Dominic Garspuccio Short Film Novels & Stories

He picked up the cup of coffee and glared at the dark liquid. 'Did Gemma spit in my coffee?' he thought, eyes narrowed. "No. She wouldn't dare" he thought aloud and brought the cup of coffee to his lips. Thirty minutes later, Gemma knocked on the door again. This time, he slurred out a response. His eyelids were heavy and he felt terribly weak. Gemma walked in and locked the door. Without wasting any time, she set up the camera and took off her dress. "What are you doing?" Dominic slurred, his head lolling backwards on the head rest of his chair.

Sasha’s stomach churned as she clicked on the first one, and the footage began to play. The video was grainy, taken from a security camera in what appeared to be an underground parking garage. She watched as Dominic’s figure appeared on the screen, flanked by two men she didn’t recognize. They were talking to another man—a face she vaguely recognized from the news, a known figure in the criminal underworld. Their conversation was muted, but it was clear from their body language that this was not a friendly meeting. As the video progressed, she saw Dominic hand over a briefcase, his expression cold and calculating. The man accepted it, nodding before disappearing into the shadows.

“There are a thousand women in this city who would kill for this deal. Like influencers or models. Why pick up the sobbing woman you almost ran over?” Dominic’s calm cracked just a little. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Because you’re real,” he said quietly. “I’ve spent years watching people perform for my family. You called me names and threw cash at me thinking I was an escort. You’re not polished for the cameras, you’re raw. And right now, that’s more convincing than any actress I could hire. My family will smell bullshit from a mile away. But you… you have fire.”

He ordered with a commanding tone. Their gazes swept at him in shock. Glancing at their colleague who was now writhing on the floor, and then back to him. "I'm sorry Sir. But that is simply not allowed." Dominic was impatient. He swiftly brought out a gun from the waistband of his pants. Their eyes widened, and he brought out another, as he pointed it at them. "I will not repeat myself any further. I Need the fucking footage, or I bury these in each of your skulls."

I want to pull away, but Filippo seems to be trying to pin me to his body so tightly his arm around me. “She is my granddaughter! She belongs to my famiglia!” The gentleman, who I now know is called Dominic, bristles angrily. “She is my wife!” Filippo speaks in a low, but chilling tone. “She will go with me!” Dominic speaks defiantly. “Just over my dead body.” Filippo says and draws his gun pointing it at Dominic.

Or are you now my body guard? Marco leaned off the car, flinging his cigarette to the ground. He stepped closer, too close, the smell of smoke and leather heavy between them. “Maybe not,” Marco said, his voice low, suspicious. “But I’ve been observing. The way you and Matteo move when you talk. The way you look at each other. Too close. Too familiar. I don’t understand it yet, but soon enough I will.” Dominic kept his face neutral, though his stomach twisted. “You’re just imagining things. I’m his father’s lawyer, stop being delusional. Incase you forgot, I just spend time with him because of documents, contracts, signatures—nothing more.”

“You married her, didn’t you? You fucked her, smiled for the cameras, played the perfect husband. But look at you now.” “Shut up, dominic.” “Make me.” He moved closer, so close I could smell the faint soap off his skin. His hands were clenched at his sides, and for a second I thought he might actually hit me. He didn’t. He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on mine like he didn’t know what he wanted to do. “You should watch yourself, You don’t know when to stop.” he muttered finally as I let out a loud bark of laughter.

I made her understand. "Okay," I sighed as she understood me. "What you're doing?" I asked. "I was searching for movies on N*****x. I'm not understanding what to watch, getting bore." I grinned mischievously as something came into mind. "Watch fifty shades of grey. You'll get to know more about the BDSM relationship." I suggested, smirking.

Dominik is standing at the espresso machine, wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a black t-shirt that stretches tight across his back muscles as he presses the buttons. He looks devastatingly domestic. The God of War, domesticated by caffeine. Of course he hears my approach. I’m barefoot, moving silently on the heated tiles, but his radar is always up. He turns, holding a small white cup in one hand. His hair is messy, falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, less like a mob boss and more like a man who just woke up next to his wife. "Morning," he says. His voice is rough with sleep, a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. He walks over to me, extendi