Chapter 10 - The Weight of a Name
The return trip to Manhattan was conducted in absolute silence.
The adrenaline that had sustained Clara through the firefight at the Hamptons estate finally crashed, leaving her shivering in the back of the armored SUV. The midnight-blue silk dress felt heavy and suffocating; the silver-white ring on her left hand felt like a brand of iron.
When the vehicle pulled into the private subterranean garage of the Upper East Side penthouse, Dominic didn't wait for Enzo to open the door. He climbed out, pulled open her side, and scooped her up into his arms before she could protest.
"Dominic, I can walk," she murmured weakly, resting her forehead against his broad chest, listening to the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat.
"Shut up and let me carry you," he muttered, his voice unusually rough around the edges.
He carried her past the private elevator, straight up the grand internal staircase, and into the master suite—the very room he had forbidden her to enter on her first night.
It was a sprawling, minimalist sanctuary of dark wood, charcoal linens, and floor-to-ceiling glass framing the glittering skyline of New York City. He gently set her down on the edge of the king-sized bed, kneeling on one knee before her so their eyes were level.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his hands gently framing her face, his dark eyes scanning every inch of her skin for hidden injuries.
"No," Clara whispered, shaking her head. She reached up, placing her small hand over his large, calloused one. "I'm just... tired, Dominic. So tired of running from ghosts that aren't even mine."
Dominic’s expression softened, the hard, lethal mob boss completely dissolving into the man who had sat by her hospital bed for three days straight without sleeping.
"They aren't your ghosts anymore," he said, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed the world to see. "When I put this ring on your finger, I didn't do it just to use you as bait. I did it because the moment I saw you in that ballroom, I knew I would burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone hurt you."
Clara stared into his dark, fierce eyes, feeling the last of her walls crumble away. The fear, the anger, the confusion—all of it melted into a profound, undeniable truth.
She hadn't asked for this marriage. She hadn't asked to be born a Costa. But standing here, wrapped in the fortress of his arms, she knew she had never been safer.
"Take it off," Clara whispered suddenly.
Dominic froze. His hands tightened slightly on her face. "What?"
"The ring," she said, lifting her left hand between them.
Dominic’s jaw clenched, a flash of raw pain crossing his features as he slowly reached for the silver band. "If that's what you want..."
"Take it off," Clara repeated softly, a small, teasing smile touching her lips, "so you can put it back on properly. Without an audience. Without an emergency room monitor beeping in the background."
Dominic stared at her for three seconds, as if processing whether he had heard her correctly. Then, a slow, breathtaking smile broke across his face—a look so raw and genuine it made her breath catch.
He carefully slid the heavy silver-white ring off her finger, tossed it onto the bedside table, and then took her left hand in both of his, pressing a long, reverent kiss against her knuckles before sliding the band back onto her finger.
May you like
"My wife," Dominic murmured against her skin.
"Your wife," Clara agreed softly, pulling him down toward her as the first rays of dawn began to paint the Manhattan skyline in shades of gold and rose.
