Her Puppy Chose The Mafia Boss, And Ignored Her Calls

Chapter 5

The ride back to her apartment was thick with a silence that screamed.

The air in the car was too hot, too close. The driver pulled up to her curb. Antonio didn’t move to open the door.

She turned to him. “Dominic — thank you for tonight. It was —”

“Emily.”

He said her name like it was a prayer and a curse all in one.

He leaned across the dark space between them. He moved slowly, deliberately — giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

His lips met hers.

It wasn’t a fiery, demanding kiss. It was soft. Hesitant. Packed with a world of restrained longing. A test.

His lips were firm and impossibly warm. She let out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hand came up, finding his jaw, her fingers curling into the crisp hair at his nape.

The kiss deepened. His other hand came up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone as his mouth moved over hers, learning her. It was a kiss of profound, desperate tenderness — a quiet hunger that shook her to her core.

Then he broke it.

He pulled back, his breathing harsh in the silence, his forehead resting against hers for a second, his eyes closed. He looked *pained.*

“Dominic —”

“Get out of the car, Emily.” His voice was rough. Guttural.

She flinched. The words like a slap.

“No —” He groaned, seeing her expression. He opened his eyes. They were dark with a conflict that terrified her. “Not like that, Emily. I can’t — I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured between them. “I don’t want to drag you into my world. You’re good. You’re innocent. I am *not.*”

“I’m not a child, Dominic.”

“I know you’re not.” His gaze was heavy, sad. “But you’re not a monster. And in my world, you either are one, or you get eaten by one.”

“I don’t believe you’re a monster.”

“You *should.*”

He leaned back. The space between them became a chasm again.

“Go inside. Lock your door.”

She fumbled for the handle, her body tingling, her mind a riot of confusion. She got out. The cold night air hit her hot skin.

She went inside. Locked the three bolts. Her back slid down the flimsy door until she was sitting on the floor.

The apartment was dark, cold, and silent. The emerald dress felt like a costume.

She touched her lips. They were still tingling. Swollen from his kiss.

—

The next three days were a blur of confusion.

He had pushed her away. Told her he was no good. That his world would eat her alive.

But she also remembered the desperate, gentle hunger in his kiss. The pain in his eyes when he’d pulled back.

She was at work — the Westbridge Animal Clinic — trying to focus. Drawing a blood sample from a nervous beagle, murmuring softly to the dog, her brow furrowed.

“Emily.”

The voice cut through the sterile quiet. It wasn’t a call. It was a *command.*

She looked up.

Dominic Moretti was standing in the doorway of the examination room. Not in a tuxedo. Dark trousers. A black button-down shirt. And a look of such cold, controlled fury that the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“Dominic — what are you doing here?”

“Get your bag. You’re coming with me.”

“What? I can’t — I’m at work. What’s going on?”

He took a step into the room. His jaw was so tight she thought it might crack.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”

His dark eyes finally focused on her.

“Your apartment. It’s been hit.”

“Hit? Like — robbed? Ransacked?”

“Destroyed.” The word was a blade. “A message. They’re not amateurs. They knew you were with me. They knew where you lived. Get your bag.”

A cold dread washed over her so profound her knees went weak.

He grabbed her arm — not roughly, but with an undeniable possessive force. “I’m not asking again.”

He pulled her through the waiting room, past stunned faces, and out onto the street. The black SUV was idling at the curb. He opened the back door and all but pushed her inside.

“Where are we going?”

“To see the damage. Then you’re coming with me.”

“Dominic — you can’t just *decide* my life —”

“The other night I was trying to keep you out.” His voice was raw. “It’s too late. You’re *in.* And that means you are my responsibility.”