I didn't respond.

She leaned in even closer to him, her arm grazing his as if it was completely natural, then glanced sideways at me with a subtle, almost playful look.

"Salvatore," she said lightly, "aren't you going to introduce her? She's…"

Salvatore's expression stiffened instantly.

It was clear he hadn't expected this.

His eyes flickered toward me, a brief flash of unease, almost panic, before he forced himself to stay composed. The lighter went still in his hand.

For a second, I almost laughed.

"Elena Vitale," I said before he could speak, my tone calm and even. "I work at Mr. Bellomo's front office. The restaurant was full, so we're just sharing a table."

His head snapped toward me.

That flicker of panic disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by visible relief. He let out a breath, then nodded quickly. The lighter resumed its slow rotation.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "This is Elena. One of my associates."

Adriana smiled slowly.

The kind of smile a cat gives when it already has its prey pinned beneath its paw.

"Ms. Vitale must be very capable, then," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I've never seen Salvatore sit at the same table with any woman besides me."

Her tone was light, but every word carried weight.

Then she placed her phone casually beside her wine glass, nudging it forward just enough to be seen. It looked accidental.

But it wasn't.

I caught a glimpse of the screen.

Her profile picture.

It matched Salvatore's.

A couple photo.

Even their outfits today were coordinated. Same tones, same palette, down to the smallest details like their watches. Everything was deliberate, curated, expensive. The kind of matched presentation that in this world meant more than romance. It meant claim. It meant territory.

Under the warm lighting of the restaurant, they looked perfect.

Like a portrait of a Don and his donna.

I lowered my gaze, set my chopsticks down carefully, and stood up.

I didn't want to stay.

Before I could take a step, Adriana reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers were slender, her nails long and perfectly manicured.

They dug into my skin just enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark, but hidden from Salvatore's line of sight.

"Miss Vitale," she said softly, her voice laced with feigned concern, "you're leaving already? Did I say something wrong?"

Her eyes shimmered, almost as if she were genuinely apologetic.

"Let me apologize, okay?"

I didn't have the patience for this.

Didn't have the energy to play along with someone pretending to be all sweetness and innocence.

I pulled my hand back sharply, breaking free from her grip.

Just as I lowered my eyes to check my wrist, I saw it: thin red marks where her nails had dug in, one of them already starting to bead with blood.

Before I could even process it, everything happened in an instant.

Adriana suddenly lifted her own hand and swung it outward.

A loud smack echoed through the restaurant.

A little boy standing nearby was struck across the face.

His cry broke out immediately, sharp and piercing as he clutched his cheek, tears spilling down as he began sobbing uncontrollably. Two fingers hooked into the hem of his sweater, twisting the fabric tight, and he couldn't look up.

The entire room went quiet for a split second. The Sinatra record between tracks. The clink of silverware stopping at three separate tables. A stillness that in any Family-friendly place meant someone important was watching.

Adriana's expression changed just as quickly.

Her face turned pale, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock.

"Oh no!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Salvatore was already on his feet.

He rushed over, apologizing repeatedly to the child's parents, his tone urgent and sincere. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and transferred money, trying to smooth things over as quickly as possible. The Don handling civilians. Keeping the peace in a public venue where the Family name floated above every transaction like cigar smoke.

But then the little boy suddenly pointed straight at me.

"It was her!" he cried between sobs. "She grabbed that lady's hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!"

Every gaze in the restaurant shifted.

All at once.

Adriana turned to me slowly, her eyes filling with hurt, her expression trembling just enough to look real. Her fingers drifted to the pearl at her throat again, holding it like a woman afraid of being struck next.

"Miss Vitale…" she said softly, her voice fragile, "I don't know what I did to upset you."

She lowered her gaze slightly, like she was holding back tears.

"If you have a problem with me, please… just take it out on me. Don't drag innocent people into this…"

Whispers began to spread.

Low voices. Judging. Speculating.

I could feel it.

The weight of every stare pressing against my back. In a place like this, where half the room owed something to the Bellomo name, public opinion wasn't just opinion. It was verdict.

Salvatore turned toward me, his expression darkening instantly.

"What are you standing there for?" he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Apologize. Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

"Stop making a scene."

Like I was the problem.

Like I was the one who had embarrassed him.

Like I was the one who didn't belong.

Backed by the murmured encouragement of the adults around him, the little boy broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go.

"Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in.

The more gently Adriana crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness.

"Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away.

I stood there, frozen.

I couldn't exactly push a child off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't defend myself without looking like the villain they already believed I was.

So I swallowed everything.

Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?"

The boy finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet.

But Salvatore wasn't satisfied.

He didn't notice the blood slowly seeping from the bite mark. Didn't notice the way my fingers trembled slightly from the pain. Didn't even glance at me properly.

All he cared about was salvaging someone else's dignity.

He reached out and grabbed my arm just as I turned to leave.

"Elena," he said sharply, his grip tightening. "Apologize. To Adriana."

Adriana immediately put on that same gentle, self-effacing expression, tugging lightly at his sleeve as if trying to stop him. One finger drifted to the pearl at her throat and touched it, barely, the way someone checks a pin before walking into a room full of cameras.

"Salvatore, it's fine," she said softly. "Really, it's not a big deal. I'm okay." She paused, lowering her gaze with perfect timing. "It's just the little boy… he got hurt, and he's probably scared."

Her words were modest.

Her tone was forgiving.

And yet, they only made everything worse.

Salvatore's attention shifted instantly.

His eyes dropped to the back of her hand, where a faint red mark had formed—barely noticeable, nothing compared to the blood on mine.

But to him, it was everything.

Something in his expression softened, almost pained.

Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me.

Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot soup that had just been set on the table.

