Dominic Garspuccio Short Film นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The small proximity bomb on the roof went off, throwing dark wooden shingles and grey smoke into the blue sky, but the main frame of the house stayed standing. Dominic kicked his driver's door open, stepping out onto the dirt lane. He reached back inside, grabbed my hand, and pulled me out beside him into the warm morning sun. Down in the ditch, the black pickup truck lay upside down, its wheels spinning uselessly in the air, its engine dead. Dominic reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the silver USB drive, and looked at it in his palm. "No more games," Dominic growled, his dark eyes fixing on the quiet ocean horizon. "We call Harris right now. And this time, we watch them burn the whole

"Hey! Savior!" A sharp, mocking voice cut through the terrace. I looked down. Dominic was standing at the base of the stone steps, a densely packed snowball resting in his gloved palm. His blazer was gone, his hair slightly damp from the wind. The temporary bruise on his jaw was stark against his pale skin, his eyes burning with a desperate, ugly glint as he looked up at me. "Come down and play," Dominic taunted, his voice carrying clearly over the lawn. "Or are decorators too fragile for the weather?"

The production was approaching its end. The director of Summertime Sadness and a few others visited Gabriella's set. They greeted Dominic warmly with a smile. "You must have your hands full, Mr. Dominic." "Goodness, if it isn't Mr. Dylan! What brings a busy man like you here?" Dominic replied. He diverted half of his attention to his old friend, but his gaze never strayed far from the monitor. "I'm just dropping by. Hugo, this is Dominic Sutton. Mr. Dominic, I'm sure I can save Hugo's introduction. Hugo is a dedicated young man. If you have any good scripts in the future, do consider him," Dylan Zinc smilingly introduced the people around him.

Matteo’s voice cracks, begging, pathetic. Dominic exhales, almost weary. In one smooth move he raises his gun and pulls the trigger, the quiet pop of the silencer hardly eliciting even a flinch from the other men until Matteo falls. My stomach lurches. I stumble back from the doorway, forcing air into my lungs, fighting the urge to be sick. This is Dominic—my husband—in a way I’ve never seen before. Cold. Final. Absolute.

Dominic is standing near the center of the room, in his perfect, designer suit, he looks like the undisputed king of this world. The moment our eyes meet, his conversation with the people he’s talking to vanishes. A slow, genuine smile spreads across his handsome face, and he begins to excuse himself, his intent clear. He is coming for me and I can’t wait to be in his arms. My face beaming, I start to take a step toward him when the blue screen flickers, cold and unforgiving out of nowhere. [ NEW TASK: THE GHOST ] [OBJECTIVE: IGNORE DOMINIC GREYHOUND FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE EVENT.]

“This is a demonstration.” “Of what?” “That your structure has ghosts in its bones.” Silence stretched, tight, meaningful. Internal compromise. Not total, but real. Dominic accepted that fact instantly. No denial phase. No emotional recoil. “Scope,” he said. Vale nodded approvingly. “Good question. Limited ghost-key. Single building. Single window.” “How long?” I asked. “Eight minutes.” I laughed softly. “That’s generous.” “I’m a generous adversary.” “No,” Dominic said. “You’re a theatrical one.”

I gawk at Dominico. He only sighs at the armed strangers in his house. Their stern expressions and deadly weapons render us speechless, including Paolo. Where's Fico? Still outside? Guarding the front gates alone? Did they restrain him? Cuff him? Shit. I hope not. “Dominico Tomassini, sei in arresto con il sospetto di omicidio,” the shortest cop with the graying beard announces with what I presume is a loaded pistol at the side of his hip.

Dominic whispered, “Come closer.” My heart raced as I moved closer to him. He put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a half-hug. As the painter worked, a photographer passing by raised his camera and took a picture of us. Assistant Dexter quickly stepped in, negotiating with the photographer to ensure the photo wouldn’t be posted on social media. He paid for the photo and handed it to Dominic. Dominic glanced at it and seemed pleased. “This photo is quite atmospheric. Let’s keep it,” he said.

"See?" "I see." "He's impossible." Grayson didn't bother looking up. "You're still here." "I care." "That's unfortunate." Dominic threw a rag at him. This time it hit. A direct shot. Savannah laughed. Grayson glared. Dominic looked extremely pleased with himself. Victory was rare. He intended to enjoy it. The mood remained light for several minutes. Then Dominic accidentally picked up one of the photographs. The smile vanished immediately. The workshop became quiet.