ELENA

Dominic’s hands stayed firm on my waist, his fingers pressing just enough to remind me that he was still in control. His smirk was that same arrogant one he always wore, the same one that always made my stomach twist. He was clearly enjoying the way he could make even my father stand there and say nothing.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me now, Don Falcone,” Dominic said, his voice smooth but laced with condescension. “I have other guests to attend to. Wouldn’t want anyone feeling ...