Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Alexa

I smoothed down the black dress, its fabric clinging to me like a second skin as I walked out into the club. Since I was working for the boss tonight, I needed to buy a new dress. The red lipstick stood out—a defiant splash of color that belied the unease churning in the pit of my stomach. Taking deep breaths, I inhaled slowly, the air seemingly too thick to calm the racing of my pulse. With each exhale, I tried to shake away the anxiety that comes with being so close to danger—and desire. Then he entered, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Dominic Gambino didn't just walk—he prowled, a predator in his domain. His presence sliced through the atmosphere, commanding the immediate attention of everyone in the vicinity. Under the dim lights, his broad shoulders cut a formidable silhouette, an unspoken threat woven into the very fabric of his tailored suit.

His dark gaze swept across the room, and when it landed on me, it was as if he peered straight into the depths of my soul, leaving bare all my secrets and fears. My breath hitched, my body responding with a treacherous thrill that danced up my spine. The air around us charged.

Dominic's lips curved into a knowing smile, one that hinted at dark promises and even darker secrets. I felt the pull of it, an invisible thread tethering me to him despite every instinct screaming for me to maintain distance. But in Dominic's world, distance was a luxury one couldn't afford—especially not when his penetrating gaze promised a collision course with destiny.

The lure of Dominic Gambino was dangerous, yet irresistibly compelling. Who was this man?

As he conversed with the club's elite, laughter rolling off his tongue like honeyed poison, my gaze traced the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. He was a sculpture of masculine perfection, yet it was the intangible darkness that cloaked him, whispering tales of danger and power, which ensnared my thoughts.

I slipped the phone from my purse. The screen's glow was a beacon of modern-day sorcery, ready to unveil the mysteries of the man. With quick, furtive strokes, I typed in Dominic Gambino .

Information flooded the screen, articles and mentions cascading like a waterfall of pixels and text. My thumb scrolled frantically, eyes darting across snippets of sentences, absorbing fragments of the enigma that was Dominic. Every revealed detail sharpened my curiosity, pulling me deeper into the rabbit hole.

Who are you? My heart pounded, mirroring the urgency of my quest for knowledge. But with every piece of information gleaned, the tapestry of Dominic's life grew darker, threads of power and secrecy intertwining in a pattern that spelled out a warning I wasn't sure I wanted to heed.

The headlines screamed back at me. "Gambino Crime Family Evades Major FBI Sting," one declared. Another taunted with, "Vincent Gambino: Untouchable Patriarch of Sin City?" With each article, I felt the room tilt, as if reality itself was warping.

Organized crime had felt like a distant concept, something out of movies and television dramas. But here it was, laid bare in black and white—Dominic's legacy, his birthright, spelled out in stark, unflinching detail. I struggled to swallow, my throat dry and constricted. How could someone so magnetic, so… captivating, be woven from such dark threads ?

I skimmed an article detailing a raid gone wrong—a ballet of shadows where Dominic danced through loopholes, always a step ahead. The image of him striding across the club earlier clashed violently with the man in the text. He moved with certainty; he commanded attention without demanding it. Yet this other side of him, the one etched into public record, was a maelstrom of danger and moral ambiguity.

Was this the man I was working for—a man whose name was synonymous with fear? My instincts clashed with the seductive allure of the unknown. Dominic, with his penetrating gaze and enigmatic aura, had seemed like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, but the answers before me now were more akin to a chilling revelation.

"Can I really be part of this world?" My stomach coiled tightly, the unease curling around my spine like cold fingers. The notion of being associated with the criminal underworld made my skin crawl, yet the thought of stepping away from Dominic, from the intoxicating pull he had on me, felt equally unbearable.

"Gambino Heir Implicated in Downtown Shootout" caught my eye, and I tapped hesitantly, opening the link. As I read the vivid descriptions of chaos and violence, a cold shiver crept up my spine. The article painted an image of Dominic not as a suave businessman but as a merciless figure, cloaked in the shadows of night, orchestrating the symphony of the streets with a conductor's precision.

Bloodstains on concrete. Lives shattered like glass beneath boot heels. And at the center of it all was Dominic, his name whispered in fear by those who dared to speak it aloud.

I put the phone away and headed straight to the private room because his guests would be arriving any minute and I needed to be prepared. Were these men like him? Was I safe here?

The chill of the private room settled on my skin like a warning as I smoothed down the crisp white tablecloth with trembling hands. My fingers brushed over the plush leather of the high-backed chairs, ensuring they were evenly spaced around the mahogany table that commanded the center of the room. Each movement was methodical, a temporary balm for the dread that clawed at my insides. The dim lighting cast shadows that danced across the walls, mirroring the darkness that now tainted my thoughts of Dominic.

I hesitated by the bar, gaze lingering on the array of bottles filled with amber liquids and rich wines. I reached for one—an expensive scotch—hand hovering before firmly grasping it. The cool surface of the bottle was a stark reminder of the man who would soon fill the room with his formidable presence. I poured the scotch into a decanter, watching as the liquid flowed with deceptive smoothness, much like the way Dominic moved through life—with silent, deadly grace. My eyes trailed over the label of the bottle, wondering if it was the same kind that he sipped on as he made decisions that affected lives, that whispered violence in its undertones.

A hushed creak of the door announced his imminent arrival, and my heart leaped into my throat. I took a step back, retreating into the shadows as if they could hide the trepidation etched into every line of my body.

The private room was ready, stocked for Dominic Gambino and his guests. I stood still, a lone figure amid the luxury, grappling with the dangerous allure of the world I had stepped into.