The safehouse was silent except for the heavy breaths of men who had just run for their lives. Guns clattered onto tables, blood dripped onto the floor, and no one dared meet Dominic's eyes. The retreat had been his order, and that fact alone made them uneasy. Their leader never backed down.
Dominic didn't stay with them. He walked straight to the penthouse, jaw tight, movements too precise, like a man holding himself together by a thread. Elena followed without a word, her boots echoing behind him.
Inside the suite, he tore off his gloves and threw them across the room. The leather smacked against the wall, leaving a dark smear of blood. He braced himself on the edge of the desk, shoulders heaving, head bowed. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked… human.
Talk to me," Elena said quietly, shutting the door.
"Not now." His voice was hoarse.
She walked closer. "You think I didn't see your face out there? You weren't angry, Dominic. You were afraid."
His head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Careful, Elena."But she didn't flinch. She leaned closer, her voice like a blade sliding between ribs. "You've made me kill, bleed, and burn for you. Don't you dare shut me out when the monsters come crawling from your past."
Something in him broke. He sat heavily in the chair, hands clawing at his hair. For a moment, silence. Then his voice, low, ragged.
"They murdered them. My parents."
Elena froze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"It was Trevor's gang," Dominic said, voice like broken glass. "I was nineteen. I thought I knew better than everyone. Thought I was invincible."
His jaw clenched as old memories surged. "I'd fallen for Isabella — the wrong girl. My parents warned me. My sister Valerie warned me. They all saw what I refused to see. But I was young, arrogant… blinded. That night, I snuck out to see her, against their wishes. I thought it was love."
He dragged in a sharp breath, fury darkening his eyes. "It wasn't love. It was a setup. Isabella is the heir to Trevor's empire she was a trap from the beginning . While I was walking into their trap, they were already at my family's gates."
His hands trembled, and he curled them into fists until the knuckles cracked. "They slaughtered my parents. Burned our estate to the ground. Valerie—" His voice broke for a second. "She fought to save me ,she left alive, but they took her eye. She looks at me now and all she sees is the reason she's disfigured. The reason they're both dead. She hates me, Elena. And she's not wrong."
His chest heaved, each word a blade tearing through him. "I wasn't there to protect them. I brought the wolves to our door. Everything—every stone, every dream, every life—was turned to ash because of me."
Dominic's voice cracked under the weight of his own confession, his fists trembling at his sides. His chest rose and fell like a man drowning in memories that wouldn't let him go.
Elena stepped closer, slow, deliberate, her eyes locked on him like he was the only thing in the room. She didn't flinch at his pain, didn't recoil at the guilt dripping off every word. Instead, she reached up and touched his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"They destroyed you, Dom," she whispered, almost tender, though her smile curved wickedly at the edges. "And that's beautiful."
He stiffened, his breathing ragged, but she pressed on, sliding her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her level. "Don't you see? That night didn't break you—it made you. The fire that took them, the scars they left on Valerie, the hate she carries… it all carved you into the man standing before me. Ruthless. Unstoppable. Mine."
"Elena—" his voice was hoarse, warning, but she cut him off with a sharp kiss, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
She pulled back, licking the crimson smear from her lips, eyes glinting. "You think your guilt makes you weak, but it doesn't. It makes you untouchable. Because no one—no one—can hurt you worse than you've already been hurt." Her nails traced the side of his neck, sinking in just enough to sting. "You don't need to carry their ghosts, Dominic. Let me carry them with you. Let me turn your pain into rage, into power. Let me be the madness that steadies you."
For the first time since he began speaking, Dominic's shoulders eased—not much, but enough. His breathing slowed, his fists unclenched, and his gaze softened, just a fraction, when it met hers.
"Elena…" he murmured, not quite gratitude, not quite surrender—something darker.
She smiled, wicked and sweet all at once, and pressed her forehead to his. "Good. Now stop mourning the ashes, Dom. Burn them back."
Dominic's confession still lingered in the air like smoke, but Elena didn't let him retreat into silence. She yanked his face back to hers, kissed him so hard their teeth clashed. He groaned, half in pain, half in hunger, and she only kissed him harder, tasting the bitterness that clung to him.
"Bleed on me, Dominic," she whispered against his mouth, her nails digging into his chest until red welts rose under her touch. "I want all of it. Every scar, every scream. Give it to me."
His restraint snapped. He grabbed her by the throat, slammed her against the wall so hard a picture frame rattled and fell. Elena only laughed, eyes wild, lips curled in ecstasy.
"God, you're beautiful when you're breaking," she purred, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Don't you see? You were never meant to be whole. Neither was I. That's why we fit."
He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, biting her bottom lip until it split. Blood slicked their mouths, metallic, intoxicating. She licked it away with a moan, like it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted.
Dominic pressed his forehead to hers, chest heaving, one hand still tight around her throat. "You drive me insane," he growled.
Elena grinned, lips red and feral. "Good. Now stop fighting it. Be insane with me."
He lifted her, carrying her across the room, their bodies colliding like a storm, their moans and gasps laced with laughter that bordered on madness. Clothes tore, skin scratched, every touch a bruise, every kiss a wound. It wasn't love—it was war dressed up as intimacy, and neither of them wanted to win.
By the time he buried himself in her, their world was nothing but fire and blood and the terrifying comfort of knowing no one else could ever understand them.