The faint gray of dawn slipped through the tall windows, casting long, pale stripes across the cold stone floor. The candles had burned out hours ago, their smoke still lingering faintly in the air like ghosts refusing to leave.
Maya had not slept.
She hadn't dared to.
Not with Dominic sitting across the room all night, silent, unmoving, watching her with those unreadable eyes even long after she thought he had drifted to sleep. He hadn't. He never did, she realized. Men like him didn't rest; they simply waited.
Her fingers curled into the blood stained sheet beneath her. It was dry now, cracking under her palms a chilling reminder of the night before. Not a violation… but not kindness either. Something in between. Something she didn't have a name for.
Her gaze drifted toward Dominic.
At some point, he had leaned his head back against the armchair, but his posture was still rigid, alert, one arm bandaged roughly with a strip of white cloth now darkened to maroon. The injury he'd inflicted on himself.
For her.
Or rather, for "what belonged to him."
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat.
As if sensing the shift in her breathing, Dominic's eyes opened.
Sharp. Dark. Immediately aware.
Maya flinched.
He watched her for a long moment, the silence thick enough to choke her. Then he rose to his feet not slowly, not gently, but with the efficient, controlled movements of a man trained to dominate every space he walked into.
He stepped toward the bed.
Her pulse raced.
He paused at the edge, looking down at her with a calm that didn't feel human.
"Stand," he said.
His voice was cold morning steel blunt, unforgiving.
Maya forced her trembling legs to move, slipping off the bed and steadying herself as her bare feet touched the chilled floor.
Dominic's gaze flicked briefly to the stained sheets behind her, then returned to her face.
"They will enter soon," he said. "The elders. The head guards. My father."
Her stomach twisted.
"They will inspect the room," he continued. "They will see the proof they need. And they will leave."
"Inspect…" Maya's voice cracked. "They come inside? They look at…."
"Yes."
Shame burned through her, hot and suffocating.
Dominic stepped closer, his presence swallowing the room, the cold scent of smoke and steel tightening around her like chains.
"You will not speak," he instructed. "You will not cry. You will not show fear."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
"I don't know if I can do that," she whispered, voice trembling.
He tilted his head, studying her the way a hunter studied a wounded deer.
"You can," he said simply. "Because you must."
Her breath hitched.
He reached out not to touch her skin, but to take her chin between two fingers, lifting her face just slightly. His touch wasn't gentle, but it wasn't harsh. Controlling. Claiming.
"Listen to me, Maya."
Her heart thudded painfully.
"You are in my world now," he said. "And in my world, weakness is not forgiven."
He leaned in a fraction, eyes locked on hers.
"But you survived the first night."
A pause.
"Most do not."
A shiver ran through her.
He released her, turning toward the door.
Maya watched his back the broad, imposing silhouette of a man feared by every criminal dynasty across the coast. Tattoos peeked from beneath the torn bandage on his arm, black ink stark against his skin. Last night's injury had looked sharp, deep, unnatural on someone like him.
"What will they think if they see your arm?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He didn't turn around.
"They won't."
"But"
"They don't look at me," Dominic said. "Not directly. Not unless they want to die."
She stared, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and fear.
He continued, voice low, almost bored, as if discussing the weather.
"They will look only at you. At the bed."
A cold pause.
"At what the dynasty believes is theirs now."
Her stomach tightened painfully.
Before she could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the heavy door three slow, deliberate beats that sounded more like a warning than a request.
Maya's blood ran cold.
Dominic didn't look back at her as he spoke.
"Stand still. Head high. Eyes forward."
Her limbs obeyed before her mind could catch up.
"And Maya?"
She froze.
He finally turned his head, eyes slicing through the dim light like a blade.
"Do not forget who protected you last night."
Her throat tightened.
He stepped toward the door, his presence filling every inch of the room like a storm about to break. He unlatched the lock with a single, echoing click.
The moment it opened, half a dozen men dressed in black lined the doorway, heads bowed, not daring to glance up. Behind them stood older men hard faced, silent, heavy with judgment elders of the dynasty.
They entered without a word.
Without a glance at Dominic.
Their cold, assessing eyes landed on her… and then drifted to the bloodied sheets.
A murmur of approval.
A nod.
A quiet, satisfied hum of tradition upheld.
Maya wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.
Dominic stood off to the side, silent but radiating dominance. No one acknowledged him. No one dared.
The inspection lasted less than thirty seconds.
But it felt like years.
When the last elder stepped out, bowing his head in stiff respect to Dominic, the door shut again with a final, echoing thud.
Silence pressed in.
Maya's knees nearly gave out.
Dominic turned to her, expression unreadable.
"It's done."
Her breath trembled.
He walked past her toward a wardrobe carved with the Deluca crest. Sliding it open, he removed a black silk robe and tossed it to her.
"Wear this," he ordered.
She caught it awkwardly against her chest.
"We have a meeting with the council in an hour."
"what do I do there?" she asked shakily.
"You stand beside me," he said. "And you keep your mouth shut."
Maya lowered her gaze.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
He stepped closer, just enough for his presence to crush the air between them.
"And Maya…"
She looked up, fear and confusion tangled in her chest.
His voice dropped to a dangerous, quiet whisper.
"Do not mistake last night for mercy."
Her breath faltered.
"I protected my property," he said. "Nothing more."
But even as he said it, his eyes darkened not with hatred.
With something far more complicated.
Possession.
Obsession.
A dangerous kind of protectiveness he refused to name.
He walked away before she could decipher it.
Left alone, Maya pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.
Dominic DeLuca terrified her.
And yet… something in her chest whispered a truth she wasn't ready to face:
He hadn't touched her.
He hadn't allowed anyone else to, either.
And he had bled for her.
Not kindness.
Not affection.
Not love.
Something darker.
Something twisted.
And something that, in its own terrifying way…
was starting to feel like the only protection she had left.