Chapter 16: Dominic

It’s not quite dark, but it will be in a few minutes.

I take a moment and look at Tristan’s house, noting the homey feel it has taken on.

He’s changed the exterior. The entire section to my left used to be a massive garage, specially for his motorcycles. Now he’s added long French windows, and from what I can see, it looks like he's turned it into a child’s playroom.

My penthouse apartment in the city is definitely more fitting to the bachelor I am, or rather the bachelor I was.

I'm here for that dinner, and I’m unsure what to expect from tonight. As much as I want to see the family, I don't like that my mind is all over the place.

Grabbing the bottle of wine I brought, I get out of my car. I chose the Bugatti tonight, just for something different. Maybe it was a safer option over my motorcycle, given the mood I’m in.

I make my way up the garden path leading to the porch, walking like a man who isn’t on edge and going crazy with worry over his woman who left him for a lunch date with another man.

Today was absolute shit. I waited for Candace to come back to work, but she didn't. After three hours of waiting and imagining her getting up to all manner of shit with Jacques, I went to check with Massimo's secretary and was told Candace would be working from home for the rest of the day. If I weren't so worked up, I would have gone to her apartment, but I decided against it. Nothing good can come from me when I get like this.

If I want her back, I have to at least calm the fuck down and try to find a better way to reach the woman inside her who still wants me.

It's hard enough getting her to forgive me for leaving, but I can't fucking believe I have Jacques Belmont to contend with. That fucking fortune five hundred trust fund bastard.

Business is business. But with Candace, I'm not fucking going to lose her to him. I won't allow it.

That shit isn't even what I should be focused on. What I should be worried about is the fact that it's now Thursday night, and our men haven't been able to pick up anything on the streets in regard to Kazimir or any of the Shadow members. My bots also haven't picked up anything more from Karl and Bradford. Anything could be happening, and that's unnerving when you know you're being watched.

Laughter greets me when I get to the top of the stairs. The door is ajar, so I push it open and find Massimo and Emelia standing together in the passageway.

Massimo is holding their three-month-old baby. It’s a strange sight to see my brother holding such a tiny baby, stranger still knowing he’s holding his son.

Both look to me when I step inside, and the angst I felt starts to fade.

Emelia being the saint she is, flies over to me and gives me a hug.

“Dominic, it’s so good to see you,” she bubbles, and her long dark hair bounces with life.

“You too,” I tell her, and I truly mean that. “Look at you. There’s no way you just had a baby.” She was tiny anyway, and she barely looks any different.

Her smile brightens right up. “You’re too kind. I think this dress must be working some kind of magic.”

“It’s not the dress,” Massimo says, shaking his head. “Doll, just take the compliment.”

“Fine. Thanks, Dominic,” Emelia says with a laugh.

The baby starts to stir, and Massimo smiles. He walks over to me to show me him properly, and I smile at the sight of my nephew. Lorenzo looks exactly like Massimo. He has the same bright blue eyes and the similarities in their faces are striking.

“Little man, this is Uncle Dominic,” Massimo says.

Uncle Dominic. That has a ring to it; I definitely like.

“Hello, Lorenzo,” I answer, beaming down at him as he yawns.

“Looks like someone’s tired.” Emelia giggles. “I’ll go put him to bed.” She takes him, and the two make their way upstairs.

Massimo watches them and turns back to me, looking like the proud father he is.

“It suits you,” I note.

“What does?”

“Husband and father, Pa would have been proud of you.”

“Thanks, just know he would have been proud of you too.”

I don’t think so, but it’s nice of him to say it. Pa would have probably killed my ass if he knew I was on drugs.

“Thanks. Where’s Tristan?”

Massimo rolls his eyes. “Out getting some special wine for the meal. He forgot it earlier. I told him it was fine, but Isabella insisted she needed it for the main course. She’s cooking tonight.”

As if on cue, we both hear a plate smash in the kitchen.

I look around to the kitchen to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler standing in the doorway gearing up to throw down another plate.

“Bad mama,” he says, giggling, and launches the plate. It joins the other one on the floor and smashes.

