The Godfather’s Forsaken Rose Chapter 13
At night, Dominic slept by habit on the inner side of the bed.
Half-awake, he reached toward the space beside him and touched a soft, compliant body.
Sophia curled obediently against him, carrying the elegant scent of carefully chosen perfume.
Wrong.
The body heat was wrong. It did not have that fresh, vivid warmth.
The scent was wrong. It lacked that natural sweetness.
Even the breathing was wrong.
Isabella had never slept honestly. She stole the blankets without realizing it, then burrowed into his arms like a small creature searching for warmth, tangling her hands and feet around him.
Dominic opened his eyes.
A powerful rejection rose in him.
For the first time, he pushed Sophia away almost roughly, got out of bed, and said in a voice edged with a coldness he did not quite hide, “Go to sleep. I remembered an urgent document I need to handle.”
He ignored Sophia’s surprised, wounded eyes and went straight into the study, closing the door behind him.
He needed to be alone.
He needed to calm down.
He needed to drive Isabella’s increasingly vivid figure out of his mind.
A week later, Dominic attended an important business dinner with Sophia.
Sophia wore an expensive dress. She spoke gracefully, behaved appropriately, and handled every conversation with gentle ease. Many guests praised her.
Everyone thought they were a match made in heaven.
Dominic only found the entire evening oppressive. The mix of champagne and perfume in the air made it hard to breathe.
During dinner, a woman from another family deliberately spilled red wine on Sophia’s dress out of jealousy.
Sophia’s eyes reddened at once. She looked at Dominic as if she had suffered a terrible wrong and needed his protection.
In the past, Dominic would have thought her fragile and worthy of care.
This time, watching Sophia’s tears, he thought of Isabella instead.
If Isabella had been in Sophia’s place, she would have frozen for half a second, then lifted an eyebrow with that bright, arrogant smile. She might have thrown the wine in her own glass back and said casually, “Sorry. My hand slipped.”
She would never show weakness in public.
That fierce, vivid energy had been like wildfire.
Hot.
Dazzling.
The contrast startled him, and the crack in the corner of his heart widened.
At that moment, a spoiled son from a family that had long been at odds with the Morettis came over to toast. He had been drinking, and the new girlfriend on his arm looked vaguely like Isabella.
With a frivolous smile, he said, “Mr. Morello, long time no see. I heard the wild red rose you kept in your backyard left the country. What a shame. I always wondered what it would be like to taste her.”
Bang.
Before he could finish, Dominic’s fist struck his face.
Fast.
Accurate.
Ruthless.
The man crashed to the floor with a scream, blood pouring from his nose.
The room fell silent.
Every guest stared in shock.
Dominic stood beneath the lights and slowly adjusted the cuff disturbed by the movement. His eyes were dark and colder than winter.
He looked down at the man groaning on the floor.
His voice was quiet, but every word cut like ice.
“Who do you think you are?”
“You don’t deserve to say her name.”