Chapter 19 - The Syndicate’s Queen
Six months after I walked through the wrought-iron gates of the Rossi estate with a canvas duffel bag and a dying sedan, the mansion felt entirely transformed. The lemon polish still masked the scent of old violence, but flowers now lined the stone pathways leading up to the portico—a small, deliberate touch I had insisted upon during my first month as mistress of the house.
The syndicate no longer operated out of the shadows with the reckless paranoia of the past. Under Dominic’s restructured leadership—and my unofficial, highly pragmatic oversight—the Rossi family had transitioned from a traditional criminal enterprise into a legitimate global conglomerate with legitimate philanthropic fronts.
I stood on the grand balcony overlooking the mountainside, wearing a tailored silk dress that cost more than my entire annual salary at the downtown emergency room. My old life felt like a distant, chaotic dream—a memory of sterile hospital corridors, eviction notices, and panic over whether my rent check would clear.
Footsteps approached softly behind me, followed by the familiar warmth of Dominic’s arms wrapping securely around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking out at the sprawling valley below.
“You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.
“I was just thinking about the day I walked in here,” I confessed softly, leaning back into his embrace. “Blood soaking through Egyptian cotton sheets, six nurses running for their lives, and you acting like an impossible, bleeding dictator.”
Dominic chuckled, a rich, deep sound that vibrated against my back. “And instead of running like the others, you threatened to sit on my chest.”
“You needed supervision,” I retorted smoothly. “You still do.”
“Oh, I’m entirely under your control, Dr. Hayes,” he whispered, turning me around in his arms so I was facing him directly. His dark eyes burned with an unyielding, absolute devotion that belonged only to me. “The entire syndicate knows it. The council knows it. Even the new guards know better than to cross the woman who keeps me breathing.”
“Good,” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Because I just reviewed the quarterly medical projections, and your stress levels are entirely too high.”
May you like
Dominic’s smile turned slow and dangerous. “Is that so? And what’s the prescribed treatment for high stress, Doctor?”
“A very long vacation,” I whispered against his lips. “Starting right now.”
