Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask (by Silver Spoon) novel Chapter 214

Chapter 214: Chapter 214 Rock Bottom Rising

Dominic’s POV

I couldn’t figure out how to make Gemma forgive me anymore. Weeks had dragged by like this in the suffocating atmosphere of our famiglia’s compound. What kind of fool was I to fall for Beatrix’s manipulative games that nearly cost us a crucial alliance with the eastern territories? But I had to find some way back to her. I couldn’t just let Gemma slip away from me, not when she meant everything to our family’s future and to my own survival in this blood-soaked world.

Yesterday at Thorne’s fortress, seeing her again hit me like a punch to the gut. She looked absolutely stunning in that black dress that hugged her curves, more radiant than ever despite the danger that constantly surrounded us all. But the moment I walked through those heavily guarded doors, she bolted like she’d seen a ghost. That’s how it always went now. Every time our paths crossed at family gatherings or territory meetings, she’d vanish before I could even get a word out, leaving me standing there like some pathetic street soldier who’d lost his nerve.

"Dominic, snap out of it! Are you even listening to me?" Zoe’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts as she snapped her fingers inches from my nose. Her tone carried that familiar edge that came from years of navigating the treacherous waters of our criminal underworld.

"Sorry, Zo. My mind was somewhere else," I muttered, straightening up in the leather chair behind my mahogany desk. The office overlooked our legitimate construction business that served as a front for the family’s more lucrative ventures.

Zoe sat across from me, supposedly updating me on yesterday’s sit-down with the other families that I’d sent her to handle in my place. For weeks now, I’d been completely useless at managing our operations, my concentration shot to hell while rival families circled like vultures, sensing weakness.

"Listen, Dominic, if you can’t handle running your crew, then step aside. Either you get your act together and start acting like a real capo, or I’m walking away from this mess," Zoe said, leaning back with her arms crossed. She’d grown up in this life just like the rest of us, knew better than anyone that showing weakness in our world was a death sentence.

"Maybe you should just take over the territory," I said without thinking, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

"Are you out of your mind?" Her eyes went wide with disbelief, and I could see the genuine concern beneath her anger. "You think the old men would accept a woman running things? They’d have both our heads mounted on pikes before sunset."

"I’m serious. You could handle the legitimate businesses, at least for now, while I figure out how to fix my life," I explained, voicing the thought that had been eating at me for days. The family’s patience with my current state was wearing thin, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone decided I was more liability than asset.

"What kind of pathetic excuse for a made man are you turning into?" Zoe’s hands clenched in her lap as she stared me down with the intensity of someone who’d survived more than one assassination attempt. "Get it together, Dominic. You want one day to wallow? Fine. But that’s it. No more. In our world, weak men don’t just lose respect—they lose their lives."

"Zo, I can’t stop thinking about Gemma. It’s destroying me from the inside out," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper in case the walls had ears. Even in our own territory, paranoia was a survival skill.

"Here’s the truth, Dominic. Weak men abandon everything when things get tough. And women in our families despise weak men more than they fear bullets," Zoe’s voice was brutally honest, cutting through my self-pity like a blade. "If you want any chance of winning Gemma back, you need to prove you’re still the soldier she fell for. Look at yourself right now. You’re a disaster. Stubble covering your face like some street junkie, hair that looks like you cut it with a knife, wrinkled shirt that screams desperation, crooked tie that wouldn’t pass muster at a funeral home wake. I’m starting to wonder if you even bother showering anymore. You’ve turned into a walking advertisement for failure, and Gemma will never respect you again if you keep this up."

"What am I supposed to do, Zo? I feel dead inside," I said, dropping my head onto the cool surface of my desk, the weight of family expectations and territorial responsibilities crushing down on me.

"You’re a complete wreck. First, we’re getting real food in you, because all you’ve been doing is drowning yourself in whiskey like some common drunk," Zoe grabbed my arm and hauled me up with surprising strength. "Come on. We’re leaving now, and you’re going to start remembering what it means to be a man of our family."

Minutes later, we sat at a corner table in the Italian bakery that had been paying protection money to our family for generations. The elderly owner treated us like royalty, bringing out plates of fresh antipasto, prosciutto sandwiches, cannoli still warm from the oven, plus strong espresso and fresh-squeezed blood orange juice. Zoe watched me like a hawk, making sure I actually ate while we talked about salvaging what remained of my reputation.

"So tell me, what do you do when you’re not pretending to manage your crew?" Zoe asked, tearing into a piece of focaccia with practiced efficiency.

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