Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 117

DOMENICO

The lobby was too bright.

The lights overhead were harsh, unforgiving white and sterile, like a hospital corridor. Every polished surface reflected too much: marble floors, glass walls, chrome edges. There was nowhere for shadows to hide, nowhere for me to tuck the things I had just said, the things I had admitted without trying to soften them.

The concierge looked up when we stepped inside.

Then he looked away just as quickly.

He had seen that look before. On men who walked in whole and left fractured. On women who were not crying yet but would be the moment they were alone. On couples who did not touch each other even when standing inches apart.

Reina’s hand was still in mine.

Cold.

Not pulling away but not holding on either. Her fingers rested limp against my palm, as if she had forgotten they were there. I guided her through the revolving door, my grip gentle, instinctive, the same way I had handled her all night. Careful not to hurt. Careful not to lose.

The glass panels turned slowly. Our reflections slid over one another and separated again. For a second I saw us as strangers might. A man who controlled everything except the woman beside him. A woman who already looked halfway gone.

Outside, the night air hit us hard.

Cool. Sharp. Sobering.

She inhaled like it burned. Her shoulders lifted with the breath and did not fully settle afterward.

The valet had the car waiting. Engine idling. Headlights cutting through the dark. I opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat without looking at me, smoothing her dress over her thighs like it was muscle memory, like she had done this before with men who disappointed her.

The fabric caught slightly against her knee. She fixed it with careful fingers. No rush. No drama. Just quiet control.

I closed the door gently.

Too gently.

I circled to the driver’s side, got in, and pulled away from the curb.

The city blurred past us in streaks of gold and red. Streetlamps. Traffic lights. Reflections in shop windows already dark for the night. I did not turn on the radio. I did not adjust the temperature. The low hum of the engine filled the space between us, steady and indifferent.

I kept glancing at her.

Her profile was sharp against the window. Jaw tight. Lips pressed thin, like she was afraid if she parted them something unforgivable would spill out. Her gaze stayed fixed on the glass, her reflection faint and ghostlike beside the passing lights.

A strand of hair had fallen loose near her cheek. She did not fix it. Normally she would have. Normally she would care.

Every few seconds her fingers flexed in her lap.

Curl. Uncurl.

Like she was holding back the urge to claw at something. At me.

The silence pressed against my ears. I found myself counting streetlights just to anchor my thoughts. One. Two. Three. The rhythm steadied nothing.

I had told her the truth. That was the worst part. Not a single word exaggerated. Not a single detail reshaped to make myself look better. I had spoken plainly about women who had shared my bed, carried my name, carried my children. I had spoken about them like entries in a ledger. Events. Results.

Reina had listened like every sentence carved something into her.

What I had not said was louder than anything I had.

I did not love them.

I never had.

Not Rose with her calculated sweetness. Not Ruby with her hopeful eyes. I had respected them in ways. Provided for them. Protected them when it suited me. But love had never entered the room.

It entered when Reina did.

And that terrified me.

I adjusted my grip on the wheel. The leather creaked under my palms. My hands had steadied guns. Signed contracts that erased men from industries. Directed outcomes that reshaped entire families.

They had never felt this uncertain.

After ten minutes, maybe less, I could not stand it anymore.

"Reina."

"Don’t."

Her voice was quiet.

Sharp enough to cut.

She did not look at me when she said it. She did not need to. The word was a wall.

I shut my mouth.

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence. The buildings grew shorter as we neared her neighborhood. Traffic thinned. The city noise faded into something softer and more distant.

The tires hissed against damp asphalt.

When we reached her building, she unbuckled before I had even put the car in park.

The click of the seatbelt felt final.

I killed the engine anyway.

She opened the door and stepped out. The night wrapped around her instantly. Cool air. Faint scent of rain.

Her building sat behind a low iron fence with a small gate at the front. Two stories. Narrow balconies. Warm yellow light glowing from a few windows.

She walked toward the gate without looking back.

I got out of the car.

"Reina."

She reached the gate and pushed it open. The metal creaked softly. She paused there, one hand still on it, and finally turned.

Her eyes were wet. Furious.

"You let them stay," she said.

Her voice trembled despite how tightly she held herself.

"You let them carry your children. You let them live in your house. You let them love you, or try to, and you never gave them anything real." Her breath hitched. "And then you let her them break, you let her die. And you sit there and tell me it is their fault."

The words rushed out of her, tripping over each other, sharp and shaking.

I stood on the sidewalk outside the fence.

I did not cross it.

What defense was there. That I had provided money. Security. A name. That I had been honest about my limits.

None of that sounded like love.

She let out a broken laugh. "You are right. It is different with me. Because I am different. Because I am special." She spat the word like it tasted bitter. "That is what you tell yourself, is it not? That is how you sleep at night. But in the end I am not special at all. I am just like them. And you are... you. I hope you sleep well after everything you have done."

I did not sleep well. I had not in years. But that was not the point.

The point was that she thought she was like them.

She was not.

She was the only woman who had ever made me question myself instead of defending myself. The only one who did not want my name or my protection or my money. The only one who looked at me like I was something that could be better.

I loved her.

The realization sat heavy and undeniable in my chest.

And I still could not say it.

"Reina."

"No." She stepped fully inside the gate. "Do not even think about it. Go home, I don’t want to see anymore of your face right now, you disgust me. Go back to your fucking home to where you think you are the fucking prize."

The gate closed between us with a soft metallic click. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough.

She walked up the short path toward her building. I stayed where I was, hands at my sides, watching her move farther away.

A light flicked on inside her apartment. Ground floor. Curtains half drawn.

She reached her door and unlocked it. For a second she stood there, shoulders rigid, as if she felt me watching.

She turned her head slightly. Not enough to meet my eyes. Just enough to acknowledge that I was still there.

Then she went inside.

The door shut.

I stood outside the low fence long after the light inside dimmed.

I could have forced my way in. I could have climbed the fence, crossed the yard, pounded on her door until she answered.

Instead I stayed where I was.

Because love, real love, did not break down gates.

It waited.

Even when it hurt.

I walked back to the car slowly. Sat behind the wheel. Stared at the small building framed in the windshield.

I had not loved the other women. I had not loved the life I built with them. I had not mourned it the way I should have.

But the thought of losing Reina felt like something vital being cut out of me. But I deserved the pain, the hurt and the agony brewing inside me right now, I deserved them all.

Doesn’t it terrify you how quickly a night can change?