Chapter 10 - Blood on the Armory SteelBy 11:00 PM, the grand ballroom had emptied, leaving the penthouse quiet, peaceful, and bathed in the soft glow of the desert stars.
Dominic and I returned to the private armory on the second floor.
The room had been completely sanitized. The greasy workbench had been scrubbed clean, the tools organized into stainless-steel racks, and the heavy reinforced steel door—the very door that had crushed my fingers twenty-four hours earlier—stood propped open with an iron wedge.
Dominic walked over to the central workbench, picking up his custom Colt .45.
He held the weapon in his large, scarred hands, looking down at the titanium firing pin that now sat securely inside the slide.
“My father gave me this gun when I was eighteen years old,” Dominic said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet armory. “He told me that a weapon was not an instrument of power, but an instrument of consequence. He said that a man who carries iron must always be prepared to bleed for the people who stand behind him.”
He turned to face me, his gray eyes soft with an emotion that stripped away every lingering trace of his dangerous reputation.
“For ten years, Sylvie, I forgot my father’s words. I thought power was about building higher walls, buying more licenses, and keeping everyone at a distance. I convinced myself that an alliance with Victoria was the logical choice to protect my northern borders.”
I stepped closer to him, stopping inches away, looking up into his handsome, rugged face.
“You didn't forget, Dominic,” I whispered. “When you saw my hand on that table, you didn't think about your alliance. You didn't think about the gaming commissioners watching. You only cared about whether someone had hurt an innocent girl in your house.”
Dominic reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb lightly caressing my cheekbone.
“You are not an innocent girl, Sylvie,” he murmured, his voice rich and deep. “You are the bravest warrior who has ever entered this house. You took a steel door to the bone to keep my father's memory whole.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a gentle, questioning contact that sent a jolt of pure, breathtaking warmth through every corner of my soul.
I raised my uninjured right hand, resting it against the solid, muscular warmth of his chest, leaning into the embrace.
The kiss deepened—rich, tender, and full of a fierce, protective passion that washed away every lingering shadow of fear, pain, and uncertainty that had haunted my life.
When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, his dark eyes were blazing with an unmistakable, eternal devotion.
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“Stay with me, Sylvie,” he whispered against my lips. “Not as an employee. Not as a ward. As the woman who holds my heart.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Dominic,” I whispered back, my heart swelling with a happiness so vast it felt like flying. “I’m right here.”
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