Chapter 6 - Midnight Confessions
The farmhouse was quiet by midnight. The wind had picked up outside, howling through the eaves and rattling the loose windowpanes.
Sophia couldn't sleep. She sat on the edge of the squeaky twin mattress in her childhood bedroom, staring out at the dark silhouette of the barn against the moonlight. Down the hall, Lily was sleeping soundly between Emma and the memory of her grandmother’s quiet breathing.
A soft tap sounded at her door.
Before she could answer, the door swung open an inch. Dominic stood in the narrow hallway, illuminated by the pale yellow light of the overhead bulb. He wasn't wearing his jacket or sweater; just a dark t-shirt that clung to the broad expanse of his shoulders, the intricate black ink of the dragon tattoo visible along his collarbone.
"You're awake," he stated, not a question.
"I can't sleep," Sophia whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest. "The whole house feels like it's holding its breath."
Dominic stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He didn't sit on the bed—knowing it would groan under his weight—instead leaning his shoulder against the peeling floral wallpaper beside the doorframe.
"Your father is a proud, broken man," Dominic said quietly. "He thinks control is the same thing as love."
"He loves us in his own heavy, clumsy way," Sophia replied, resting her chin on her knees. "He just doesn't know how to handle anything he can't fix with a hammer or a tractor part. When my mom got sick... he stopped talking altogether. He just works until his hands bleed."
Dominic looked at her for a long moment, his amber-brown eyes softening in the dim light. "And you? Who takes care of you when your hands bleed, Sophia?"
The question caught her completely off guard. It hit a raw, exposed nerve she had kept buried beneath years of survival, late-night shifts, and quiet desperation. A sudden, hot prickle of tears stung the back of her eyes.
"Nobody," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You don't get to ask that, Dominic. You're my boss. You're a mobster playing boyfriend for the weekend."
"Am I playing?" Dominic asked softly, taking a slow step toward her.
Sophia’s breath hitched. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"When I saw you standing in my foyer, holding those plates, trying to make a life for your daughter in a world that chews people like you up... and when I watched you walk into this house today, knowing you were walking back into a cage just to comfort your mother..." Dominic stopped right in front of her, looking down into her face. "I don't play roles, Sophia. When I decide something belongs in my orbit, I keep it there."
"I don't belong to anyone," she retorted, her voice shaking, though she didn't pull away as he reached out.
"No, you don't," Dominic agreed, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jawline, his touch warm and steady. "You're fierce, and you're stubborn, and you hate asking for help. But you don't have to carry this alone anymore. Not while I'm standing."
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Sophia’s heart hammered like a trapped bird against her ribs. She wanted to push him away, to remind him of the gulf between their lives—the blood, the power, the danger that followed him like a shadow. But standing here in her childhood bedroom, wrapped in the scent of cedar and smoke, she realized she didn't want him to leave.
And that terrified her more than anything her father could ever do.
