Dom Rinaldi

It had been over a month since the charity gala and in that time Dom had managed to do a low key soft launch of his restaurant. It had been busy but not hectic and he was building up to the official launch. He stood in the kitchen mulling over the new menu just as he heard his sous chef clocking out. 11pm. It was an early night in his eyes but burn out was a lesson he learned the hard way. He packed up and turned to exit out the front door instead of the service exit. As he opened the door he turned around when he heard a voice.

Dom glanced up from the prep list in his hand, catching Christian’s curiosity with a flicker of interest. The scent of roasted tomatoes still lingered in the air from a sauce test gone right that night. “Soon,” he said, voice low but certain. “Couple more hoops to jump through.”

Dom offered a rare smile, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face. “That means a lot, Millie. Thank you. I’ll probably take you up on that offer—there’s always something that needs lifting, fixing, or figuring out.” He leaned back a little, watching her as she ordered. “Red wine, huh? Still sticking to the classics.”

millie didn't mind helping someone out, especially someone who was trying to get things started. after all, she knew how hard it was to get a place up and running. so, if she could be there for one of her friends then she was all for it. "that's who i am. i'm a wine girl. what about you? what's your usual poison?" she was curious to know that he normally enjoyed as far as alcohol went.

Dom gave a half-smile, the kind that tugged at one side of his mouth but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wine girl, huh? Makes sense. You’ve got that whole classy-but-can-still-handle-her-own vibe.” He leaned back slightly, fingers curling around his glass. “Usually whiskey. Neat. But I’ll drink just about anything that doesn’t come with a paper umbrella or taste like a melted popsicle.”

Dom let out a quiet, low laugh, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth. He shifted his weight against the bar, fingers absently turning the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “Didn’t realize I had a tell,” he mused, voice edged with dry amusement. “But if I look defeated, guess that means I walked in here thinking it’d be different.” He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the room—polished floors, murmured conversations, the scent of expensive perfume mixing with aged whiskey. Same scene, different night.

“a lot of people walk into this place thinking it would be different,” seong says as he glances over at dom, noticing how he seems to carry himself. he has the confidence but it seems like his confidence has been defeated one to many times in a row. he gets that, life likes to throw punches at you and at the moment he was glad that life decided to leave him alone right now aside from one person in his life that he’d rather avoid tonight. he takes a sip of his old fashion at the nod. “both?” he suggests. not really sure why he was here but he didn’t want to leave this place extremely drunk like some of the young people were already. “i mean if that’s not an acceptable answer, it is my answer.” he says with a shrug. “a friend had to drag me to come out tonight. why are you here if you knew you weren’t going to have a good time?”

Dom swirled the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly under the low thrum of music and too-loud laughter echoing off the Civic centre’s walls. Everything about the event screamed polished excess—polite smiles hiding sharp teeth, designer gowns brushing past whispered threats. Dom felt out of place in his rolled sleeves and quiet silence, but that was nothing new. He glanced sideways at Seong, catching the tail end of his question. “Wasn’t planning on having a good time,” he said, voice low, rough like gravel soaked in something softer. “Didn’t figure that was on the menu tonight.”

Dom exhaled slowly, his fingers idly rolling the glass against the bar’s polished surface. “Because sending a gift and skipping the rest doesn’t buy you much in a place like this,” he said, tone measured. “People remember who bothers to show up. And if you want to stay in the game, you make sure they see you.” His gaze flicked to the black bag in his hand, then back to her. “Besides, some doors only open if you shake the right hands first.”

Dom set the bag down gently on the bar, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might’ve passed for a smirk if it didn’t look so tired. “You always did have a knack for cutting through the noise, Sienna.”

He smiled warmly at his old friend, “Millie,” he greeted her with a small nod and polite smile. “It’s coming…” he said softly as a frown creased his brow. He knew the importance of this event, but he really did need to work on his plans. “..coming along well.”

Dom offered a rare smile, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face. “That means a lot, Millie. Thank you. I’ll probably take you up on that offer—there’s always something that needs lifting, fixing, or figuring out.” He leaned back a little, watching her as she ordered. “Red wine, huh? Still sticking to the classics.”

