Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Silk
The metallic click of the pistol's hammer safety echoes through the freezing night air.
I froze, the icy wind whipping the midnight-blue silk of my dress around my ankles. The noise from the opulent ballroom inside was muffled behind the heavy glass doors—lively jazz music, clinking champagne flutes, and booming laughter—completely oblivious to the execution about to take place on the balcony.
"You think you're royalty now?" Dominic Rossi sneered, his finger tightening on the silver trigger. "You're just a whore who got my brother buried. Once I put a bullet in your pretty heart, Carmine's whole empire is going to know he couldn't protect his favorite toy."
"If you shoot me," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the violent terror clawing at my throat, "you won't leave this building alive."
"I don't care," Dominic snarled. "Retaliation is already set. My men are—"
Before he could finish the sentence, the heavy glass doors behind him exploded outward in a shower of glittering, razor-sharp shards.
A shadow moved faster than a striking viper.
Carmine didn't shoot. He didn't issue a warning.
He hit Dominic like a runaway freight train, grabbing the man's gun wrist and twisting it upward with a sickening CRACK. Dominic shrieked in agony as his arm snapped at the elbow, the silver pistol clattering across the snow-dusted marble tiles.
Carmine didn't stop. His massive left hand clamped around Dominic’s throat—the exact same way Rocco had clamped his hand around mine three weeks ago—and slammed the man hard against the heavy stone pillar.
The glass doors swung wildly, and within three seconds, four of Carmine’s armed guards rushed onto the balcony, weapons drawn, blocking the exits and shielding me from view.
"Carmine!" Dominic choked out, his eyes bulging as his feet dangled two inches off the ground. "It’s... it’s a hit... Moretti sent me..."
Carmine’s face was unrecognizable. The polished, smooth billionaire was gone. In his place stood an ancient, terrifying predator. His jaw was set like granite, his eyes black as pitch, glowing with a lethal, absolute fury that chilled me to the bone.
"You brought a gun into my house," Carmine whispered, his voice dangerously soft, vibrating with pure venom. "You pointed it at my woman."
"Carmine, please—"
Carmine didn't listen. With a terrifying surge of strength, he dragged Dominic toward the edge of the fifth-floor balcony rail.
"Carmine, no!" I cried out, stepping forward, ignoring the shattered glass crunching beneath my high heels. "Don't! Not here!"
Carmine paused. He didn't release Dominic’s throat, but his dark eyes snapped to mine. The sheer brutality in his gaze was blinding, but as he looked at me—at my pale face, my trembling hands, the midnight-blue dress—the wild, bloodthirsty fury in his expression flickered.
"Ivy," Carmine rasped, his voice rough.
"Please," I begged, taking another step toward him, laying my small hand gently on his arm, right over the corded, flexing muscle of his tuxedo sleeve. "Don't stain yourself for him. Not like this. Let Vane handle it."
Carmine stared at me. The silence on the balcony was absolute, broken only by Dominic’s pathetic, gasping wheezes.
Slowly, agonizingly, Carmine pulled Dominic back from the edge of the railing and slammed him onto the cold tiles at his feet.
"Vane," Carmine ordered, never breaking eye contact with me.
Vane stepped out from behind the guards, his expression entirely calm, holding a dark velvet cloth.
"Take him to the basement in Nampa," Carmine commanded flatly. "Find out what Moretti planned in Spokane. When he talks... erase him."
"Right away, sir," Vane said crisping, signaling the guards. They grabbed the semi-conscious Dominic by his collar and dragged him silently through the service entrance.
The balcony was quiet again.
Carmine stood there in the snow, his chest heaving, his dark hair slightly disheveled. Blood—Dominic's blood from his broken wrist—stained the cuff of Carmine’s white dress shirt.
He turned to me, stepping over the shattered glass. He looked down at his bloodstained hands, then up at my face, a rare look of hesitation touching his features.
"Did he touch you?" Carmine asked softly.
"No," I whispered. "You stopped him."
Carmine reached out, but paused inches from my skin, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood on his hands. "I am a violent man, Ivy. You saw what I am tonight. I don't hide it."
I didn't step back. I didn't flinch.
Instead, I reached out, taking his bloody hand in both of mine, resting my cheek against his warm knuckles.
"You are a violent man who protects me," I whispered, looking straight into his dark, tortured eyes. "You built a fortress around a girl who had nothing. I am not afraid of you, Carmine. I will never be afraid of you."
May you like
Carmine let out a ragged exhale, pulling me into his arms and burying his face in the crook of my neck, holding me so tightly I could feel every beat of his heart.
"You are mine, Ivy," he growled softly into my skin. "And I will burn this entire state to ash before I let anyone take you from me."
