Chapter 4 - The Secret Under the Skin
The storm broke on a Tuesday night, exactly 1 month after Norah had been brought to the estate.
Lightning flashed across the bay, illuminating the third-floor study in jagged white streaks.
Thunder rattled the windowpanes.
Norah sat at her dual monitors, rubbing her temples as she tried to balance a complex ledger involving shipping ports in Sicily.
The door clicked open.
Dominic walked in, carrying a crystal tumbler of amber liquid.
He wasn’t wearing his usual tailored suit; he wore a black cashmere sweater and dark trousers, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing pale skin and dark tattoos wrapping around his forearms—symbols of his syndicate rank that he usually kept hidden.
“You’re still working,” Dominic stated, setting the glass down beside her keyboard.
“The Sicilian accounts don’t balance themselves,” Norah muttered without looking up, her eyes glued to the numbers.
Dominic reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist and stopping her fingers from typing.
“Stop,” he commanded softly.
Norah finally looked up at him.
His face was inches from hers.
In the dim light of the computer screens, his eyes looked obsidian, bottomless and fierce.
“You’ve worked 72 hours straight,” Dominic said, his voice lower than usual. “You look like you’re going to collapse.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice trembling as his thumb stroked the inside of her pulse point.
“You’re not fine, Norah,” he said, pulling her gently out of the ergonomic chair.
She stumbled forward, her chest colliding softly with his solid frame.
She gasped, her hands flying up to push against his sweater, but her arms felt weak, betrayed by exhaustion.
“Dominic, please,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. “What are you doing?”
“I’m reminding you that you’re alive,” he answered.
He backed her slowly against the edge of the mahogany desk, boxing her in with his broad shoulders.
The scent of bergamot, rain, and raw danger washed over her.
“You told me in the club that you had never been touched,” Dominic murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before rising back to meet her wide, fearful eyes. “You told me you were 28 and untouched by anyone.”
Norah’s cheeks burned with humiliation.
“Why bring that up?”
“Because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you said it,” Dominic confessed, his voice rough with a raw, unexpected vulnerability that stunned her.
“A powerful mafia boss doesn’t care about things like that,” she whispered defensively.
“I care about everything that belongs to me,” Dominic corrected, his hand sliding up from her wrist to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline. “And from the moment you stared down Frank’s blood without flinching, you have belonged to me.”
Norah’s breath hitched.
“I am not property.”
“You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a world full of liars and cowards,” Dominic replied fiercely. “You are honest, you are brilliant, and you are entirely mine.”
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Before she could formulate a defense, his head lowered.
His lips brushed against hers.
