His Merciless Redemption novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134

Dominic’s POV

The papers were still warm from my hands when I walked down the corridor later that evening.

Isa had been home for a while now and we had even had dinner together, without Vittoria and Salvatore, of course. Even Alessia hadn’t cared to join, choosing to dine with my uncle and aunt separately instead.

But it didn’t really matter to me as long as they weren’t stirring up trouble for me.

When I reached Isa’s door, I slipped the papers in my hands inside from underneath the door.

It had become a routine I didn’t miss no matter what. I also didn’t skip a single detail.

Not because she demanded it.

Because I needed her to know.

Because transparency was the only bridge I had left.

Sure, she was talking more to me now than she had done in days, but I had a feeling I still had a long way to go before things went back to how they were before.

I was just about to turn and leave when I heard the sound of her footsteps.

Then, the handle turned.

The door opened.

I blinked.

Isabella stood there, hair loose over her shoulders, expression guarded but not closed.

Not shut down.

Not cold.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing her eyes meet mine this willingly until that moment.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

The word felt like

progress.

I picked up the pages and handed them to her instead. “Today’s.”

“I know,” she replied, taking them.

Silence lingered between us, not hostile, just uncertain.

“Did Nico finally give you what you wanted?” she asked.

I leaned lightly against the wall. I’d mentioned talking to him in my previous letters so she knew where things stood. “He’s talking.”

“And?”

I exhaled slowly. “And I’m starting to realize he doesn’t know as much as we thought.”

She frowned slightly.

“He knows about the leak. The pattern. The structure. But not the name.” My jaw tightened. “It seems only the Vitelli patriarch knows who the actual mole is.”

Isa absorbed that quietly.

“So Nico isn’t useful to you anymore,” she said evenly.

The implication wasn’t lost on me.

“No,” I admitted. “He isn’t.”

“And?”

“I’ll end it soon,” I said. “I can’t risk him escaping. Or being rescued.”

She nodded once. No judgment. No flinching.

“I understand.”

1

It struck me how much she had hardened, not cruel, but steady. She no longer looked away from the reality of my world. I realised that maybe all those letters had also helped make her more acquainted with the inner workings of my world, made it easier for her to accept what I did, and why I did it.

After a moment, I added, “What were you doing the other day?”

She stilled.

“Going out with Luca,” I clarified. “Meeting that woman.”

Her eyes sharpened, but she didn’t retreat.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. “She ran.”

“What were you looking for?”

Isa hesitated.

“I was trying to find proof of something,” she said finally. “And I’ll tell you when I have it.”

My instincts bristled.

I didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like her keeping things from me.

But I caught myself before the old reflex kicked in.

“Trust me,” she added quietly.

That landed.

I held her gaze for a long moment.

Then nodded. “Alright.”

The word cost me more than I showed.

But if I wanted her trust, I had to give some, too.

“The Vitellis have been too quiet when it comes to me. But I have a feeling that it’s mostly because they’ve been busy trying to find ways to sabotage you from what I’ve read in your letters so far,” she commented dryly.

I nodded. It was true. They’d been more active, yes, but I’d been vigilant, too. While it did keep me away for work longer than I wanted to, their attacks hadn’t been too worrisome so far.

I realised I liked this new version of us. One that could discuss things easily. I wished it would only get better with time.

A softer silence settled between us then. But I didn’t want this conversation to be over. Not yet.

“Mateo’s birthday is coming up,” I said.

Her expression shifted, turning warmer.

“He told you,” she said.

“He did.” My mouth twitched. “He wants to bake a cake with you.”

She smiled faintly. “We do that every year.”

“He also said he doesn’t want anything grand.”

Isa nodded. “He values quality over quantity.”

I huffed quietly. “I suggested something larger.”

“I’m not surprised.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “He said he didn’t want it.”

“And

you

listened.”

“Yes.”

That earned me a small look of approval.

“There’s… a tradition?” I asked carefully, recalling Mateo’s words. “The cake.”

She studied me, reading between the lines.

“Yes,” she said. “We bake it together. Just us.”

I hesitated.

“Could I… join this year?”

The vulnerability surprised even me.

For a split second, she didn’t answer.

• Then-

“Yes.”

The word hit me harder than I’d expected. My chest tightened with emotion. I hoped this was the first of many traditions we would make as a family.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

We stood there a moment longer, both aware of the weight of something shifting.

“Back garden,” Isa said suddenly, slipping into practical mode. “We can set up tables there.”

I blinked, then smiled faintly. “Alright.”

“Balloons,” she continued. “Mateo wants rocket-shaped ones.”

“He told me.”

“Good. You handle decorations.”

“I will.”

“I’ll handle cake and food.”

“I’ll arrange entertainment.”

“Nothing over the top,” she warned.

I raised a hand. “Simple.”

“Friends from school. Luca. Chiara. Lucia, if she’s available.”

“I’ll prepare the invites.”

We fell into an easy rhythm, dividing responsibilities without arguing, without tension.

It felt domestic, collaborative.

Normal.

And I realized I hadn’t felt that in years.

Not during power meetings.

Not during negotiations.

Not during victories.

Just here. In a hallway. Planning our child’s birthday.

• A family.

That was what this was.

Or could be.

As she stepped back into her room, she paused.

“Dominic.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For listening to Mateo.”

I swallowed. “He’s my son.”

e nodded, then closed the door gently.

I remained in the hallway a few seconds longer, staring at the wood.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel like delusion.

It felt possible.

Fragile.

But possible.

And if I had to rebuild this family piece by piece, I would.

No matter how long it took.

!