Page 30 of Corrupting Lily

“Come. Don’t be afraid. Next to me, you're safe.”

Dominico gently pulls my hand and guides me forward.

The Senator does not notice us approaching. His self-absorption in whatever he is saying to his companion renders our arrival at his table a surprise.

The Senator's eyes widen in shock and recognition. His gaze is fixed on Dominico, who pulls a chair out for me. His hand on my lower back guides me to sit down before he sits beside me. Nero and Dante sit at a nearby table, positioned behind the Senator. The other two bodyguards stand directly behind us, a few feet away.

The Senator composes himself, his eyes drifting over to me. His gaze roams my face and body, transporting me back to our encounters. I shiver as I think about his hands on my body without my permission, and the bile rises as I remember the smell of his stale breath as he tried to kiss me. Fuck, I hate him. I hate him so much that I want to gouge his eyes out so that they cannot look at me ever again. Not with the pang of lust I even see now before he frowns as if trying to understand what I am doing here. A question we were both looking for the answer to. The girl beside him seems frozen in fear, and when her gaze moves from Dominico to me, I give her a small smile, trying to reassure her.

“You know who I am.” Dominico’s statement diverts the Senator's attention from me, and I take a deep breath, realizing I had been holdingit. His hand finds mine beneath the table, his fingers interlacing with mine, soothing my on-edge nerves.

“I do,” the Senator replies, casually sipping his drink as if to demonstrate that Dominico's presence does not intimidate him. A server arrives, setting down a drink I recognize as whiskey for Dominico, while a glass of pink champagne is placed in front of me. I promptly take a sip, hoping the alcohol will dull the nervous tension threatening to push me into a full-blown panic attack.

Dominico retrieves a cigar from his suit pocket, snips the tip, and lights it before sipping his drink.

“You know my companion.” Dominico's words prompt the Senator to glance at me as he nods, setting his drink back on the table.

“Yes. We have met before. However, back then, she belonged to someone else. Someone who would be eager to have her back.”

Dominico laughs, but it lacks genuine humor.

“She is mine. And I don’t like others touching what is mine. Something I know you have done without her consent.”

The Senator laughs, glancing from me to Dominico.

“Is that what she told you? That it was non-consensual? Please, she is a liar. A slut who enjoys crying wolf—”

The Senator doesn’t get to finish that sentence. Before he or even I know what is happening, Nero is behind him, his hand firmly around the Senator's wrists, forcing his hands flat on the table as Dominico takes two shiny silver forks from the table and stabs them into the Senator's hands. All the way through so that it pins the man to the table. The strength it must take to get it all the way through flesh and bone is not lost on me as I look at Dominico’s hand, which is now around his glass. He sips his drink as if nothing has happened.

Red stains the white cloth beneath the Senator's palms, the patch of crimson expanding. He is screaming, his face so flushedhe resembles a tomato. Dominico dips his head toward the Senator's companion, who is pale as a ghost. Her eyes widen like a startled deer as her hand covers her mouth. She quickly rises, fleeing the table.

“I don’t like liars or men who force themselves onto women, especially not mine.” Dominico glances at me and even smiles, making the whole situation bizarre and surreal. I feel as though I have left my body and am observing this from afar.

“I want you to deliver a message to your friends. Lily Valentine is mine.” His gaze remains fixed on me as his hand rises, his knuckles brushing my cheek tenderly, grounding me in this moment and bringing me back into my body.

“I want the bounty removed from her head. If it isn’t, I will personally destroy those responsible for putting it there. Do I make myself clear?” Dominico’s gaze drifts over to the Senator, who has stopped screaming. Tears run down his red cheeks, and snot from his nose runs down and over his lips as he nods vigorously.

He looks pathetic. Weak. Dominico has done this for me. I don’t know what possesses me, but I lean over the table and grip the handle of one of the forks closest to me. The Senator's eyes widen with panic and then flare with pain as I twist the cutlery, earning a scream.

I wonder how many women he made scream out in pain. That thought makes me angry, and I twist harder, the pool of blood staining the white cloth now much more extensive than moments before. And then the Senator passes out, his forehead hitting the plate in front of him hard, cracking it through the middle.

I release the fork and jerk my hand back. Shit. What am I doing? But when I look up at Nero, he is smiling at me—a genuine smile like I have never seen before. And then, when I glance at Dominico, he, too, is grinning.

He shakes his head while still smiling.

“Well,il mio fiorellino, you surprise me. And that does not happen often in my world. Come. I am famished, and you are too.” My stomach growls loudly at his words, confirming what he has said. I blush and look away.

How can I be hungry at a time like this? I had just tortured a man to the point where he passed out, and I’m hungry? Who was I? But as I look over at the fat, balding bastard who had tried to force himself onto me and who probably did it to so many other women, I don’t feel bad. I just don’t.

“He deserved it,” Dominico says, echoing my feelings as he rises, pulls my chair out, and extends his hand for me to take. I look at his hand and then at his face, pondering this strange situation in which I find myself.

My behavior did not repulse him. He didn’t even seem to judge it. Instead, when I take his hand, he pulls me in, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing me against him.

Then, he whispers three little words into my ear—praise that envelops me, leaving me with goosebumps and deep emotions. I had grown so accustomed to hearing how useless I was that receiving these words from him felt like a soothing, intoxicating balm.

“My good girl.”

Chapter 20

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