Married to the Mafia Alpha

CHAPTER 2: PREDATOR'S GAZE

Dominic's POV



THE MOMENT she walked out of the Wolfmoon Club, something primal inside me lunged to follow.

My wolf was already pacing, claws scraping against the walls of my mind, snarling at me for letting her go.

Mate.

The word pulsed through me like a drumbeat, steady and unrelenting. My wolf recognized her instantly — the intoxicating scent of warm honey and danger, the way her hazel-green eyes locked on mine like she could see straight through the steel walls I’d built around myself.

I knew in a split second that she was mine. And I’d rejected her in the very next.

Because wanting her was dangerous. Claiming her was lethal.

From the mezzanine railing above the main floor, I watched her figure disappear through the double glass doors, her long chestnut waves swaying against the curve of her back. She walked like she had no idea she’d just stepped into the crossfire of a war that had been burning for years.

I kept my stance relaxed, leaning one forearm on the railing, but inside, my muscles were coiled so tight they ached.

“Smooth,” Liam drawled behind me, his tone laced with amused mockery.

I didn’t turn. “You should know by now, I don’t do smooth.”

“You do calculate,” he corrected, stepping up beside me. “Calculated doesn’t usually involve pushing away the first woman in years who’s made your wolf wake up.”

I flicked him a sharp glance. “She’s too dangerous.”

Liam smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Dangerous… or tempting?”

I didn’t answer.

The truth was both. Isabella Cross had walked into my club with the fearless swagger of someone who didn’t understand the rules here, and the kind of face that could start wars. And she was already tangled in mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

My mind shifted, unbidden, to another night.

FLASHBACK

It had been raining the night my father died. Sheets of water blurred the streets, the neon glow from the Wolfmoon sign bleeding into red rivers on the asphalt.

I’d been thirty floors up in the penthouse when Liam burst in, blood on his shirt, eyes wide.

“They hit the car,” he’d said.

By the time I reached the scene, there was nothing left but twisted metal and the scent of my father’s blood. The wolves who’d survived the ambush swore it was Viktor Dragunov’s men. I swore, over the body of the man who’d raised me, that Dragunov would choke on his own blood before I was done.

That was six years ago. The war hadn’t stopped since.

I forced the memory back into its box. It had no place here, not with Isabella’s scent still lingering in my lungs, distracting me from everything that mattered.

“Dom,” Liam said, breaking my thoughts. “You think maybe Viktor’s already got her in his sights? She’s a journalist. The wrong article, the wrong photo… it could be enough to put a target on her.”

“She’s not my concern,” I said flatly.

Even as I said it, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen — it was Marek, one of my outside security leads. I answered.

“Talk.”

“You’re not going to like this,” Marek said, his voice tense. “We had a gunshot in the alley outside. No injuries. Looked like a warning.”

“Who?” My voice dropped into that low, dangerous register that made men think twice.

“A couple of Viktor’s street rats,” he said. “They weren’t aiming for you. They were following a woman who left through the front.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. “Hazel-green eyes. Chestnut hair?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

Liam was watching me closely now, reading every shift in my expression.

“Make sure they’re taken care of,” I told Marek. My tone made clear what “taken care of” meant. I ended the call.

“You’re not my concern, huh?” Liam said, his mouth curving into that infuriating half-smile.

I ignored him and started walking toward the private elevator. He fell into step beside me.

“Make sure she gets home safe,” I said as the doors slid shut.

“You want me to tell her—”

“No.” I cut him off. “She doesn’t know we’re watching. She stays out of our world, she stays alive.”

Liam c****d his head, studying me like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. “And if she doesn’t stay out?”

“She will,” I said, though the words felt like a lie.

The elevator opened to the upper VIP lounge. The place still smelled like her.

It wasn’t just perfume. It was her. The unique scent that my wolf had already claimed burned into my instincts. It lingered on the leather booth she’d sat in, in the faint brush of her fingers against the bar as she’d passed.

I told myself it was biology. A bond written into our DNA by something older than both of us. But that didn’t explain why my pulse kicked hard just thinking about the defiance in her eyes when I’d told my men to throw her out.

My control — the iron grip I’d built over decades — cracked just a fraction.

I found myself leaning against the polished wood bar, fingers drumming, replaying every second of that brief encounter.

The way her gaze had swept over me, not intimidated, not cowed. Curious. Bold. Reckless.

She had no idea how much power she was flirting with. No idea what it meant for me to even look at her the way I had.

I pulled out my phone again, opening the secure feed to the club’s surveillance system. With a swipe, I brought up the exterior cameras.

There she was — on grainy black-and-white — stepping out into the night, chin lifted, shoulders squared against the cold.

A car slowed as it passed her. Too slow. My wolf snarled in my head.

Then she was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the street. Liam’s car appeared on the feed moments later, tailing her from a discreet distance. Good.

I let the video play on a loop, my thumb resting on the screen, eyes fixed on her silhouette as she vanished through the city lights.

“You won’t stay out of my world, will you?” I murmured under my breath.

It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.

And I had no idea if it was meant for her… or for myself.