Chapter 5 - The Council of WolvesThe formal drawing room of the Castellano estate smelled of old money, polished leather, and impending disaster.
A roaring fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing light across Persian rugs and oil paintings of stern, unsmiling patriarchs dating back a century.
Amelia sat in a wingback armchair near the hearth, wearing her cashmere lounge set, while Dominic stood just behind her right shoulder like a guardian titan, his arm still in a sling, his presence radiating pure, lethal protection.
Across the mahogany coffee table sat Attorney Julian Vance—no relation to Amelia—a slick, silver-haired corporate lawyer representing Elena Castellano, alongside two stern-faced associates.
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Julian,” Dominic said coldly, his voice slicing through the tense silence like a razor. “State your business and get off my property before I have Rocco throw you through the front gates.”
Attorney Vance adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, flashing a thin, patronizing smile. “Mr. Castellano, please. We are merely here to discuss matters of family estate planning. My client, Mrs. Elena Castellano, was deeply disturbed to learn that an... unverified claimant has taken up residence in this home, carrying a child whose legitimacy has yet to be formally established.”
Amelia flinched, a hot flush of humiliation rising up her neck.
Dominic moved so fast the air seemed to snap. In two strides, he rounded the table, grabbed the slick attorney by the lapels of his expensive Italian suit, and yanked him clean out of his chair, slamming him against the wood-paneled wall with enough force to rattle the paintings.
“Listen to me very carefully, you miserable parasite,” Dominic snarled, his face inches from the terrified lawyer’s nose, his gray eyes flashing with murderous intent. “The child upstairs is my blood. My flesh. My sole heir. If Elena or any of her pathetic sycophants ever question his legitimacy again, I won't just ruin her lawsuits—I’ll dismantle her entire offshore accounts and leave her penniless on the streets of Zurich. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-Yes! Crystal clear, Mr. Castellano!” the lawyer gasped, his heels kicking uselessly against the floor.
Dominic shoved him back down into his chair with a disgusted sneer. The lawyer adjusted his suit jacket with shaking hands, coughing nervously.
“W-Well, regardless of bloodline,” the lawyer stammered, trying to regain a shred of professional dignity. “Under traditional Castellano family bylaws, any heir born out of wedlock must be formally recognized through a verified union and public ratification before the syndicate council, to prevent internal power struggles. If Miss Vance is not legally your wife by the time the child is born, the council has the legal right to place the infant under family trusteeship.”
The room went dead silent.
Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up at Dominic, her eyes wide with sudden horror. Trusteeship. They wanted to take her baby and raise him as a cold-blooded corporate soldier.
Dominic didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second.
“Tell Elena and the council,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifyingly calm baritone, “that they don’t need to wait for the birth.”
He walked briskly back across the room, stopping directly in front of Amelia’s armchair. Before she could react, the billionaire mafia boss dropped down onto one knee right on the Persian rug—disregarding his freshly wounded shoulder entirely.
Amelia stared down at him, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. “Dominic... what are you doing?”
Dominic reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jeweler’s box. He popped it open with his left hand, revealing a breathtaking, flawless twenty-carat antique diamond ring surrounded by deep blue sapphires—a family heirloom passed down through generations of Castellano patriarchs.
“Marry me, Amelia,” Dominic said, his dark gray eyes locked onto hers with a fierce, unwavering devotion that stripped away every defense she had left.
“Dominic, you can’t propose to me like this—under threat—just to beat your family’s bylaws!” Amelia protested, though tears were already spilling hot down her cheeks. “You don't have to trap yourself—!”
“It’s not a trap,” Dominic interrupted fiercely, his voice thick with raw emotion. “From the moment I held you in that hotel panic room, you became the only light in my dark, miserable life. I didn't want to drag you into my war, but I realize now I can’t live without you either. Marry me, Amelia. Let me protect you, let me cherish you, and let me be the father my son deserves.”
The attorney and his associates sat frozen in stunned disbelief, watching the most feared man in New York plead for his life on a Persian rug.
Amelia looked down at the ring, then up at the man who had taken a bullet for her without a second thought. All the fear, all the hesitation, and all the walls melted away.
May you like
She reached out, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, and smiled softly.
“Yes,” Amelia whispered. “Yes, Dominic. I’ll marry you.”