CLOSED STARTER FOR @restlesspalate FT. CHRISTIAN & DOMINIC!!

It had been over a month since the charity gala and in that time Dom had managed to do a low key soft launch of his restaurant. It had been busy but not hectic and he was building up to the official launch. He stood in the kitchen mulling over the new menu just as he heard his sous chef clocking out. 11pm. It was an early night in his eyes but burn out was a lesson he learned the hard way. He packed up and turned to exit out the front door instead of the service exit. As he opened the door he turned around when he heard a voice.

Dom let the words settle between them, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. He’d been around enough sharp-eyed men to recognize when he was being weighed, measured. “Trouble’s like fire in a kitchen,” he said, voice low, steady. “Doesn’t matter if you started it or just walked in at the wrong time—you’re still gonna get burned if you don’t know how to move.” He took a slow sip, gaze flicking over the restless crowd before returning to Grant. “But you’re right. Timing’s everything.”

Dom let the weight of Grant’s words settle, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t shift like a man unsure of his footing. The low hum of the bar, the distant clink of glass against wood, all faded into the background. He took his time with his drink, rolling the whiskey over his tongue before setting the glass down with quiet finality.

Dom’s gaze flicked to the bag at Grant’s insistence, but he didn’t move to open it. His lips twitched with a barely contained smirk, leaning against the bar as he took another sip of his drink. “You know how it goes. Gotta play by the rules if you want to stay in the game,” he said with a shrug, his voice low but steady. He made a point of not letting the tension in the room show—this wasn’t his first charity event or his first time in a town like Devil’s Junction. He was used to the undercurrent of danger.

Dom let the words settle between them, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. He’d been around enough sharp-eyed men to recognize when he was being weighed, measured. “Trouble’s like fire in a kitchen,” he said, voice low, steady. “Doesn’t matter if you started it or just walked in at the wrong time—you’re still gonna get burned if you don’t know how to move.” He took a slow sip, gaze flicking over the restless crowd before returning to Grant. “But you’re right. Timing’s everything.”

Dom took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking over the crowd, scanning the sea of faces in front of him. There was something about the way everyone moved—carefully calculated steps, smiles too rehearsed to be genuine. He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, it’s always the same show,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge of dry amusement. “Charity’s just the front for all the power plays. Same games, different crowd.” He gestured subtly with his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he turned his gaze back to her. “I’m not here for the pleasantries or the overpriced wine either. Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d be somewhere else.”

Sienna’s gaze drifted to the gift bag in his hand, her head tilting slightly. “If you’d rather be somewhere else, why not just send the gift and skip the whole song and dance?” Her voice was softer this time, less teasing, more curious. “If you’re here without a choice… what’s keeping you?”

Dom exhaled slowly, his fingers idly rolling the glass against the bar’s polished surface. “Because sending a gift and skipping the rest doesn’t buy you much in a place like this,” he said, tone measured. “People remember who bothers to show up. And if you want to stay in the game, you make sure they see you.” His gaze flicked to the black bag in his hand, then back to her. “Besides, some doors only open if you shake the right hands first.”

Dominic’s gaze flickered to her with a touch of amusement, the slightest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t the type to offer a response too quickly, but her question had a certain edge to it that made him think for a moment before answering.

Sienna let out a soft, knowing hum, her gaze sweeping over the ballroom before settling back on Dominic. "Oh, it's always a spectacle. Even when it's for a good cause." Her voice carried an edge of amusement, but there was something else beneath it—an understanding of the way these things worked. Charity was always a convenient excuse for power plays and veiled negotiations, for alliances built over champagne glasses. Her eyes flicked to the bag in his hand. "I take it you’re not here just for the small talk and overpriced wine, then?" A teasing lilt coloured her words, but there was curiosity in the way she studied him. He didn’t seem like the type to throw himself into social gatherings just for the sake of it.

Dom took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking over the crowd, scanning the sea of faces in front of him. There was something about the way everyone moved—carefully calculated steps, smiles too rehearsed to be genuine. He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, it’s always the same show,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge of dry amusement. “Charity’s just the front for all the power plays. Same games, different crowd.” He gestured subtly with his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he turned his gaze back to her. “I’m not here for the pleasantries or the overpriced wine either. Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d be somewhere else.”