Isabella rushes up to him with a dustpan and brush.

“Giacomo, stop it,” she chides.

While Massimo shakes his head, I remember the last time I saw her and all the things I said. I was vile and horrible, and there she is in the kitchen making me dinner.

Isabella is Mortimer Viggo’s daughter, and Emelia is Riccardo Balesteri’s. Both were daughters of our enemies, but both were children who were raised in the darkness of their father’s worlds.

Emelia was a complete contrast to Isabella, however. She didn’t know how evil her father was until the end. Isabella was fully aware her father was the devil himself and had a horrible life for it. Yet, I treated her the worst.

I was in the height of my addiction when she came on the scene, and to me, she was the enemy's daughter, guilty by association.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

“I’m gonna go help her,” Massimo says, “Looks like she needs it. That kid is just like Tristan.”

“Actually, can I go?” I offer. “I just want a minute to talk to her.”

The instant I say that, Massimo looks like he understands my reasons. He’ll remember how I treated her.

“Sure. Call me if you need me.”

I dip my head agreeing, and make my way into the kitchen. It smells like heaven in here, and there’s an assortment of food laid out on the countertops that remind me of being in a restaurant.

Isabella is so focused on sweeping up all the broken pieces of the plate that she doesn’t see me.

Giacomo is the first to spot me and give me a wide smile revealing two little teeth in his gummy mouth. First, he runs over to his little toy box to get a Matchbox car; then, he returns to me with it.

“For you,” he says to me, and his eyes sparkle.

“Thank you, little guy.”

At the sound of my voice, Isabella looks up at me, and nervousness fills her beautiful face. With her white-blonde, petite frame, and bright green eyes, she always reminded me of a fairy.

“Hi, sorry I didn’t see you there,” she says, rising to greet me. She glances down at her summer dress and notices the huge red stain all over the front from the sauce and frowns. “My gosh, I also don’t usually look like this for dinner. I swear it will taste great, though.”

She’s nervous because of me.

“I’m sure it will. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

She looks surprised. “Oh, of course. Welcome home.” She puts out her dainty hand to shake mine, and I take it, dipping my head with the same respect we show the wives in the family.

“Thank you.” I release her hand, and she looks like she’s not sure what to say to me. Given our past, I wouldn’t know what to say to me either. “Isabella, I owe you a long-overdue apology. The last time you saw me I wasn’t myself and I said some terrible things. I didn’t mean them. My brother is lucky to have you. I realize I didn’t exactly paint the best picture of myself.” That’s an understatement. That was the night I shot Candace. This woman has every right to think I’m a worthless piece of shit.

“No apologies needed,” she replies, and a warmth fills her eyes that makes me relax. “I understand, and it really is good to have you back.”

Giacomo rushes up to her, and she picks him up.

“I’m making lasagna. He’s upset because we can’t have cake for dinner,” she explains.

“He can have cake later,” Tristan says from behind me.

Turning to face him, I take note of the appreciation in his eyes and guess he must have heard what I said to Isabella.

“Papa,” Giacomo blurts, almost jumping out of Isabella’s arms.

She sets him down, and I chuckle at the sight of his little legs as he rushes to Tristan as fast as he can.

Tristan picks him up, and I look them over. It’s nice, all of it. I just can’t help but feel like I don’t much fit in. It’s not anybody’s fault but mine. That’s the thing about time moving forward. It just does, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

Giacomo entertains us with his chatter about cake while I help Isabella with the food.

Very soon, we’re all seated around the table where I somehow get talking about Tibet.

When we start eating dessert, Massimo’s phone rings. From the guarded look on his face and the way he excuses himself from the table, I know that call is business.

Like me, Tristan stops eating, and we wait for Massimo to come back. Emelia and Isabella both look worried. They exchange knowing glances, knowing that business is business. Both are married to the mob. They know when the phone rings at dinner time, it’s serious. When Massimo comes back and looks from me to Tristan, we know it is.

“We have to go, now,” he states, and we get up. He looks to Emelia, who now looks panicked. “Stay here.”

She nods. “Be careful.”

Tristan kisses Isabella and Giacomo; then, we head out.