The heat hit me instantly.

The soup wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. At least sixty degrees, maybe more. The broth soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like an electric current.

My entire body jerked.

A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.

The pain was unbearable.

It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. A Don's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate.

"Elena, what is wrong with you?" Salvatore hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson."

My vision blurred slightly from the pain.

Still, I looked up at him.

"Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached.

I already knew the answer.

But I still asked.

Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet.

Around us, the whispers grew louder. The other diners at the Family-friendly trattoria weren't even pretending to look away anymore.

"Wait… so which one is his actual woman?"

"Are you blind? Obviously the one he's protecting."

"Yeah, look at them. Matching everything, couple photos on their phones… it's obvious."

Their voices weren't even hushed anymore.

Their gazes shifted toward me, heavy with something worse than judgment.

Pity.

"Hey, man, enough is enough," someone at a nearby table muttered. "Another few seconds and you're going to boil her hand off."

Only then did Salvatore hesitate.

I stood there, my lips pale, my body still trembling slightly from the pain, and yet, somehow, I was smiling.

A faint, fragile smile.

I looked straight at him.

And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Unease.

Just for a moment.

Then he let go.

He released my hand as if nothing had happened, reached for Adriana instead, and took her by the arm.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

And just like that, he walked away with her.

Didn't look back.

Didn't say another word.

When I got home, the apartment felt colder than usual. The hallway was dark, the deadbolt still set from the inside the way he always left it, as though security mattered more than the person locked within.

A notification popped up on my phone.

He had ordered a box of burn ointment for me through a delivery service.

I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message that came with it.

[Elena, please stop being so sensitive and antagonizing Adriana. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. I hope you'll get along from now on.]

I let out a quiet breath.

So that was it.

That was his solution.

A box of burn cream in exchange for silence.

For obedience.

For pretending nothing had happened.

For accepting that he would keep both of us in his life, as if we were things he could arrange however he pleased.

I didn't reply.

I applied the ointment silently, the coolness stinging slightly against the burned skin, then lay down in bed. Through the wall I could hear the faint tick of the security panel cycling through its nightly check. The apartment was built for the Don's convenience, wired for his safety. Not for mine.

He didn't come home that night.

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the front office of the Bellomo club, I could feel it.

The change.

Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Conversations cut off the second I got close, only to resume in hushed whispers the moment I passed. The hostesses. The floor runners. Even the bartender who usually nodded good morning wouldn't look at me.

It felt like walking into a hive that had been violently shaken.

As I sat down at my desk, Gianna leaned over almost immediately, the corner of her order pad curling between her fingers as she twisted it tight.

"Elena… people are saying you tried to get with the Boss," she whispered. "And his woman caught you in the act. It's all over the group chats."

She slid her phone toward me.

A video was playing.

The restaurant scene from last night.

Someone had recorded everything.

At some point during the chaos, a new group chat had been created just to spread it. Message after message scrolled past—speculation, accusations, mockery. Whispers on the floor made permanent with screenshots.

They painted me as someone who tried to sleep her way into the Family's good graces and got exposed.

I stared at the screen, my expression calm, even as something inside me went completely still.

Before I could process it further, the front doors opened.

Salvatore walked in.

With Adriana right beside him.

The silver lighter was moving across his knuckles in that slow, idle rhythm, catching the overhead light once, twice.

"Everyone," he said, his voice clear and authoritative, "let me introduce our new front-operation overseer. Adriana."

So that was what he meant.

When he said we would be seeing a lot of each other.

He hadn't been exaggerating.

He had brought her directly into the Family's front operation.

As my superior.

The room fell silent.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

For the past few weeks, ever since the previous overseer severed ties and disappeared upstate, I had been the one handling most of the responsibilities. Everyone assumed I would move up in the ranks.

It seemed obvious.

Until now.

Salvatore added Adriana to the internal chat right there in front of everyone. Almost immediately, both of them sent messages.

Their profile pictures appeared side by side.

Matching.

A couple photo.

Smiling.

Perfect.

The implication couldn't have been clearer.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of whispers and distracted glances. No one was really working. Everyone was watching.

Talking.

Judging.

But I didn't care anymore.

I was leaving.

Before lunch, I drafted my letter severing ties and sent it through the proper channels.

With nothing left tying me here, I stood up and walked to the back room.

I needed something warm. Something simple.

I made myself a cup of honey grapefruit tea, watching the steam rise slowly, the scent soft and calming. Sweet. Light. Nothing like the bitterness I had just left behind.

I had barely taken two sips when the door opened again.

Adriana walked in like she owned the place.

Confident. Unhurried.

She made herself a coffee, then walked over and sat down right beside me, crossing her legs elegantly as if she were settling into a throne that had always been hers.

Her presence filled the room.

Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth and sweet, but underneath it, there was something sharp.

"Elena," she said, her lips curving slightly, "I know you've been Salvatore's little secret for five years."

She tilted her head, studying me.

"But I'm his public donna now."

There was a pause.

"I'm back," she continued softly, "and it's time for the mistress to know when to leave."

Her smile didn't waver.

"As long as you keep your mouth shut like you always have," she added lightly, "I won't make things harder for you."

The threat was gentle.

Polite.

But unmistakable.

As she spoke, Adriana casually unlocked her phone and tapped on a voice message, holding it just close enough for me to hear.

The recording played.

It was the little boy from yesterday.

His voice was bright, sweet in that practiced, childish way, but there was something smug underneath it, something that didn't belong to innocence at all.

"Auntie Adriana, wasn't I awesome? Don't forget the Transformers toy you promised me!"

The message ended with a soft click.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

Every detail. Every movement. Every perfectly timed reaction from last night.

It hadn't been an accident.

None of it had.