Dom let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tipping his glass slightly in Grant’s direction before taking a sip. “Can’t argue with survival tactics,” he said, the whiskey burning just enough to keep him anchored in a room that still felt like someone else’s world.

Dom’s gaze flicked to the bag at Grant’s insistence, but he didn’t move to open it. His lips twitched with a barely contained smirk, leaning against the bar as he took another sip of his drink. “You know how it goes. Gotta play by the rules if you want to stay in the game,” he said with a shrug, his voice low but steady. He made a point of not letting the tension in the room show—this wasn’t his first charity event or his first time in a town like Devil’s Junction. He was used to the undercurrent of danger.

Open to all

seong was standing by himself, away from nazli and away from everyone else, for once he just wanted to be by himself as he let himself drown in his sorrows of the old fashioned he had been nursing since he got here. he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to drink tonight despite the open bar that was available. he would like to still have his head working properly by the end of the night to be quite honest. he wouldn’t want to go home with anyone else that wasn’t expected for the evening. “you look like a sad puppy dog tonight.” seong says, not even sure why he decided to make conversation but perhaps the old-fashioned was making him be more lively as he leans against the bar that was once again less crowded than just seconds ago. “why do you look so defeated once you walked into this place?” he was a curious cat, one might say

Dom let out a quiet, low laugh, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth. He shifted his weight against the bar, fingers absently turning the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “Didn’t realize I had a tell,” he mused, voice edged with dry amusement. “But if I look defeated, guess that means I walked in here thinking it’d be different.” He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the room—polished floors, murmured conversations, the scent of expensive perfume mixing with aged whiskey. Same scene, different night.

He smiled warmly at his old friend, “Millie,” he greeted her with a small nod and polite smile. “It’s coming…” he said softly as a frown creased his brow. He knew the importance of this event, but he really did need to work on his plans. “..coming along well.”

Dom huffed a quiet laugh, tipping his glass slightly in her direction. “Depends what you mean by ‘new things.’” His tone was dry, amused, but nonchalant. “Haven’t exactly been keeping track, but I’ve been… occupied.” He took a slow sip, letting the implication settle—nothing serious, nothing worth dissecting, just enough to take the edge off long nights and longer weeks.

Dominic barely glanced at Grant, the impact registering more as an afterthought than an offense. He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, the movement slow, deliberate—less about acknowledging the remark and more about deciding if it was worth engaging.

Grant sized the guy up. He hadn't backed down. Interesting. "Both," he said, taking another look at the whiskey selection. "Always maximize an open bar opportunity … basic survival tactic." The charity angle was bullshit, but the booze was real. He studied the man's face. Sharp eyes. Not easily intimidated. "Money's never just going one place in this town." Grant gestured toward the Sanchez family members circulating through the room. "They'll skim enough off the top to make tonight worth their while … rest might actually help rebuild that casino." The Valentine's Day explosion at the Grand Royale was still fresh. Everyone knew Kang's death had created a power vacuum. Grant wondered which family would try to fill it first. "You just passing through or you got business in Devil's Junction?" he asked. Something about this guy didn't fit. Too composed. Too observant. "Not exactly a tourist destination these days."

Dom let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tipping his glass slightly in Grant’s direction before taking a sip. “Can’t argue with survival tactics,” he said, the whiskey burning just enough to keep him anchored in a room that still felt like someone else’s world.

Open to all

Dominic barely glanced at Grant, the impact registering more as an afterthought than an offense. He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, the movement slow, deliberate—less about acknowledging the remark and more about deciding if it was worth engaging.

Open to all

Sienna barely had time to register the sharp nudge to her shoulder before she turned, steadying herself with practiced ease. The Civic Centre was packed, bodies moving in elegant waves, all draped in silk and expensive cologne, but she had a feeling this wasn’t just another careless bump in the crowd. She glanced up, eyes catching on the man beside her—Dominic, if she remembered right. A face that had started showing up more often in certain circles.

Dominic’s gaze flickered to her with a touch of amusement, the slightest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t the type to offer a response too quickly, but her question had a certain edge to it that made him think for a moment before answering.