Standing in front of my closet, I sighed, fingers trailing over fabrics that all felt... wrong. Too bland. Too much like me, five years ago. I didn't want to look safe tonight—not with Dominic.
I paused in front of a midnight blue wrap dress tucked toward the back. Long sleeves, deep neckline, cinched waist. It was elegant, but there was something about it—something that made me feel… feminine. Grown. Maybe even a little daring.
I slipped it off the hanger and held it up to myself, cocking my head.
Not too much. Not too little. Just right.
The soft material hugged my body as I slipped it on, the V-neck dipping low enough to suggest, not scream. I pinned a few strands of hair up, letting the rest fall in soft waves down my shoulders, and chose a pair of nude heels that made my legs look longer than they were.
My eyes met my reflection. I looked... confident. And maybe that's what I needed to feel tonight.
I grabbed my clutch and headed into the kitchen, where the sharp scent of chopped onions filled the air. Mom stood at the counter, moving like a machine, her knife rhythmically hitting the board.
She glanced over her shoulder. Then stopped.
Her eyes narrowed. "Lexi?"
I kept my face blank. "Yeah?"
She tilted her head, setting the knife down slowly. "Where exactly are you going dressed like that?"
I lifted a brow. "Like what?"
Her eyes dropped to my dress, then back to my face. "Like someone who's either got a date or a damn good alibi."
I laughed under my breath. "It's not a date. Just… meeting someone."
Her smirk bloomed instantly. "A 'someone' who happens to be male?"
I winced, brushing a loose curl behind my ear. "Why are moms psychic?"
"Because we've lived long enough to recognize that dress is not for catching up with a friend," she teased. "So, who is he?"
I dodged around the island, trying to snatch my keys, but she cut me off. "Don't 'it's nothing' me. You don't wear heels like that unless you're planning to break hearts or catch one."
I groaned. "It's not like that. I'm just—he's someone I need to talk to."
She studied me for a moment, then smiled softly. "Well, just don't forget who you are while you're out there playing dress-up."
"I'm not playing anything," I said, kissing her cheek. "I'm just… being brave."
"Hmm." She gave me one last once-over, her expression unreadable. "Alright, brave girl. Have fun."
The way she said it made my stomach twist.
I mumbled a "Thanks," and bolted before she could say anything else.
The second the door closed behind me, I leaned against it, heart thudding harder than I wanted to admit. It wasn't just nerves. It was the unknown. It was Dominic.
It was whatever this was turning into.
As i arrived at dominic's place. The gates loomed ahead like something out of a mob movie—tall, black, and expensive as hell. Cameras turned in my direction before I even rolled to a stop.
The intercom crackled. "Lexi?"
Dominic's voice. Smooth, deep, a little amused.
"Yeah. It's me."
The gates opened without another word.
The drive up to his house—or mansion, let's be honest—was enough to make my stomach flutter. Warm lights poured through oversized windows. The house was modern, masculine, and just intimidating enough to remind me that I wasn't stepping into familiar territory.
This wasn't dinner at a friend's house.
This was something else.
I parked and sat there for a second, gripping the wheel. One deep breath. Then another.
You're just here to talk. That's all.
I stepped out and smoothed my dress, the soft fabric catching the breeze. I wasn't cold, but something about the night air made my skin feel electric.
Before I could knock, the door opened.
And there he was.
Dominic Conti. Leaning against the doorframe like he belonged in a cologne ad. Black button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking out. His eyes raked over me, lingering in that slow, shameless way that made my heart skip.
"Well, well," he murmured. "You clean up nice, sweetheart."
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't come here for compliments."
"That's too bad. You're gonna get them anyway." He stepped back, holding the door open. "Come in before I drag you in."
"Charming," I muttered, brushing past him—very aware of the heat radiating off his body.
Inside, the house was sleek and warm. Leather, dark wood, soft lighting. It smelled like expensive cologne and something deeper—something that was just him.
"Drink?" he asked, already moving toward the bar.
"Wine, please." I glanced around, trying not to look like I was casing the place.
He handed me a glass, his fingers grazing mine a little too long.
I sipped. "This is nice."
He sat beside me on the edge of a deep leather sofa, pouring himself a scotch. "Glad you think so. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I almost didn't," I admitted. "But I figured… you don't strike me as the type who likes being ignored."
His grin was slow and sharp. "Smart girl."
I sipped again, letting the wine calm my nerves. The silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. It was charged.
"So," I said, "Max is doing good. I left instructions at school about who's allowed to pick him up."
His face tightened, jaw ticking. "Good. That kid deserves to feel safe."
I nodded. "Thanks again, for what you did."
He shrugged like it meant nothing. "I didn't do it for thanks."
Our eyes met. For a second, I didn't know what to say. Because there was something unspoken in that look. Something raw.
I broke it first, clearing my throat. "I wasn't expecting this place to be so... calm."
He smirked. "What? You thought I lived in a dungeon?"
"Maybe a little blood-stained floor. A panic room. Mafia chic."
He laughed, the sound low and warm. "You're not wrong about the panic room. But I keep the blood out back."
"Comforting," I said dryly.
He leaned closer, his voice softer now. "So why'd you really come tonight?"
I hesitated, heart pounding.
To figure out what this is.
To see if the pull I feel around you is as real as it seems.
To lose my damn mind, apparently.
But all I said was, "To talk."
He didn't push. Just nodded and lifted his glass. "Then let's talk."
And we did.
About Max. About school. About my mom's obsession with old musicals. He listened, really listened, like he wasn't just waiting for his turn to speak. And that, more than anything, caught me off guard.
The tension between us didn't vanish—it simmered beneath every glance, every brush of fingers when we reached for our drinks at the same time.
But I wasn't here for that.
Not tonight.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
To Be Continued...