Chapter 9: Grinding Down the Traitors
“I should have trusted my gut,” Dominic said slowly, his eyes moving from his crippled bodyguard to the woman holding the blade. He holstered his gun. “Your assumptions, Mr. Valente, appear to have been fatal.“
“Dominic… Dom…” Paulie wheezed, his voice thin with hypothermia and agony. “She’s a witch! She… she broke me! Help me, Boss!“
“Help you?” Dominic repeated, stepping closer. He looked at the shattered knee. He looked at the trail of blood. He looked at Riley. “You came here to kill her. My partner. After I explicitly granted her block immunity. After I gave her my word.“
“Declan… he made me… he’s going to burn everything!” Paulie stammered, tears of pain mixing with the ice forming on his skin. “I didn’t have a choice!“
“We always have a choice, Paulie,” Dominic noted coldly. “You chose fear over loyalty. In my world, that is a terminal mistake.“
We now address you, the viewer. Imagine your own inner circle betraying you to your worst enemy. If you were Dominic, would you show any mercy to a man who broke the golden rule of loyalty?
“I want them out of my shop, Castelli,” Riley commanded, her voice reflecting off the tiled, bloody walls. She stepped forward, the knife still in her grip. “I’ve done your job. I found the mole. He wasn’t some distant cousin. He was your shadow. Now, honor our deal.“
“Our deal…” Dominic murmured, his gaze shifting to her. In the sterile, emergency lighting of the freezer, she looked magnificent. She possessed a terrifying competency. Her size wasn’t a weakness; it was a sanctuary of strength. “You threw yourself into the path of an armed man to protect me.“
“He was in my shop,” she said, her large body entirely centered. “I told you I protect what’s mine. You happened to be here.“
“A semantic distinction,” Dominic said, feeling a rare, undeniably powerful vulnerability. He raised a hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing just below a cut on her forehead where glass had grazed her during the struggle.
Riley tensed, her dark eyes wide. She could feel the metallic tang of vanilla and copper on his skin. The air between them, despite the sub-zero temperature, felt dangerously electric.
She reached up, her thick, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist, pulling his hand away from her face. But she didn’t let go of him.
“You don’t own me, Dominic,” Riley said fiercely, her voice vibrating in the quiet shop. “You don’t get to claim me because we bled together. I am not your trophy. I am not one of your trigger-happy soldiers. I am the woman who holds the knife.“
