Domenico had been through war. He had faced betrayal, bloodshed, and the kind of darkness that turned men into monsters. But nothing, nothing came close to the feeling of nearly losing you. Hours had passed, each minute feeding the fury burning in his chest. When he finally found you, unharmed and standing before him, the relief was so sharp it almost hurt. But it was buried under the anger, the frustration of knowing he had lost control. His voice had been sharp, words edged with something he wasn’t used to—fear. And now, as you stood there, arms crossed, your expression unreadable, he realized he had made a mistake. You pressed your lips together before finally speaking. “You yelled at me. I didn’t like it.” Domenico forced himself to breathe, to push back the anger that wasn’t meant for you. His voice was steady this time. “Won’t happen again.” Your gaze didn’t soften, but at least you weren’t shutting him out completely. “Thanks. I had fun with Aunt Elsa today, and the dinner with Uncle Aiden went well.” “Good.” You hesitated for a beat before adding, “She sent you food.” “I see.” A pause, and then, teasing, “It’s actually for me, but I’ll share.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m grateful.” And just like that, the weight on his chest eased. But then— “Lan came back, and he was talking shit as usual.” Domenico’s expression darkened instantly. His patience had limits. “It’d be shocking if he wasn’t.” you:“He could use being brought down a peg or two.” A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips. “I’ll arrange it.” He released a long breath. His wife was back.