His Ruthless Redemption (Isabella and Dominic) novel Chapter 49

Dominic’s POV

The house was too quiet when I returned.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the comfortable kind. It was the sort of silence that crept under your skin, the kind that made old instincts stir restlessly.

I checked my watch.

Two hours.

That was how long it had taken me to break free, too long by any measure. I’d seen the missed calls from my mother as soon as I’d finished what I’d been doing, my chest tightening immediately. I hadn’t waited. I’d called her back at once, and when she’d told me Mateo was unwell and they’d gone to the hospital, I’d left everything behind.

I took the stairs two at a time.

Isabella’s door was slightly ajar.

I knocked softly anyway and pushed it open.

She sat at the small desk by the window, laptop open in front of her, posture straight but tense. Mateo was sprawled across the bed behind her, one arm flung over a pillow, cheeks flushed but peaceful in sleep.

Relief washed through me at the sight of him breathing evenly.

“How is he?” I asked quietly.

Isabella didn’t turn around right away.

“He’s better,” she said finally. “The doctor said it was just the flu. I gave him the medicines. He had some soup. His fever’s gone down.”

Her voice was flat.

Not angry. Not emotional.

But mechanical.

Something cold slid down my spine.

I’d heard that tone before.

Months before she’d vanished from my life, Isabella had spoken to me like that, efficient, distant, as if every word was something she was giving me out of obligation rather than choice.

I swallowed.

“I missed my mother’s calls earlier,” I said carefully. “I was tied up with work. I came as soon as I could.”

She nodded once. “Caterina told me.”

No accusation. No relief. Nothing.

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Chapter 95

A flicker of fear stirred beneath my ribs. What if she was pulling away again

The thought hit harder than it should have

I’d been careful this time. More than careful. I’d told her things I’d never shared with her before. I’d included her, let her see pieces of my world instead of keeping everything locked away. I’d tried, really tried, to show up for her and Mates.

She couldn’t be angry at me for disappearing like before. Not this time. Could she?

Maybe she was just exhausted. Worried. Any parent would be after a night like that.

Maybe the smart thing to do was to give her

space.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll let you get back to work,” I said quietly.

She murmured something in response that could have been agreement.

I left the room with a weight pressing against my chest.

Downstairs, the kitchen lights were on, bright and warm against the muted gloom of the rest of the house. I stood there for a moment, hands on the counter, trying to shake the feeling that something was wrong

Mateo was sick.

That was something I could do something about.

I remembered, suddenly, standing on a stool in this very kitchen years ago, my mother guiding my hands as I stirred a pot.

Chicken broth, she’d said, Good for colds, Good for children.

The memory settled something inside me and I rolled up my sleeves.

Carrots, Celery, Onion, Garlic. A whole chicken from the fridge. I worked on instinct, my movements steady, methodical. The rhythm of chopping and stirring gave my thoughts somewhere to go.

This was something I could control.

The broth simmered slowly, the scent filling the kitchen with something comforting and familiar.

I was so focused I didn’t hear my mother come in until she spoke.

“Well,” she said dryly, leaning against the doorway, “this is a sight I never thought I’d see again.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “You taught me how to make this”

She smiled. “Yes. When you were a boy”

“It’s for Mateo,” I said.

Her expression softened instantly. “I thought as much,” she replied. “You love him very much, don’t you?”

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Chaplet

not? He was the sweetest little angel.

hed me for a moment longer, then asked casually. “And what about his mother?”

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