Page 8 of Dominance

“Stef, your punch lines are all punches below the belt. Or worse, you pistol-whip somebody like you did last week.”

“He had it coming.”

“Right. They all do, huh?”

“A guy’s gotta take respect if they don’t give it.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” Respect earned, respect given. That’s what Uncle Gio taught us.

“You’re a sad sack of shit since you got back, you know?”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment, Stefo.”

“Fuck off! I’m gonna grab some lunch, you coming?”

“No, I gotta head back to the office.”

“Lapdog,” Stefano snickers.

“Crony.” I smirk, slinking off down the street. Despite my nerves, the bustle of the city always settles my racing brain, my busy mind.

Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all that’s kept me sane. Getting out, taking a drive, walking the streets. This will always be home, even if I barely recognize it under Dom’s new order.

I’m still debating whether to catch a cab back to the office in Brooklyn or to head straight to my apartment to change when my phone buzzes.

Gloria.

My fiancée.

A tingle runs up my spine as I see her name on my phone screen. Followed by a zip of irritation as I read her text.

Engagement dinner starts at seven…

Like I don’t already know?!

And have been actively trying to ignore all day.

That’s what I want to say, and a thousand other snarky, smart-assed responses. And on the other side of that coin, I want to talk to her, ask her a million questions.

Like why the hell she came here to work for her father?

Or why I haven’t had a real, honest conversation with her since she got here and Dom announced that he picked her to be my wife. A situation I haven’t begun to reconcile or understand.

Wear the shirt I sent over and make sure to come on time!

All I can do is go along with it, on the threat of my little brothers’ lives.

Fortunately, or maybe not, we haven’t gotten a lot of opportunities to chat or spend time together since Gloria arrived a few weeks back. Dom’s kept both of us unbelievably busy, like he’s trying to keep me from asking why she would go along with it too.

Because that’s the real clusterfuck.

Gloria, the red-haired bombshell with the honey-colored eyes I met on a train to Paris is Domenico Vipera’s daughter. A woman who set me into a mental tailspin the moment I met her. She’s clever, funny, intelligent.

And every time I see her my mouth starts saying words that someone else implanted in my thoughts.

Case in point as my thumb hits send before I can process what I wrote in response.

For you, I’ll come early.

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