Page 30 of Unholy Night
"All I Want for Christmas is You" hums through my lips, barely audible.
"I'm not running." I turn to face him, seeing my own exhaustion reflected in his dark eyes. "Not from you. Not from this."
His jaw tightens. "Natalie, you don't understand what Domenico is capable of."
"I understand enough." My voice comes out steadier than I expect, though I taste copper fear on my tongue. "I understand that Leonardo told him everything."
The SUVs stop outside, doors opening in synchronized precision. Through the window, I count five men. Two bodyguards flanking Domenico, two more taking defensive positions by the vehicles. The fifth man, Domenico himself, stands perfectly still in the snow, surveying his domain.
Even from here, I can feel the power radiating from him. The temperature in the cabin seems to drop ten degrees just from his proximity. This is what real authority looks like. Not the borrowed power of a prosecutor's office, but the kind that comes from generations of taking what you want and keeping it.
"Whatever happens," Tomas says, moving closer, his body heat reminding me I'm still alive, still his, "remember that I chose this. Chose you."
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. His skin is warm against mine, solid, real.
The front door opens without a knock. Of course. Men like Domenico don't knock. They simply enter, and the world bends to accommodate them.
Domenico Rosetti enters my life the same way winter enters a room. Sudden, overwhelming, stealing all warmth.
He's taller than I expected, broader through the shoulders than Tomas, wearing a coat of obvious quality. His eyes are sharp green, like broken glass catching light, assessing everything. When they land on me, I feel stripped bare, every secret exposed. The room fills with his presence, expensive cologne mixing with the lingering scent of death we couldn't quite scrub away.
"So you're the prosecutor," he says, voice carrying the kind of quiet that makes you lean in despite yourself.
He doesn't look at Tomas. Not once. His complete focus stays on me as he circles, predatory in his assessment. Like a wolf evaluating prey, deciding whether to kill quickly or play first. He stops behind me, and I force myself not to turn, not to track the predator at my back. Then he's in front again, close enough that I can smell whiskey.
"Former prosecutor," I correct, lifting my chin despite the fear crawling up my spine like ice.
"I see. Former." He reaches out suddenly, fingers catching my chin, tilting my face toward the light like he's examining merchandise. His touch is cold, clinical, but I don't flinch even as my pulse rockets. "Leonardo tells me you've had quite the career change. From hunting us to fucking us."
The crude words are deliberate, testing. I don't flinch, though the memory of Tomas inside me just hours ago makes heat crawl up my neck.
"Men say a lot of things when they're bleeding from the shoulder and dragging a wounded leg."
Something flickers in Domenico's eyes. Surprise? Amusement? It's gone before I can identify it. He releases my chin but doesn't step back.
"He also says my cousin held a gun to Leonardo's head." His voice drops, becoming deadly. The temperature drops with it. "For you."
Tomas steps forward. "Dom, let me explain."
"Did I ask you to speak?" Domenico doesn't even turn his head, keeping those sharp green eyes on me. "I'm talking to her."
The dismissal is so complete, so casual, it makes something hot flare in my chest. Tomas is trying to protect me, to take whatever punishment is coming, and Domenico won't even acknowledge him. But Tomas's hand finds the small of my back anyway, possessive even in his silence, and I draw strength from that touch.
"You want to know what happens to people who know our business?" Domenico continues, still studying me with that predatory intensity. He moves closer, close enough that I have to fight not to step back. "People who aren't family? They disappear. Permanently. No body, no questions, no trace they ever existed."
My heart hammers, but I force myself to maintain eye contact. This is a test. Everything about this man is a test. The melody of "Silent Night" tries to escape, but I bite my tongue to stop it.
"Then ask me," I say, my lawyerly voice surprising us both with its steadiness. "Whatever you want to know, ask me. Not him."
Domenico's eyebrows rise fractionally. "You're giving me orders?"
"I'm suggesting you get your information from the source." I step forward, moving around Tomas despite his grip tightening on my waist, trying to keep me behind him. "You want to know if I'm a threat? If I can be trusted? If I'm worth the fracture in your family? Then evaluate me. Not your cousin's feelings about me."
For the first time since entering, Domenico smiles. It's not a pleasant expression. It's the smile of a shark recognizing another predator.
"You've killed for him. Six men, Leonardo said."
"Six men who would have killed us first." The words taste like metal, like the blood I can still feel under my fingernails despite scrubbing them raw.
