Page 52 of Filthy Dirty Dom

“We’ll be safe,” Alex said.

Was it just her imagination, or had he hesitated before answering?

Alex watched the play of emotions on Leslie's face, the underlying worry despite her efforts to hide it. It gnawed at him, that worry. It was a stark reminder of the danger that chased them, a reminder that even as he’d brought her here to protect her, it could be his past, a past that included this place, that endangered her.

He was certain now, given the Bratva was involved, that the attack on Leslie must be connected to Alex. It had to be given the connection Alex had to the criminal underworld. The attack had been too calculated, too precise to be a random incident. But why the Bratva would target Alex or Leslie was still unclear. He had no direct dealings with them, no known enemies among their ranks. And Leslie, she had nothing to do with that world; she was an innocent caught up in a game she knew nothing about.

Despite the guilt gnawing at him, Alex kept his expression calm, his grip on Leslie steady. She needed reassurance, stability, not his worries. And he would do everything in his power to provide her with just that.

"Leslie," he said softly, "I promise you’ll be safe here."

He held her gaze, willing her to believe him, to trust him. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, that he had many demons to face. But for Leslie, he would face them all. Because she mattered more to him than he ever thought possible.

"To make sure of it, I need to do my own evaluation of the security here," Alex continued.

Leslie nodded, biting her lower lip nervously. It pained Alex to see her like this, her usual vivacious spirit dampened by fear.

"I'd do it myself but I'm not comfortable leaving you alone right now. And besides, it wouldn't hurt for you to know the layout of the place.”

Just in case. The words went unspoken but the implication was clear.

"Is it okay if we do that after we eat?" Alex asked.

"We can do it now," she offered, a hint of determination flashing in her eyes.

But Alex shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We need to take care of you first."

Even amidst the uncertainty and fear, her well-being remained his top priority. She had been through enough already, and he couldn't bear the thought of her going hungry or tired on his account.

Soon, they made their way downstairs. The dining table was beautifully set, every detail meticulously taken care of. A multitude of scents wafted from the kitchen, filling the air with a familiar aroma that tugged at Alex's memory.

Risotto ai Funghi.

Braciola di Maiale.

Frittata con Asparagi.

Some of his favorite Italian dishes.

He paused, his steps faltering as memories assaulted him of a beautiful woman with a contagious smile, laughter echoing in the air, and delicious meals shared under the open sky.

Just as the sweet memories flowed in, they were abruptly replaced with images of a far grimmer nature. Alex saw blood, so much blood. The vivid brutality of the memory made his stomach churn.

His mind was still reeling when the kitchen door swung open. Out bustled an older woman. Her face lit up as her eyes landed on Alex, a bright smile spreading across her features.

"Alex!" she exclaimed, rushing towards him with arms wide open. Before he could react, she had enveloped him in a tight, motherly hug.

Alex stiffened at the contact, his mind still trapped in the horrific scene he had conjured up moments before. The warmth of the hug, the affection radiating from the woman, it felt jarring with the memory of Mia’s face and broken body still in his mind.

He stood there, his hand still holding onto Leslie's, his body rigid under the woman's embrace. His heart hammered, a deafening echo in his ears, as he struggled to regain his composure and pull himself back to the present.

Leslie watched in silence as the older woman hugged Alex. His initial reaction was stiff, the look on his face bordering on painful. His muscles tensed under his shirt, his fingers clenching tightly around hers. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, he relaxed. He let go of her hand and returned the woman's hug, and his posture lost its rigidity. His lips moved, speaking what Leslie vaguely recognized as Italian. Surprised, she watched them converse. She hadn't known that Alex was bilingual.

The woman's emotions seemed to bubble over as they spoke, her hands fluttering around Alex, touching his arms, his face, as if to convince herself he was real. Alex, for his part, responded with gentleness and a quiet affection.

She remembered what he had told her on the plane; that he knew this family, but that the trouble they’d experienced wasn’t Alex’s story to tell. Seeing the interaction now, Leslie wondered if Alex had lied to her, just like he’d lied to her when he’d told her in Montana that all he wanted from her was sex.

Whatever connection Alex had with this woman, it was deep, and it was personal. Which meant that at least some part of how he knew them was his story to tell.