Chapter 3 - THE WEB TIGHTENS
Days blurred into weeks, and the tension between them grew thick enough to suffocate. Bea tried to convince herself it was all coincidence—that Dominic simply had more paperwork, or that he naturally crossed paths with her while she polished furniture or baked muffins for Leo. But Dominic Russo didn't believe in coincidences.
One afternoon, looking for a mixing bowl in the upper pantry, Bea reached high into a cabinet. Her cardigan lifted, exposing a narrow, pale strip of skin above her waist. When she spun around, Dominic stood right behind her in the doorway, his eyes fixed on that exact spot.
There was no mockery in his gaze, only a quiet, burning fascination that made her pulse stumble. She yanked her sweater down, her breath catching. “Did you need something, Mr. Russo?”
His jaw locked. “Dominic.”
“What?” she whispered.
“Stop calling me Mr. Russo,” he commanded softly, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off his frame. “You know my name.”
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Before she could answer, the sharp ring of the landline cut through the kitchen silence. Dominic didn't break eye contact with her for three agonizing seconds before finally turning to answer the phone. His expression hardened instantly into mafia steel as he listened to a report from his lieutenant about a rival faction stepping onto their docks in Queens.
Bea fled to her quarters, her hands shaking. She knew the dangers of this house. She knew men like Dominic chewed up lives and spat them out. Yet that night, lying awake in her small room, she couldn't stop thinking about the way he looked at her—not as a servant, but as a man starving for something real.
