I reached his door and slowly pushed it open, the hinges creaking softly.
The door groans softly as I push it open, the sound too loud in the quiet of the night. I hesitate on the threshold, my fingers tightening around the doorknob as my eyes land on the small figure curled up under a tangle of blankets. The pale glow of the moon drapes over him like a fragile shield, illuminating the tear-streaks still visible on his flushed cheeks.
My heart clenches painfully. He cried himself to sleep.
The sight nearly breaks me.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I step inside, careful not to make a sound. I kneel by his bed, my fingers trembling as I reach out to brush a stray curl from his forehead. His skin is warm beneath my touch, soft, so heartbreakingly innocent.
"Oh, my baby," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry, Max."
The words feel useless, too small to contain the depth of my guilt. I should've been there faster. I should've protected him better. I should've never let it come to this.
I press a shaking hand to my mouth, trying to contain the emotions surging inside me. It doesn't matter what it takes—I'll never let him be in danger again. I'll rip the world apart if I have to.
Leaning in, I press a gentle kiss to his forehead, inhaling the faint scent of baby shampoo and something uniquely him—a smell I've memorized since the first moment he was placed in my arms.
"I promise you, Max," I murmur, my voice hoarse but unwavering. "Nothing like this will ever happen again. I'll keep you safe—always."
He stirs slightly, a soft, sleepy sound escaping his lips, but he doesn't wake. I stroke my fingers down his cheek one last time before pulling the blanket up to his chin.
"Good night, my love," I whisper. "I love you so, so much."
I linger for a few more seconds, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, before finally forcing myself to my feet. As I slip out and gently close the door behind me, I rest my back against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath.
I can't let this happen again.
I won't.
By the time I step into my bedroom, exhaustion crashes over me like a tidal wave. My body aches, my limbs heavy with fatigue, but my mind refuses to slow down. It keeps replaying everything—every second of tonight—on an endless, merciless loop.
I move like a ghost, barely aware of my own actions as I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. My hands clasp tightly in my lap, knuckles whitening as I try to ground myself, but it's useless. The weight of the night presses down on me, thick and suffocating.
No matter how hard I try, I can't shake the memory of Victor Rex's smirk, the predatory gleam in his eyes as he sneered at me, his voice dripping with malice.
But more than that, I can't stop thinking about Dominic Conti.
The image of him storming into that warehouse, gun in hand, is burned into my mind. The controlled fury in his expression. The absolute certainty in his stance, like he was always meant to be there. Like he belonged in the chaos.
The gunshot.
The way he looked at me—at Max.
Fierce. Protective.
Why?
I drag a shaking hand through my hair, exhaling unsteadily. "Dominic," I murmur, tasting his name on my tongue, rolling it around like it'll somehow give me answers. "Of all people..."
What was he even doing there? How did he know?
And more importantly, why did he care?
Nothing about this makes sense. Dominic Conti isn't a hero. He's dangerous. Ruthless. A man whose name alone is enough to make even the toughest criminals tread carefully. And yet...
Tonight, he saved my son.
A fresh wave of unease snakes through me. Men like Dominic don't do things out of the goodness of their hearts. There's always a reason. A motive.
So what's his?
I shake my head, trying to piece it together, but the answers slip through my fingers like sand. The only thing I know for sure is that without him, Max...
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. No. I can't let myself go there.
I stand abruptly, needing to move. I start pacing, my bare feet making soft, muffled sounds against the floor.
"I need to thank him," I say aloud, just to hear something other than the storm raging inside me.
It's the least I can do. He didn't have to step in. He didn't have to care. But he did. And because of him, Max is safe.
That's all that should matter.
And yet... I can't ignore the nagging feeling in my gut. The sense that tonight was just the beginning of something much bigger.
I glance at the clock. 2:43 AM. I know sleep won't come easily tonight. My body screams for rest, but my mind is still at war.
Finally, I climb into bed, my limbs aching as I sink into the mattress. The sheets are cold, the room too still, too quiet. I pull the blanket up to my chin, but it does nothing to chase away the heaviness pressing against my chest.
Reaching for the lamp, I flick it off. Darkness swallows the room, wrapping around me like a second skin. But instead of comfort, all I feel is unease.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, forcing air into my lungs.
Breathe, Lexi. Just breathe.
In.
Out.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. And then, before I can stop myself, I whisper into the empty room:
"Thank you, Dominic. For saving my son."
The words hang in the air, foreign and uncertain. Gratitude. Reluctance. A quiet acknowledgment of a man I shouldn't trust—but might already owe more than I can ever repay.
I take another shaky breath, willing myself to sleep.
But as I drift off, one thought lingers in my mind, sinking into the deepest parts of me:
Dominic Conti might've saved Max tonight... but I have no idea what that means for me.
And even worse—I'm not sure if I want to find out.
To Be Continued...