“What difference does it make anyway? He’s going to find out day after tomorrow we’re MIA when I don’t turn up at the auction. What better place to confront him than publicly within his own community?”

“There’s more, Gia. More players. These are very dangerous men you’re talking about.”

“Ever hear of David and Goliath?”

“What are you going to do, take Victor Scava out with a slingshot?”

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s not always the biggest and the baddest who wins. I’m going to win this round, and I’m going to win this war.”

“I said no.” He turned to walk toward the kitchen.

I chased after him. “You don’t get to decide for me. Not anymore.”

“No, Gia. N. O.”

We walked into the kitchen, and I tugged his arm back, forcing him to stop. “You don’t get to tell me no. Not this time.” Anger fueled me. I would not stay back. No fucking way. “You know you owe me this. I have a right, Dominic.”

“You have every fucking right, but you’re going to get yourself killed. Let me go. I’m tired, and I’m hungry.”

“Well, there’s no food in this house that isn’t seven years old! Turn around and talk to me.” He freed his arm and opened the pantry door. “Look at me, damn it!”

“You don’t understand how these men work. The ruthlessness with which they kill.”

He kept his back to me, like he couldn’t care less.

Well, I’d make him care. “Like you, you mean?” I said, stepping backward as his body tensed before my eyes.

Dominic turned then, closing the space between us. He stood facing me, all his fury focused on me.

I forced myself to hold my ground even as my mind worked frantically, wishing to somehow call the words back the instant they’d spilled from my mouth.

He gripped me by the arms and walked me as far back as the counter. My heart raced, sending adrenaline-charged blood pounding in my ears.

This was scary Dominic. This was loose cannon, wild Dominic.

This was the Dominic that made me wet.

And he knew it.

I saw the change instantly, saw how one side of his mouth lifted into the smirk that said he knew his power, he read it on my face, he was used to it. Used to having women doing as he said. Used to them dropping to their knees before him.

Fuck him. I wouldn’t kneel for him. Not for any man. Not again.

Wrapping one hand around the back of my neck, he thrust his other one under my dress and roughly up between my legs to grip my sex.

“You talk like you have a dick,” he whispered. “But all I feel here is a dripping wet pussy.”

“You’re a sexist pig,” I said, swallowing hard.