Page 32 of Dominance

“Oh I saw the hair. Looked like someone had just sexed the hell out of it. You two getting in a few quickies here and there? That’s one way to get to know someone.”

“We are…feeling each other out.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.

“HA! I bet she feels?—”

All three of us stop dead in our tracks as we step out onto the street and the car parked down the drive. Right next to another car with its lights on and a man in a suit standing next to it. It’s a messenger. Likely from Dom.

And my spine locks up that they knew exactly where to find us.

6

ADRIANO

Dom’s messenger looks at me with a blank stare.

Like he happened upon us by chance.

Fucking. Unreal.

Something inside me snaps in the moment, flaring a temper that I rarely let out. But I’ve had it lately, getting strung along, kept out of the loop. And now this? Being followed?

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering orders, sir.” He’s not your everyday average thug. He’s keen. Sharp. And something else that I can’t put my finger on. Familiar somehow.

“Not what I mean. How did you know how to find us? Are you following your boss around? Because I am, you know?”

He suddenly looks a lot less calm.

“Um. No, sir. I was just instructed to find Ciro and Fiero Diamante. It’s my job. I’m good at finding people.”

“Oh yeah? You’re going to need to get good at finding your way out of a fucking coffin or concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson if I catch you tailing us again, do you understand me?”

Even Ciro’s eyes bulge a little at this, at my outburst. No matter how outrageous it sounds, when I get like this…

But my brothers also have my back, posting up at my shoulders and glaring the son of a bitch down.

“Now, do you want to tell me why you needed to find us while we’re grieving?” I gesture back toward the wreckage. He likely knows as most of the underworld in NY does, who we are, who we were.

“S-sorry, sir. I was instructed to deliver their new orders.”

“Fuck.” Ciro cracks his neck. “Already?”

The slim guy steps forward and in the streetlight, I can see his suit better. It’s hand stitched. Not exactly cheap, but not nice either. Like it was homemade.

And the only people I know who dress like that are the Lysi. Greek assassins. An organization as secretive as our own, if not more. Our family was at war with them for centuries until Uncle Giancarlo achieved a truce. A very tenuous truce.

What the fuck is Dom doing with one of them playing messenger on his payroll? They’re unpredictable at best.

My paranoia doubles.

Not that there’s anything I can do about it.

So I stay in that sweet spot of rigid calm, trying to act like everything is normal. But how can I keep from looking over my shoulder if my boss has hired killers waiting in the wings, watching our every move?

And it sends my mind into paranoid rabbit holes about Gloria too. Is she working for Dom? Is he holding her ransom somehow?

Not exactly conversations I can just have with her.

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