She didn’t shrink. She didn’t soften. She kissed him like she was staking a claim.
Dominic’s hands gripped her thick hips, anchoring himself to the immovable force of her body. They stood there in the dark, sub-zero freezer, completely ignoring the groans of the crippled traitor hanging from the hook beside them.
Two unstoppable forces had finally collided. The mafia boss had found his equal, not in the glamorous boardrooms of the underworld, but in the heavy, capable, and bloody hands of the butcher who had taught him how to bleed.
