Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 35

DOMENICO

Numbers never lied. People did.

The blue light from the screen hit the side of my face, cold against my skin. Shadows stretched across the marble desk, long and sharp.

The air smelled like cigars and old ink, the kind of scent that never really leaves a place, no matter how many times you air it out.

Outside, the city was loud and restless, but in here, it was just me. Quiet. Still. The kind of stillness that makes you start thinking too much.

Too still.

The ledger stared back at me, pages of digits and decimals that twisted into something ugly the longer I looked. Three months of falsified reports. Three months of missing funds.

It wasn’t much, not compared to what passed through my accounts every week, but it was enough to insult me.

I set the glass of scotch aside, untouched. My patience was already thin, and the more I stared at the numbers, the more the quiet in my head turned violent.

The Gravano name was built on precision. On fear. You didn’t lie to me. You didn’t steal from me.

I hit the intercom. "Get me Enzo."

My secretary’s voice trembled through the speaker. "Yes, sir."

A few minutes later, the door opened with a hesitant click. Enzo stepped in, pale, sweating, clutching his briefcase like a lifeline. He’d worked for me for seven years, a loyal man, or so I’d believed.

Now he looked like a man walking into his own grave.

"Boss," he stammered. "You wanted to see me?"

I didn’t answer immediately. I kept my eyes on the screen, scrolling slowly through the forged transactions, letting the silence stretch until it suffocated him.

"Sit," I said finally.

He sat. His chair squeaked. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

I turned the monitor toward him, each keystroke echoing like a hammer in the quiet. "Explain this."

He blinked rapidly, leaning forward as if proximity would change what he saw. "Sir, I... uh... it’s not what it looks like..."

"Then what is it?" I cut in softly.

The tone was calm, even polite, but the edge in my voice made him flinch.

His fingers twisted together. "My daughter... she... she got sick, boss. The hospital bills... they wouldn’t treat her unless I paid upfront. I was going to return it. I swear on my life, I just needed..."

"So you took it."

"I... yes, but I didn’t mean..."

I leaned back slowly, steepling my fingers. "You took my money, Enzo. From my accounts. You forged numbers. Lied. Covered your tracks."

He nodded frantically, tears already filling his eyes. "Please, sir, I didn’t know what else to do. She’s my little girl. My only child. She’s all I have..."

I tapped a finger against the desk, once, twice, until he fell silent.

"Do you think you’re the only man in this room who’s ever had someone sick? Someone he’d kill for?" My voice stayed calm, but the fury bled through each word. "You could have come to me. You could have asked. But you chose to steal."

"I was afraid you’d say no."

I smiled, small, dangerous. "And now you know what ’no’ really looks like."

He shook his head wildly. "Boss, please. I’ll return everything! Every cent. Just... just give me a chance. I swear I’ll..."

"Too late."

He froze.

"Do you know what happens to thieves in my family?" I asked quietly.

"Boss, please..."

"They stop breathing."

His chair scraped the floor as he lurched forward, hands clasped together. "No, no, please, sir, please. My daughter... she needs me. She’s..."

"She’ll need someone to bury you then," I murmured.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Please! I didn’t mean to... I swear it!"

"Stop."

The word hit him like a bullet. He fell silent, gasping, shoulders shaking.

I pressed the intercom again. "Calestino."

A moment later, the door opened. Calestino stepped in, tall, dressed in black, the kind of man whose presence killed noise.

"Take him."

Enzo’s head snapped up, eyes wild. "Boss! Please! I’ll fix it! I’ll work for free... don’t do this, please!"

Calestino grabbed him by the collar.

"Boss! My daughter... she needs... she..."

"Should’ve thought about her before stealing from me," I said flatly.

Calestino dragged him out, his pleas echoing down the corridor, a desperate, broken sound that faded too quickly into silence.

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the empty space he’d left behind. The faint sound of the city hummed through the glass, the only reminder that life went on outside these walls.

I poured myself another drink, this time taking a long swallow. The burn felt good. Cleansing.

I didn’t enjoy killing. But I didn’t tolerate betrayal either.

And theft, in my world, was a kind of betrayal.

When you stole from me, you weren’t just taking money, you were spitting on everything I’d built.

The phone buzzed. Paolo.

I sighed, set the glass down, and answered. "What is it?"

"Renato Marino isn’t cooperating with us," Paolo said, voice clipped. "He’s stalling. Won’t approve the shipment for next week."

I rubbed my temple. "We had an agreement."

"I know. But he’s been acting strange lately. Like he’s waiting for something. Or someone."

"Then make him stop waiting," I muttered. "I’m not in the mood for games. Give him something."

A pause. "You sound tense, sir."

I didn’t respond. I simply ended the call.

Tense was an understatement.

I leaned back in the chair, watching the smoke curl up from the ashtray, twisting like thoughts I didn’t want to name.

Then, another vibration on the desk.

Instagram.

Normally, I would’ve ignored it. But the name flashing on the screen made something inside me still.

Reina. G. Moretti has posted a new story.

My thumb hovered over the notification. I knew better. I should’ve looked away, ignored it.

But I didn’t.

The clip opened. Music blared faintly, something upbeat, loud, careless. The kind of sound she used to hate.

Lights. Laughter. Her.

She was at a bar, Lux, if the sign in the background was anything to go by. Dressed in something short and glittering, hair loose, cheeks flushed, smile reckless.

She looked alive. Too alive.

And then my stomach turned to stone.

A man’s arm—blond, grinning, smug—slid around her shoulders. She didn’t push him away. She leaned in, laughing, the curve of her mouth dangerously close to his.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the room shrank.

The phone hit the table harder than it should have.

She was supposed to be at school. That’s what Calestino said. That’s what she said. Studying. Staying quiet.

So why the hell was she out there, smiling for strangers, letting another man touch her like that?

My pulse thudded in my ears.

I wanted to tell myself it wasn’t jealousy, but the lie tasted sour.

It wasn’t love, either. I didn’t allow myself that weakness. It was control. Discipline. Order.

The wife of a Gravano didn’t behave like that. She didn’t dance in bars, drink cheap liquor, or let some random fool lay a hand on her.

She belonged to the family. To respect. To rules.

And for reasons I couldn’t admit, watching her break them made something primal coil deep inside me.

I stood abruptly, grabbed my jacket, and stalked out.

My secretary jumped to her feet. "Sir... your meetings..."

"Cancel everything," I said without slowing.

"But sir..."

"Now!"

The elevator doors slid open, my reflection catching in the polished steel, cold eyes, clenched jaw, something dangerous flickering underneath.

By the time I stepped outside, the night air hit me like fire.

I slid into the backseat of the car. "Lux Bar. Now."

The driver didn’t dare ask questions. The tires screeched as we pulled away from the curb.

Through the tinted glass, the city lights streaked by like falling stars, too fast, too bright.

My phone buzzed again. Another message. Another fucking message.

Her story had disappeared. Deleted.

Too late.

The image was already burned into my mind, the sparkle of her dress, the shape of her mouth when she laughed, the way that stranger’s hand rested possessively against her waist. And shoulder.

She was supposed to be untouchable.

Mine to protect.

His to marry.

No one else’s to hold.

I closed my eyes, trying to tone down the rage twirling inside me like a tornado. But it wouldn’t stop. Instead, it grew into something worse. Something darker.

Before I take care of the bastard who dared put his hand on her body, I would first teach Reina a lesson she’d never forget.

She’d never forget who she belonged to, and if she wanted to be a slut, she’d be my fucking slut. Only mine.