Potere | Book II ✓

xxv | fire on fire

I brush my thumb across the corner of my eye, wiping away a tear before it falls.  "Then let's save him."

Giovanni smiles softly and offers his arm to me.  I take hold of it, allowing him to lead me to the nearest door.  I don't have time to question his intentions before his fist meets the thin piece of wood.  He nearly knocks the pathetic door off its hinges.

The door opens, and the first words out the stranger's mouth is, "You the feds?"

"Not quite," my bodyguard answers for me.  He pulls out his phone and angles it towards the stranger, offering the man a glimpse of one of the only photos I could find of Dominic in my phone.  "Looking for a friend."

"His name's Dominic," I offer.

The stranger takes a quick glimpse before nodding.  "You aren't the first people to ask about him.  He's four doors down."

He goes to shut his door when a question pops in my mind, "Wait."

Gio reacts quickly, jamming his foot between the door and wall before the stranger can slam it in our face.  The man plucks the cigarette from his mouth hastily, eyebrows forming together in annoyance.

"Who else has asked about him?"

The stranger blinks, "I don't fucking know.  I was high as shit."  He sends Gio a warning glance to move his foot out the doorway ASAP, then slams the door for good.

Dominic Santiago always kept his room at the old Luciano house pristine.  There wasn't a dresser drawer out of place, a single article of clothing on the floor, or a wrinkle in his duvet.  You couldn't find a piece of lint on the floor even if you tried, which is why my chest tightens when Giovanni turns the knob to the unlocked door leading to Dominic's room, revealing just how filthy the room is.

The room smells just as badly as it looks. Men and women's clothes are scattered in puddles over the stained, worn out carpet that lines Dom's place of residence.  Old containers of takeout food lie atop every available surface, while crushed up pizza boxes and random plastic containers are shoved in corners.  Not only do they add to the dirty aesthetic of the room, but the moldy slices of pizza that remain don't help the smell.

Tattered curtains hang by mere shreds, doing their best to block out any natural light.  The room's wallpaper is equally as atrocious, peeling more than it is sticking to the wall.  I risk a glance upwards, analyzing the evident water damage to the ceiling.  I truly didn't think it could get worse than this, until I see Dominic, and the random woman cuddling him.

Dominic doesn't seem aware of much as he lies on his stomach, an arm resting on the pillow above his head.  He doesn't return the brunette's touches, nor does he seem to reciprocate the kisses she plants on his lips.  Her hand slips underneath the comforter to gently stroke his back. 

I clear my throat, drawing her attention to the two strangers that stand in the room.

Her face twists in a sickening expression and her lips part, surely prepared to berate me—but then she catches Giovanni out the corner of her eye, and the gun that sits on his hip, and she shuts her mouth before anything stupid can escape. 

She presses one last kiss to Dominic's bare shoulder and mutters, "You have company."

The woman gathers her things quickly, hastily yanking on the outfit she discarded to the floor before her and Dominic's late-night activities.  She grabs her phone from the nightstand and works her long hair into a ponytail before rounding the bed.  She stops before me, gives me a long glance, before turning her attention back to Dominic—who hasn't moved a muscle.  "You keep putting out, I'll keep bringing pills.  I'll be back tonight."