AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But this relationship thing is too new for both of us, and I’m acutely aware we need time to plan the future. We need to enjoy the present. I’m just not sure how much time we truly have before jumping into changes we might not be prepared for.
“We can always search for another property there.” I’m trying to stay vague to avoid being cross-examined by Bianca.
“His firm is still there. Are you going to have a long-distance relationship?” She bores her intelligent eyes into me, and I want to bring up Gio and Mila, if only to escape her attention.
“Bianca, love, let her be. They’re adults and they will figure it out.” My dad squeezes her hand and she purses her lips, but doesn’t interrogate me further.
The worst part is that she’s voiced my worries. After I leave my dad I cross the hallway with dread, and a strong need to take back some control.
It’s only a few steps to reach Dominic’s door, but by the time I enter his apartment, I’m riled up and ready to address the problem. As usual, when I face a problem, all my typical frustration and anger resurface.
The apartment smells like Dominic, coffee and my perfume. It’s an aroma of a place that has become my home. As soon as the scent tickles my nose, my resolution softens. We don’t have to fight—we can talk.
Dominic is sitting at the desk, his profile to me. God, he’s breathtaking. The brilliant winter sun shines behind him, creating a halo around him. If I didn’t know him, I would see him as an angel.
If angels had sharp, masculine features, smart and often conniving glints in their eyes, and a ruthless side offset by passion, endless drive and natural congeniality.
I lean against the banister and study him for a moment. He is on a video call, but I can’t tell what’s he saying. I admire the rhythm of his confident speech, the resolution in his husky voice.
He looks up and smiles as he sees me. “Corrado, I’ll have to go now, but I’ll see you on Monday at the bond hearing.”
I hear only this last sentence, and while I don’t want to jump to conclusions, the words wind around my nerves, lacing them with bitter dread.
“Who is Corrado?” I walk down slowly but stop before crossing the living room. Something stops me from getting close. I need my autonomy for this conversation. In Dominic’s immediate vicinity, I always suffer a loss of reason.
“Corrado Napolis is my client. How is your dad?” Walking to the kitchen, he smiles at me. That smile caresses my soul.
I feared his immediate proximity could challenge my resolve. Who am I kidding? It’s one look from him, one crinkle of a smile, and my anger dissipates. Yet I can’t shake the feeling he’s trying to swipe the conversation away.
“I remember the name from the news a few years ago. Money laundering?” I move to the kitchen.
Dominic pours himself a cup of coffee and smiles at me again. “Acquitted.” He takes a sip and leans against the counter.
He’s trying to look casual, but he puts the cup down beside him and cracks his knuckles, gearing up for a fight.
A strange realization hits me. It washes over me with a sobering coolness. I don’t want to argue with him. I want to agree with him.
I worry we’ve hit a topic where the lack of agreement could break us.
“You’re seeing him at a bond hearing? Where?” It shouldn’t bother me.
I’ve always known Dominic will go back to Chicago or commute there in some sort of fashion. But going back to Chicago is a different story than going back to his former clients.
I’m acutely aware of every single line on his face, as though I could scrutinize it and get answers before he even speaks.
“Chicago.” He picks up the cup and takes a sip.
It might be a simple move, but I know it’s more calculated than that. He’s adding an air of casualness into our conversation. On purpose. It only increases the significance.
For a moment I regret stepping into his phone call, hearing those last lines. I can’t pretend I’m unaffected.
“What has he done?” I don’t know why I want to know. The details of the case are irrelevant.
“He’s been accused of murder.” Dominic lowers the cup and takes a step. I mirror it with a step back.
“Murder? You’re going to have him acquitted of that as well?” My words sound like an accusation. Because they are.
A strange sense of premonition grips me, and somehow I know with absolute certainty that if we continue this conversation, the damage will be irreparable.
