Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Alexa

T he car's engine hummed a low dirge as it slowed to a stop in front of our home. I stepped out, my legs unsteady, not from the ride but from the remnants of terror still clinging to my spine. The driver didn't meet my eyes; he didn't need to. His job was done—delivering me back to the lion's den.

The grand entrance loomed before me, the heavy oak doors flanked by cold stone lions with sightless marble eyes. They seemed to watch, to judge as I approached—a lamb returning to the fold. The air was too still, the silence too complete. Dominic stayed behind, swallowed by the night and whatever grim tasks awaited him.

Before I could reach for the door, it swung open. Vincent Gambino stood there, an immovable fixture, his presence filling the doorway. Time had etched deep lines into his face like a map of hard-won battles, and his piercing blue eyes held a glacial detachment that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Alexa," he greeted, his voice a gravelly echo of the power he wielded. It wasn't welcoming; it was an acknowledgment—a mere statement of fact.

"Mr. Gambino," I managed, my voice betraying none of the inner turmoil churning like a storm within. I stepped past the threshold, acutely aware of the invisible chains tightening around my wrists.

"Walk with me," he commanded more than invited, turning on his heel with the expectation of being obeyed. The foyer, bathed in shadows, seemed to close in on me, the opulent decor mocking my disarray with its ordered perfection.

We moved in silence, our footsteps echoing off the marble floors. Vincent led me into Dominic's study, where the scent of aged leather and mahogany hung heavy in the air. He took his place behind a massive desk.

"Sit," he instructed, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite him. There was no warmth in his offer, no comfort in the plush velvet. It was a throne of judgment, each stitch woven with expectation and control.

As I took my seat, the chair enveloping me like a vise, Vincent poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass. He pushed one toward me.

"Drink," he said, his tone brooking no argument. It was a command disguised as courtesy, a test of compliance in the guise of hospitality.

I lifted the glass, the whiskey's sharp scent stinging my nostrils. My hands trembled ever so slightly, but I willed them steady, unwilling to show weakness before this man who was now, for all intents and purposes, my father-in-law.

Vincent watched, those calculating eyes missing nothing, as I took a measured sip, the burn of the alcohol a fleeting escape from the chilling reality of my new existence.

"Your life has changed, Alexa," Vincent began, his voice a low rumble of thunder threatening a storm. "Dominic will return once he has finished what must be done."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, and the walls of the room inched closer, threatening to crush me beneath the weight of my destiny. But I nodded, accepting the truth of his statement with a resignation that settled like ash on my tongue.

"That it has," I whispered, the sound barely escaping my lips as I contemplated the enormity of the path that lay before me.

A shiver crawled down my spine as Vincent leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under the shift of his weight. The silence stretched between us, suffocating, filled only by the faint tick of a grandfather clock in the hallway. He steepled his fingers, eyes glinting with something cold and sharp.

"Fortune favors you, Alexa," he said at last, his voice a silk-wrapped blade. "Dominic's mercy is not a well from which many can draw water." He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink into the marrow of my bones. "But mercy comes with strings."

I swallowed hard, the whiskey I had sipped now a burning pool in my stomach. Mercy? Or a life sentence?

"From this moment on," Vincent continued, "your role… is that of a Mafia wife. It's a position that demands certain… sacrifices." His gaze pinned me like a butterfly to a board. "Your career aspirations, your independence—they end here."

My throat felt tight, constricted by invisible hands. All the plans I had made for myself, all the dreams I'd nurtured, shredded to confetti in the face of this decree.

"Those men at the club…" Vincent's voice pulled me back to a reality I wished was nothing but a nightmare. "They were there for one reason: to kill you, to wound Dominic where it hurts most."

A cold dread settled around my heart, its icy fingers squeezing until I could hardly breathe. My life, used as a pawn in a vindictive game I didn't even know I was playing. And Dominic, the enigmatic man whose darkness matched the night sky—was he my savior or my captor?

"Remember, Alexa," Vincent said, rising from his chair like an omen of dark days to come. "In our world, love and death are often tangled together. Choose your steps wisely. "

He turned away, leaving me to drown in the realization that my life was no longer my own.

Vincent's silhouette framed the doorway. "Go get cleaned up. I'll wait for my son." His voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of final judgment. There was no arguing with that tone; it spoke of years commanding respect—or fear—from those around him.

I nodded, my movements automatic, and turned toward the staircase. Each step felt like ascending a gallows, the plush carpet doing nothing to soften the dread that each footfall brought closer. The opulent banister offered cold comfort, its polished wood slipping beneath my tentative grip.

Reaching the top, I stood in the shadowed corridor, the darkness punctuated by the soft glow of antique sconces lining the walls. Their light seemed to hesitate, as if afraid to fully reveal what lay within these rooms now claimed as mine.

The bedroom loomed before me, its door slightly ajar. The sanctuary of solitude it should have offered was betrayed by the chilling understanding that freedom had been stripped away. Pushing the door open, the hinges gave a whisper of protest—a sound that resonated with my own unease.

Inside, the lush fabrics and exquisite decor mocked me with their elegance, a contrast to the turmoil churning inside. I crossed to the window, peering out at the sprawling estate grounds swallowed by the night. The moon, a mere sliver in the sky, provided scant illumination, casting elongated shadows that danced with the rustling leaves in a ghostly ballet.

I wrapped my arms around myself. The chill wasn't from the night air—it came from within, a realization of the web I was now ensnared in.

The thought of Dominic's impending arrival sent a shiver racing down my spine. What conversations awaited them? What plans for the future—a future where I was nothing more than a piece in the game—were being concocted in hushed tones below?

I sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress embracing me with deceptive softness. My gaze fell to my hands, clasped tightly, the knuckles white with tension. What had I gotten myself into? The question echoed through the chambers of my heart, unanswered, as the shadows crept closer, threatening to swallow me whole.