Chapter 63 63
Chapter 63 63
DOMINIC'S POV
The hospital released me despite their own reservations. The doctors fussed, waving around clipboards and citing medical protocols, but I was not about to spend another night in that sterile jail. I had my own doctors at home. Better care, more privacy and, most of all, full control over who came and went.
The mansion didn’t feel the same when Xavier approached its gates. It was less than a week that I had been away, but everything seemed to have changed. It pressed against my chest, the weight of it making my healing ribs throb.
Xavier brought me up to speed in the car, talking quietly and precisely. "Morrison's been active. Meeting with witnesses. Building his case."
"Who has he talked to?" I questioned, looking through the darkened glass at the well-known roads of my land.
"Paulo, obviously. Cassius. Some of your former associates."
"Anyone unexpected?"
Xavier hesitated. That silence said it all to me before he even opened his mouth.
"Your wife."
My jaw clenched so tightly I feared my teeth would shatter. "When?"
"Yesterday. Coffee shop downtown. Forty-five minutes."
"And she didn't tell me."
"No."
Of course she didn't. Another lie. Another deception. I was tired of it. The games, the lies, how she thought she could run interference behind my back without consequences. But I also wasn't surprised. Vivian had demonstrated time and again that self-preservation was more important than honor in her universe.
"What did they discuss?" I demanded, my voice level but holding all the fury that spread across my chest.
“Our guy couldn’t get close enough to hear. But body language suggested interrogation."
"Did she lawyer up?"
"No. I went alone. Stupid."
Very stupid. Or very desperate. I couldn’t choose which one I hated most. A wise woman would have called my lawyer on the spot. A woman in the throes of desperation would have been certain she could do it alone, protect herself without protection.
"I'll take her to my office when we get back to the house," I said, and my voice felt flat and cold. "Don't say to her that I heard about Morrison. I’m trying to find out if she will lie through her teeth again.”
Xavier nodded, his expression grim. "And if she does?"
My smile was broken glass. “Then I am going to remind her what happens to people who lie to me.”
The remainder of the drive was silent. I looked at the city rolling past: my city, and the empire I had built of blood, violence and calculated risks. If I touched something, it turned into gold or ash, depending on my mood. I was feeling especially combustible at the moment.
The mansion hulked up ahead, all stone and iron gates. A fortress. A prison. Depending on who you asked.
Xavier assisted me from the car but I shrugged him off as soon as my feet hit soil. I wasn't an invalid. The bullet had passed through clean, the knife was shallow and he suffered only a mild concussion. I had survived worse.
The staff inside scattered as if roaches when the lights come on. Good. They were too smart to hassle me, when I was in this state.
I walked to my office, each step carefully placed in spite of the shooting pain coming from my torso. I couldn't afford to be weak, not even for my body.
I found the office just as I left it. Dark wood, leather chairs, a hint of expensive cigars and old money. This was where I worked, made decisions that impacted 100 lives. Where I was the face of life and death.
I mixed myself a drink, disregarding the doctor’s instructions about alcohol and drugs. The whiskey scorched my throat, a kind of pain that was also familiar and thus welcome.
Ten minutes later, Xavier tapped on the door and came in with Vivian.
She looked nervous. Good. Her gaze raced across the room before settling on me, and I saw the flicker of relief that was just as swiftly replaced by nerves. She knew something was wrong. She likely could smell it in the air.
“Sit,” I ordered pointing my finger toward the chair facing my desk.
She did, with her feet perched on the very edge as if ready to fly away. Her hands twined in her lap, a tell she’d never been able to rid herself of no matter how well-practiced at deception.
"How have you been?" I asked, my tone conversational. "While I was gone."
"Fine. Worried about you."
"Were you?"
"Of course."
"Did anything interesting happen?"
"No. Just stayed here. Waited."
Lie. The word, unspoken, hovered in the air between us, imperceptible yet tangible. I could taste it.
I rose deliberately, and saw the tensing of her body as I came around my desk. Each step was calculated, predatory. Men half again as big I had hunted not near so close, but there was a certain precision about my own wife that I was sick of it.
"Nothing at all?" I queried, walking behind her chair. "No visitors? No phone calls?"
"No."
"No meetings?"
She hesitated. Just a split nanosecond, a sliver in the armor. But I caught it. I always caught it.
“No meetings,” she said, in a voice that was higher than usual.
I put my hands on her shoulders, holding them with enough force so I could feel the slight bones that lay beneath the softness of her skin. "Vivian.. You can give me an answer or not, I don’t care. I’m going to ask you again. And I want the truth."
"I am telling the truth—"
"Where were you yesterday afternoon?"
She stiffened beneath my hands. Her muscles seized up, her breath shallow. Panic response.
"Here. At home."
Wrong answer.
My hands descended to her throat, nothing more than inside them. A lesson of how breakable she was, how simple it would be for me to squeeze the life from her if I wanted. How much control was I exerting over her life.
I had you tailed," I whispered, close to her ear. "I hear you had a meeting with Morrison." I squeezed my grip a bit, enough to connect with her pulse - pounding against my palm. "So let's try this again. What did you tell the F.B.I. about me?”
"Nothing! I told him nothing!"
"But you met with him. Without telling me."
"He called. Said I had to—"
"You had to tell me. That's what you had to do."
Violently, I spun her chair to face me. Her eyes were huge, scared and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Defiance, maybe. Or resignation.
"What did he ask you?" I demanded.
"About our marriage. How we met. How long have I known you."
"And what did you say?"
"The truth. That we have been dating approximately a year. That my father arranged it."
"What else?"
She swallowed, her throat tensing under my fingers. "He asked about my sister. On why people sometimes confuse us”
My blood ran cold. Ice water in my veins, freezing him everything I touched. "What did you tell him?"
"That we look alike. That it happens sometimes."
“And did he seem to be content with that answer?”
"I don't know. Maybe?"
I searched her face for tells, for indications of deeper betrayal. She was frightened, of course, but she was something else too. That insubordination once more, making its way back into her expression despite her terror. And she was learning to stand up to me, I didn’t know how I felt about that.
"Strip," I said flatly.
"What?"
"You heard me. You disobeyed me. Again. Now strip."
"Dominic, please—"
"Now."
Her legs shook as she stood up, fumbling with her clothes. It took a long time for the pocketfuls to drop, one by one, hummingly. Her shirt. Her pants. Her underwear. And there she stood naked in front of me, so vulnerable and obvious…so completely at my mercy.
Mine.
"On your knees."
She knelt, her body trembling. I paced her, taking in every inch of vulnerable flesh and each shiver of fear and want. She had to figure out what her role was in this partnership. They had to remind themselves about who was wielding all the power.
“It seems you also have a difficult time understanding simple instructions,” I retorted, my voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Do not talk to anybody without my consent. Don't lie to me. Don’t act alone.” I paused before her, and looked at her face raised to mine. “So we’re going to strengthen those rules. Starting now."
I undid my belt slowly, pulling the leather through the loops and sending a whisper of noise through the still air that make her flinch.
"Open your mouth."