Chapter 4 (Dominic’s POV)

A flash of gunfire tore through the darkness, yanking Dominic back to that smoky bar where Luca’s laugh had once filled the air with warmth.

Rain battered the Gold Coast flat now, its peeling walls trembling as he pushed himself up, a sharp sting slicing through his side.

He cut an imposing figure, broad shoulders hunched under a shredded coat, his hair plastered against a scarred cheek from some forgotten brawl.

He’d clawed his way out of the South Side’s muck, stabbing his mentor in the back to seize control of Wicker Park’s gambling dens and the Loop’s shadowy rackets.

His Streeterville penthouse stood as a gleaming monument, where his word twisted the city’s pulse, though enemies spat the word “monster” behind his back.

Luca, a wiry soldier with deep, daring eyes, had once stolen a kiss in that bar’s dim light, a moment Dominic buried under the mafia’s iron code. Now, amnesia clouded his mind, sixty days to reclaim his throne, those fleeting memories a bitter ache amid the fog.

Noah edged closer, his lean frame taut under a soaked shirt, dark hair clinging to his forehead, hazel eyes flickering with concern. A leather jacket dangled on a chair, winged tattoos peeking from a rolled sleeve, marks of a life forged in foster care’s brutal nights.

The room carried the musty scent of wet cloth and antiseptic, toy trucks strewn across a threadbare rug, Eli’s crib a silent guardian in the corner. Dominic’s gaze settled on Noah, a quiet warmth stirring as the kid adjusted the blanket, his fingers brushing Dominic’s arm, sending a soft jolt through his chest.

“Take it easy, you’re still a wreck,” Noah said, his voice a low murmur.

“Worth it just to watch you fuss over me, darling,” Dominic replied, a smirk tugging his lips.

“Fuss? I ain’t no servant here.”

“Could be my favorite one, though.”

That touch lingered, a gentle heat seeping into his skin where Noah’s hand had rested. Dominic’s thoughts drifted to Luca—rough hands, a tender press of lips now fading as this new pull took hold.

The flat creaked under the storm’s weight, its walls whispering tales of hardship, the city’s danger creeping closer. His side throbbed, but Noah’s steady presence eased the pain, a rock in the swirling chaos.

“You alright? You’re still looking pale,” Noah asked, stepping back, hands flexing.

“Seen rougher days, trust me,” Dominic said, shifting on the sagging couch.

“Like what? Some barroom scuffle?”

“Nah, more like a knife in the back, literal and all.”

Noah let out a dry laugh, the sound scraping the air. He rubbed his hands, the damp cold biting into his fingers, then moved to the window. Rain streaked the glass, turning the street into a blur of threats.

Dominic watched, his eyes softening, a thread of connection weaving between them in the quiet. The room seemed to shrink, tension thickening like morning fog.

“Someone’s out there, I can feel it,” Noah muttered, squinting into the night.

“Probably Caleb’s hounds sniffing around,” Dominic growled, voice low.

“Brilliant. Now I’m a sitting target.”

“Could turn into your lucky break, kid.”

The banter flowed, a lifeline in the tension. Dominic leaned forward, the couch groaning under his weight, his mind flashing to Luca—dark hair falling into those bold eyes, a laugh cut short by betrayal. The memory stung, a love traded for power, now stirring anew with Noah’s nearness.

A shiver ran through him, a hunger waking deep inside. He reached out, fingers grazing Noah’s wrist, a warm current pulsing between them.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice rough with intent.

“Not your pet, big guy,” Noah shot back, pulling his hand away.

“Could be something more, you know.”

“Dream on. I’m not some prize to claim.”

The exchange crackled, a dance of resistance and pull. Noah stepped back, the chair scraping the floor, his pulse thudding in his ears. Dominic’s hand hung in the air, scars catching the dim light, a silent mark of ownership. The flat shuddered, walls straining as thunder rolled overhead, shaking the frame.

“This storm’s a beast,” Noah said, glancing over his shoulder.

“Fits the mess in my skull,” Dominic nodded, wincing as he moved.

“Hope it lets up soon.”

“Don’t count on it being that easy.”

Noah’s lips curved into a quick smirk, the tension easing for a heartbeat.

The words settled, a shared burden deepening between them.

Noah paced again, the floorboards groaning under his boots, his mind racing with those foster care nights where buried desires had taken root. Dominic’s presence filled the room, a mix of danger and something softer, more inviting. He sank back into the couch, its springs protesting, watching the rain streak the window.

“Have you ever lost someone close?” Noah asked, pausing mid-step.

“More times than I can stomach,” Dominic admitted, his gaze drifting.

“That’s rough. Who was it?

"a ghost I traded for this life I live." The confession hung there, a breach in his tough shell.

Noah's breath stopped, and the room felt like a warm, safe place. Dominic's hand moved, and the scars on it glinted in the light, promising strength. The rain fell heavier, in a steady, urgent rhythm.He leaned in, the space between them narrowing.

“Does that wound still sting?” Noah asked, sinking into a chair.

“Less with you around, I’ll admit,” Dominic said, voice softening.

“Smooth with the lines, huh? I’m not sold.”

“Not yet, darling. Give it a bit.”

Noah stretched, his muscles sore from the day, and his eyes followed the scars on Dominic's body, which told the story of how he survived. His heart raced as the past and present collided.The flat trembled, walls bearing the weight of their stories.

Eli stirred, a soft whimper breaking the silence, and Noah’s chest tightened hearing his little boys voice.

“You’re too calm for a man on the run,” Noah said, nodding at the wounds.

“Years of practice, I suppose,” Dominic replied, a grin flickering.

“Hope it sticks around.”

“With you here, it might.”

Noah checked the door, the chair wobbling under its weight, the earlier knock still echoing in his mind. Dominic’s stir held steady, a bond forming in the stillness. The rain paused, leaving a dripping quiet. He moved to the window, the street outside dark and motionless.

“It’s gone quiet out there,” Noah said, turning to face him.

“Too quiet, if you ask me,” Dominic warned.

“You think they’ve cleared off?”

“Not a chance, kid.”

Noah nodded, the tense moment creeping back. He rubbed his neck, his thoughts drifting to Eli’s safety and Harper’s looming threat to take him away. Dominic’s hand rested near his, scars catching the faint light, a silent pillar of strength.

Meanwhile, outside the apartment a figure picks up his phone to make a call.

The phone buzzed, shattering the calm. Dominic snatched it, voice low and steady. “Yeah?”

“Boss, it’s Mason. Caleb's close,” a voice crackled, urgent and sharp.

“Who the hell are you calling?” Dominic demanded, grip tightening.

The line went dead. Dominic’s stomach churned, his hand clenching the phone until his knuckles whitened. Noah stared, the air growing thick with dread.

A shadow moved outside, getting closer in the dark.