Page 100 of Filthy Dirty Dom

Eventually, Father Alessio paused in front of a heavy, wooden door. He pushed it open to reveal a modest-sized room filled with warm, soft light. The stone walls were decorated with the same ancient art that adorned the corridors. Two beds sat against the side walls and a quick look confirmed the room had a small bathroom.

The balcony was the room's crowning jewel. Overlooking the expansive monastery grounds, the view was nothing short of breathtaking. From their high vantage point, Leslie saw a placid lake, its tranquil surface mirroring the azure sky above. Lush green forests stretched beyond, the verdant canopy undulating with the gentle breeze.

"The room has everything you need. If you need anything else, please feel free to ask," Father Alessio's voice broke through Leslie's reverie. His gaze, however, was on Alex. "Possiamo parlare di più quando sei pronto."

Alex nodded, his expression unreadable. "Lo apprezzo, Alessio."

As the priest left, closing the door quietly behind him, Leslie's mind went back to the whispered conversation. Who was Mia to Alex? Despite the peaceful surroundings, her mind was restless, her thoughts circling around questions she didn't have the answers to yet.

Finally gathering her courage, Leslie asked, "Who's Mia?"

Alex froze in the act of stripping off his shirt; he’d bought it from a man at the airport after he’d landed the helicopter at the first airport given his had been covered in blood. His shoulder tensed and he lowered his hand. After a long pause, he let out a sigh, turned to her, and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Leslie," he said, his voice holding an uncharacteristic edge. "We've had a long day. We're safe here. Let's just focus on settling down for now, okay?"

"Alex, you're avoiding my question, just like you’ve brushed off most of my questions. Who is she? Was she someone important to you?"

His gaze fixed on her, searching, probing. There was something in his eyes, something that suggested a battle being fought within him. But then, he looked away, his expression closing off. "It's not the right time, Leslie," he clipped out.

As he turned around again and stripped off his shirt, Leslie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. For the first time, looking at Alex’s bare upper body didn’t make her feel a hint of desire. He was concealing something, something important, and a heavy dread settled inside her. Because at some point, he was going to answer her questions. Yet she no longer was sure if she wanted to hear his answers.

Later, in the hushed silence of the dining room, surrounded by several monks, Alex and Leslie ate a simple meal at a small table near the window, overlooking gardens of the monastery. Father Alessio sat with them, switching between Italian and English to talk to Alex, Leslie, and the monks. Once the meal was over, Father asked to speak to Alex alone, but Alex said he didn’t want to leave Leslie, to which Father nodded before saying good night.

Alex and Leslie made their way back to their room, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors. The day's events had left them drained, the emotional toll evident in their strained smiles and the weariness that hung about them like a cloak.

Retiring to their separate corners of the room, Alex moved towards the small, attached bathroom, leaving Leslie to prepare for bed. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down his body. The steam enveloped him, muffling the sounds of the monastery beyond the bathroom walls.

As the water sluiced over him, he scrubbed his skin, his actions desperate and relentless. He could still feel the stickiness of blood on him, Nico's blood. It was as if it had seeped into his skin, staining him, haunting him.

Memories swamped him. Nico's lifeless body, so devoid of the energy and vibrancy. Leaving Leslie on that boat. The men who’d shot at him. The panic room, and the men he’d fought on his way back to Leslie. The desperate need to protect, to shield, to fight back.

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, the water washing over him in a torrent. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to push away the memories that threatened to consume him. His fists clenched, his knuckles white against the backdrop of the dark tile.

But no matter how hard he scrubbed, how hot the water, he couldn't wash away the feelings of guilt, of responsibility. They clung to him, stubborn and unyielding. And with each pulse of water against his skin, each bead of moisture that ran down his body, he was reminded of his failure.

He stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, until his skin was raw and the memories were but echoes in his mind. He was clean, but the feeling of being soiled, of being tainted, clung to him. He shut off the shower, dried off, and slipped on a fresh t-shirt and lounge pants that one of the larger monks had given him. Then he stepped into the bedroom.

Leslie avoided his gaze, muttered that she was going to shower, too, then closed the bathroom door. He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

She’d asked him about Mia, and had been hurt when he’d brushed her off.

He was so tired of brushing her off.

Two beds stood separately in the room, a chasm of space between them. Lying on his bed, Alex stared up at the shadow-dappled ceiling, his thoughts a chaotic whirlpool.

A question was at the back of his mind, a question he was trying hard to ignore, but which kept floating back into his consciousness—should he tell her about Mia? Would it change anything? Would it change her view of him?

A short while later, Leslie stepped out of the bathroom wearing a large t-shirt, also once owned by the monk who’d given Alex the clothes he was wearing. She turned off the lights then hopped into bed. She seemed so far away, an unbridgeable distance separating them. Yet, her voice cut through the silence, a soft whisper in the vastness of the room.

"Alex," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who is Mia?"

His gaze dropped to the sheets and he drew a deep breath.

Tell her, Alex.

Before he could do so, she spoke again.

"The men attacking the island, what was it about?”

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