Submitting to my Ex Uncle-Chapter 192

Dominic walked into his study. The air was already heavy with his presence before he even spoke.

The faint scent of leather and luxurious wood scent clung to him, mixing with the sharp polish of the room. Celeste was already there, waiting. Her posture was tight, and her curiosity trembled just beneath her skin.

Dominic had texted her from his office earlier that she should wait for him in his study room the moment she gets back from work. He said he had every information she needed.

Dominic didn’t say a word at first. He simply walked over, leaned down, kissed the crown of her head, and let his lips linger there for the briefest second before straightening.

In his hand, was a thick file, sealed, heavy, and carrying a weight far darker than paper. He dropped it onto the desk right before her.

Dominic’s knuckles cracked as he flexed them. His hands curled into fists once, twice, before he forced them open again. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were darker than she’d seen in weeks.

Celeste looked up at him, her brows pinched, and her throat tightened. His eyes met hers, unblinking, steady, and almost cruel in their intensity. He didn’t speak. He just nodded once.

Then she reached for the file.

Her fingers shook as she peeled it open. The paper scratched faintly against itself as she spread it out across the desk.

And in one swift, merciless breath, her heart dropped.

Elias wasn’t even his name. His pictures were there, but not the name Elias.

Her eyes scanned the pages, reading over the harsh black ink that stripped away every illusion, every smile, and every fragile piece of trust she had managed to build around him. His real name was Michelle Romano. His origin was Naples, Italy.

Affiliations: unconfirmed, but heavy ties.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She flipped further, her pulse hammering harder with every page she turned.

There were photos, fragments of surveillance, half-typed reports, and everything Dominic’s team could pull into this single damning folder.

And then, there was a symbol.

Her breath stuttered as her eyes landed on it. It was a sketch of a tattoo. The tattoo was of a snake curled tightly around a dagger, with its fangs bared, and etched like poison into flesh.

The report beside it was clear: This mark belongs to every man who serves Carlos. Every loyalist, and every killer, with no exceptions.

Celeste swallowed, and her mouth turned dry. She skimmed frantically for Elias... no, Michelle tattoo. There was no tattoo recorded on him.

She exhaled shakily, a whisper of relief flooding her chest. With no tattoo, that meant his intentions toward Amara might be pure, and maybe, he might have a reason to lie about his real name.

However, every hope shattered when she turned the next page. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Her eyes froze, when they landed on a photograph. The photograph was blurred, and zoomed, but unmistakable.

Elias.... No, Michelle was shirtless. His back was turned to the camera. And there, carved into his skin like a brand, like a truth he could never run from, was the same snake curling over the dagger.

Her heart plummeted further than before, crashing into some dark pit. She blinked furiously. Her hand trembled so violently that she almost dropped the file.

Dominic’s hand covered hers instantly. His hold was firm and grounding, sliding over hers. He took her shaking fingers into his palm, pressing them down, anchoring her to him, and back to reality.

His grip was warm but unyielding. He knew she was about to break and refused to let her. Not ever would let that happen.

"Easy, sweetheart. Stay with me," he murmured, though his voice carried no softness. "Stay with me." he repeated, softer now.

Her lips quivered. "That..." she could barely say it, "that doesn’t mean—"

"It means exactly what it looks like."

Celeste jerked her gaze up to him, her eyes were wet, and desperate, begging him to let her cling to hope. "No, it doesn’t. Maybe... maybe it’s old. Maybe it doesn’t mean he’s still—"

"Celeste." Dominic’s voice cut her off. "Don’t blind yourself. Don’t start building excuses for him. You’ve seen it yourself, and you felt it first. Don’t kill your gut feeling because you want to see the good in someone. That mark binds him. And the only man who binds with that symbol is Carlos."

Her chest heaved, but she shook her head weakly, whispering, "He’s not. He can’t lie to Amara this way."

"He’s a mole," Dominic said, every word measured, deliberate, and inescapable. "He’s been planted. Amara was always the target. She’s the closest person to you. That’s how he came in. Through you."

The words sliced her open. Her stomach twisted, and her nails dug into Dominic’s hand even as he refused to let go. She wanted to deny it, and to scream that Elias was more than a name, and more than an inked curse on his back.

Celeste’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, trying to pull air into lungs that didn’t want to breathe. Her body trembled. And still, Dominic held her hand.

His thumb brushed the back of her trembling hand, a silent rhythm that matched the pulse racing in her throat. "Sweetheart," he murmured again, this time softer, with the edge in his tone dimming but not disappearing. "You wanted the truth. And now you have it."

Celeste’s breath hitched. A small broken sound escaped her before she could stop it. Her fingers were still tangled in his, and her knuckles white against his palm. She stared down at the file as if the words on the pages might suddenly rearrange themselves and tell her something else. But they didn’t.

They just sat there, black and heavy and final.

Dominic slowly released her hand, his palm slid away, but only so he could stand. The chair creaked as he straightened to his full height.

He cracked his knuckles once more. It was an unconscious habit when he was holding himself back. And then, very quietly, he parted his arms.

"Come here, baby."

His voice wasn’t a command this time. It was an invitation, low and steady, a sound that wrapped around her like a safety net.

Celeste’s eyes lifted to his. Her body moved before her mind caught up. The papers blurred behind her as she pushed the file away and stood up.

She crossed the small distance between them and stepped right into his chest, her hands fisting in his shirt.

Dominic closed his arms around her the moment she touched him. His arms were like a cage snapping shut, except it wasn’t a cage at all. It was a shelter.

His palm slid up the back of her head, and his fingers threaded through her hair, pressing her gently against his heart until her ear rested over his chest.

Celeste shut her eyes tight against him. The scent of his cologne and the warmth grounded her, and the living sound of his heartbeat filled every inch of her senses. She pressed her face harder into him, trying to shut the file out of her head, and trying to shut the world out.

"I don’t..." she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I had the strong guts, but I don’t want to believe it."

Dominic’s chin came down to rest lightly on the crown of her head. "I know."

"I don’t want Amara to get hurt," she said, her breath trembling.

"That’s why we’re doing this now," he murmured against her hair. "That’s why I’m telling you everything before it’s too late."

Her fingers clutched him tighter, like a child anchoring herself to the one thing that wouldn’t shift beneath her. "Dominic..."

"I’ve got you," he whispered. His thumb rubbed small circles at the base of her skull. It was a touch meant to soothe her. "You’re my little baby. You’re safe here. Nothing is going to touch you."

She swallowed hard, her throat thick. "But Amara..."

"We’ll protect her," Dominic said, a quiet, deadly promise. "We’ll move before he does. That’s why I needed you to see this."

Celeste squeezed her eyes tighter. She let herself breathe in the smell of his shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her mind still spun, but her body began to loosen against him, her heartbeat fell into rhythm with his.

Dominic tilted her head back just enough to see her face. His thumb swept a tear from her cheek. "Look at me."

She did. Her lashes were wet, her lips parted, and her expression was caught between fear and stubbornness.

"You’re stronger than this," he said softly. "And you’re not alone. Not while I’m here."

A shaky sound left her throat. It was her usual half a laugh, and half a sob sound. "You always say that."

"And I always mean it," he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple.

Celeste leaned back into his chest, closing her eyes again. For now, she just needed the sound of his voice, the weight of his arms, and the press of his palm on her back.

For now, she needed to shut her eyes against the file, against the name Michelle Romano, and against the snake curling over the dagger.

Dominic held her tighter. "We’ll handle this, baby," he whispered. "We’ll handle it together."