Chapter 8 - The Crack in the Armor
When Dominic arrived home at six o’clock that evening, the house was eerily silent.
He walked into the foyer, tossing his coat to one of the guards, his dark eyes searching the grand staircase. Usually, Leo and Bea would be near the landing, or he would hear the faint sound of music coming from the kitchen.
Tonight, there was nothing.
“Where is she?” Dominic asked the guard in a sharp tone.
“She’s in her suite, sir,” the guard replied quickly. “She’s been in there since four o’clock. She didn't come down for tea with young Leo.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He took the stairs two at a time, heading straight down the second-floor corridor to Bea’s guest suite. He didn't knock; he turned the brass handle and stepped inside.
Bea was sitting on the edge of her bed, her back to the door, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the darkening lawn. She was dressed in her old baggy navy sweater—the one she used to wear when she cleaned the floors.
Dominic stopped in his tracks, a dark sense of foreboding settling in his chest.
“Beatrice?”
She didn't turn around. “Did you have a good day at the docks, Dominic?”
Dominic walked into the room, his long strides bringing him to her side. He reached down to touch her shoulder, but the second his fingers brushed her sweater, she flinched and pulled away.
Dominic froze as if he had been struck.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. “Did someone come here? Did Mrs. Bell say something to you?”
Bea slowly turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were red, ringed with dark shadows, tears drying on her soft cheeks.
“Frankie was here,” she said quietly.
Dominic’s expression transformed instantly into pure, unadulterated murder. “Frankie was in this house? If he laid a hand on you—”
“He didn't touch me,” Bea said, her voice trembling slightly. “He just talked to me. He told me about the family charter, Dominic.”
Dominic went deathly still. The air in the room seemed to freeze.
“He told me about the three-year deadline,” Bea continued, her tears spilling over her lashes as she looked into his dark, unreadable eyes. “He told me that if you didn't have a stable household, you’d lose control of the shipping company to him next month.”
Dominic didn't answer right away. He stood over her, his powerful chest rising and falling, his face a cold, impenetrable wall.
“Is it true?” Bea whispered, her heart breaking into a thousand piece with every second he remained silent. “Is that why you noticed me? Is that why you brought me to your table, gave me this room, and took me to your bed? Because you needed a prop to convince your board you were a family man?”
“Beatrice—” Dominic began, taking a step toward her.
“Answer me!” Bea cried out, standing up from the bed, her voice ringing through the room. “Is the charter real?! Do you lose your empire next month if you’re alone?!”
Dominic let out a harsh, bitter breath, his fists clenching at his sides.
“Yes,” Dominic said, the single word cutting through the room like a blade. “The charter is real.”
Bea let out a choked, ragged sob, stepping back until her spine hit the glass window. The truth hit her like a physical blow, destroying every beautiful dream she had allowed herself to build over the last two weeks.
“I see,” she whispered, wiping her face with the sleeve of her old sweater. “I was so stupid. I actually thought... I actually thought you saw me.”
“Beatrice, listen to me—” Dominic rasped, reaching out for her.
“Don't touch me!” she yelled, her eyes flashing with a fierce, wounded pride he had never seen in her before. “Don't touch me, Mr. Russo! I’ll stay until your meeting next month so you don't lose your company. I owe you that much for being good to Leo. But after that... I’m leaving.”
Dominic stared at her, his face pale, his hands shaking at his sides.
“You aren't leaving,” he said softly, a dark, desperate edge entering his voice.
“You can't force me to stay!” Bea shouted.
“I’m not holding you here because of a charter, Beatrice!” Dominic roared, his voice shaking the glass windows of the suite. He took three aggressive steps forward, closing the distance between them, grabbing her arms and pulling her flush against his chest before she could escape.
“I didn't dance in that kitchen at two in the morning because of a charter!” Dominic spat, his dark eyes burning into hers with a raw, terrifying intensity. “I didn't lose my mind when Paulie touched your sweater because of a charter! I don't lay awake every night watching you sleep because of a damn business contract!”
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Bea gasped, her chest heaving against his, tears streaming down her face as she looked into his desperate gaze.
“I don't give a damn about the charter!” Dominic growled, his hands sliding up to frame her face, his thumbs pressing fiercely against her cheeks. “If Frankie wants the shipping company, he can burn it to the ground! I brought you into my bed because I am sick, obsessed, and completely out of my mind in love with you!”
