Chapter 7 - The Aftermath and the Realization
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the back of a bulletproof black SUV speeding away from the crime scene, surrounded by a convoy of three escort vehicles.
The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind a heavy, vibrating silence in the luxurious leather cabin of the car.
Clara looked down at her hands. The elegant midnight-blue velvet gown was stained with dust and a smudge of soot near the hem, but she was alive. She had walked into a mob warzone, insulted a Sicilian patriarch, stared down a hit squad, and survived.
Dominic sat beside her, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped his knee.
"You didn't have to stay under the table," Dominic said quietly, his voice raspy. "You could have run for the kitchen exit when the shooting started. My men would have covered you."
Clara turned her head, looking at him in the dim light of the dashboard. "And leave you outnumbered? Please. I'm a professional, Mr. Moretti. When I take a job, I finish it."
Dominic slowly turned his head to look at her. The cold, ruthless syndicate boss was completely gone, replaced by a man looking at a woman with absolute, overwhelming awe.
"It wasn't a job after you put on that dress, Clara," Dominic murmured, his voice softening.
Clara’s breath hitched. The air in the car suddenly felt very thin. She could feel the heat radiating from his broad shoulders, the magnetic pull of his gaze.
"Dominic..." she started, her voice barely a whisper.
Before she could finish, Dominic reached out. His large, warm hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb gently brushing across her cheekbone, wiping away a speck of dust. His touch was tender, reverent, and completely at odds with the violent world he inhabited.
"When those men came through that door," Dominic said, his eyes burning with raw intensity, "my only thought wasn't my empire, my money, or my life. It was making sure they didn't lay a single finger on you."
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. The fake marriage, the two-million-dollar contract, the act—it was all blurring into something terrifyingly real.
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"You're insane," Clara whispered, though she leaned instinctively into the warmth of his palm.
"Maybe," Dominic replied, a soft, rare smile breaking across his handsome face. "But I think you're just as crazy as I am."
