Married to the Mafia Alpha

CHAPTER 4: BLOOD IN THE SHADOWS

Dominic’s POV

THE MOMENT Liam stepped into my office without knocking, I knew he’d been somewhere I didn’t like. He dropped himself into the leather chair opposite my desk, his smirk irritatingly casual.

“You’ve been busy,” I said, voice flat, eyes still on the contracts I wasn’t actually reading.

“Busy keeping your little journalist alive,” he replied, like he was talking about a puppy he’d found in the street.

My jaw tightened. “You don’t need to get close to her.”

Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, blue eyes glinting with that familiar mix of loyalty and provocation. “Close? Dominic, I saved her from a couple of Dragunov’s thugs at a coffee shop. You should be thanking me.”

“I should be reminding you that she’s not yours to protect.”

“And she’s not yours either—remember? You made a whole show of rejecting her at the club. You think anyone bought that?”

I looked up sharply, meeting his gaze. His smirk didn’t waver. He’d always been good at poking at the cracks in my armor.

The wolf inside me didn’t like the sound of his words — not the part about her, and definitely not the suggestion that Liam had been near her. My wolf’s growl reverberated in my chest, barely restrained.

Before I could say something I’d regret, Matteo appeared at the doorway. “Council’s here. They’re waiting.”

Liam gave me a mock salute on his way out, but I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he passed. He knew I was on edge.

THE COUNCIL chamber smelled faintly of cedar and dominance — every Alpha and Beta present projecting their own brand of authority. We sat around the polished oak table, the atmosphere thick with tension.

“Dragunov is moving pieces again,” one of the elders said. “Two of our shipments were intercepted last week. And now…” His eyes flicked to me. “We’ve received intelligence he’s targeting a journalist who’s gotten too close to certain… operations.”

The wolf in me didn’t need the name. I already knew. My hands curled into fists under the table.

“What journalist?” one Beta asked.

Matteo slid a file across to me. I opened it, and there she was — Isabella Cross. Hazel-green eyes, stubborn jaw, captured mid-interview on some courthouse steps.

The elder continued, “She’s been publishing pieces on corruption in the city. One in particular hints at money laundering operations tied to Dragunov’s network. If she digs any deeper—”

“She’ll be dead,” I finished for him, my voice colder than ice.

The problem was, she wouldn’t just be dead because of Dragunov. If she kept digging, she could stumble right into the heart of my own empire.

I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. “Do what you need to keep Dragunov’s eyes off her,” I said. “I’ll handle the rest.”

BY THE TIME I left the meeting, the wolf in me was restless, pacing. The thought of her in Viktor’s crosshairs tightened something in my chest I didn’t want to name.

Protecting her meant bringing her closer. Bringing her closer meant she’d see me for what I was — not just the Alpha, not just the billionaire, but the man whose hands weren’t clean.

I’d told myself that rejecting her was the only way to keep her safe. But now? Now Viktor had changed the game.

That night, the city glittered like it had something to prove. I wasn’t planning on seeing her again so soon — until Matteo mentioned she was on the guest list for the Morretti Foundation Gala, as press.

I arrived just before ten, the ballroom drenched in gold light and the clink of champagne flutes. My eyes scanned the crowd automatically.

And there she was.

Isabella Cross in a deep emerald gown that clung to every curve, her chestnut hair tumbling in soft waves over one bare shoulder. She held her camera like it was a shield, but her chin was lifted in defiance. She knew I was here, and she was ignoring me.

Smart. Infuriating.

I waited until she stepped out onto the garden terrace, away from the crowd, before following.

She didn’t turn when the door clicked shut behind me, but I could feel her awareness sharpen.

“Enjoying yourself, Miss Cross?” My voice was low, threaded with the kind of danger I didn’t bother hiding.

She glanced over her shoulder, those gold-flecked eyes cool. “I was. Until now.”

I stepped closer, the scent of her wrapping around me — warm honey and something sharper, addictive. “You should be more careful about where you wander.”

Her lips curved in a smile that wasn’t a smile. “Is that a threat, Mr. Valtieri?”

“It’s a warning,” I said, letting the Alpha edge bleed into my tone. “You’ve caught the wrong kind of attention.”

“And you’re the right kind?” she shot back.

For a moment, I let myself look at her the way my wolf wanted to — like prey and mate and temptation all at once. Her heartbeat picked up. Mine matched it.

“Careful,” I murmured, leaning in just enough for my breath to brush her ear. “You don’t want to find out what I am when I stop holding back.”

Her pulse jumped again. She hid it well, but I could hear it, smell it.

The night air shifted around us. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

In the next instant, a pinpoint of red danced across her bare shoulder.

Sniper.

I didn’t think — I moved. My hand closed around her waist, yanking her down just as the shot cracked through the night. She gasped against me, her body hitting the ground beneath mine.

The wolf inside me roared for blood.