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.

My instincts screamed at me to leave. To get out of there immediately before things escalated further. But before I could even take a step back, Adriana moved.

Fast.

She snatched the cup of tea straight out of my hands.

Before I could react, she tilted it and poured it over her own head.

The liquid splashed down her hair, soaking through the strands and dripping over her face, her neck, her blouse. It wasn't hot anymore, the tea long gone cold, but that didn't matter. The effect was exactly what she wanted.

Then, without hesitation, she slammed the ceramic cup onto the ground.

Right at my feet.

It shattered instantly.

The sharp crack echoed through the room as fragments of porcelain exploded outward. Several pieces skidded across the floor, a few slicing lightly into my ankles.

A sharp sting followed, but I barely registered it.

Adriana stood there, drenched, her hair clinging to her face in messy strands, her blouse soaked and sticking to her skin. She looked utterly disheveled.

Pitiful.

Humiliated.

Perfect.

This woman wasn't just ruthless. She was terrifying.

Before I could move past her, she stepped forward, blocking my path completely.

And then she screamed.

"Elena! What are you doing?! Why would you hurt me like this?!"

Her voice was high, shrill, and filled with raw, trembling emotion.

It carried. Through the front office, past the half-open doors where Bellomo associates nursed their morning espressos, into the back rooms where soldiers and runners kept their heads down and their ears open. Within seconds, the social club began to stir. Doors opened. Chairs scraped. People rushed in from every direction, drawn by the commotion.

But Adriana wasn't done.

Not even close.

She picked up her coffee, her hand trembling just enough to make it look real, and splashed it across her own chest.

The dark liquid spread quickly across the fabric, staining it unevenly.

Then, just like the night before, she lifted her hand to her neck and began scratching. Hard.

Red marks bloomed instantly across her skin, raw and irritated, as if someone had grabbed her violently.

I stood there, watching.

Something inside me finally snapped.

Enough.

Before I could think it through, before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped her.

Hard.

The sound rang out, sharp and clear.

Everything went silent. The kind of silence that only falls in a place run by men who understand violence. The kind where nobody breathes until they know whose side to take.

And that was the exact moment Salvatore walked in.

He saw everything.

Or at least, what it looked like.

Me, standing there, upright, composed.

And Adriana, soaked, disheveled, trembling, like a fragile creature that had just been attacked.

There wasn't even a second of hesitation.

His hand came down across my face.

The force sent my head jerking to the side, a sharp sting blooming across my cheek.

"Elena!" he snapped, his voice cold with anger. "If you don't want to be here anymore, then get the hell out."

He didn't wait for a response.

Still visibly furious, he shoved me aside, his shoulder hitting mine hard enough to make me lose my balance. Then, without another glance in my direction, he bent down, scooped Adriana up into his arms.

A perfect bridal carry.

Like a man rescuing someone who needed saving.

And carried her straight into his office. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, and the silver lighter he'd left on the edge of his desk didn't so much as rattle. It just sat there, still.

I staggered back from the force of his shove, my body colliding with the edge of a nearby desk. Pain shot up my spine instantly, sharp and blinding. My vision blurred for a second as tears welled up in my eyes.

But I didn't cry.

I just stood there.

The front-operation overseer, who had been hesitating over my severance papers just minutes ago, now stepped forward without a word. His expression had changed completely.

He picked up the document.

Signed it.

Stamped it.

Approved.

No questions asked. No delay.

Salvatore didn't even come out. He didn't look at the form. Didn't ask anything. Someone brought it into his office, and while he was busy comforting Adriana, he scribbled his signature across the page without even glancing at it.

Then tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

The finance people moved quickly after that.

Too quickly.

Always eager to stay on the good side of whoever held power in the Family's front operation, they rushed to process my final pay, efficiency driven not by professionalism but by their desire to please the Don's favorite.

I still had work to finish. A stack of client materials from the hotel accounts that needed to be handed over properly. So I sat down, sorted everything, organized the files carefully, and prepared to send them to Salvatore.

But the moment I tried to log into my account, access denied.

I tried again.

Nothing.

My account had already been deleted. Completely wiped.

There was only one person who had the authority to do that.

Salvatore.

I paused for a second, staring at the screen.

Then I pulled out my phone.

I sent him a message.

No response.

I called.

The call didn't even go through.

Blocked.

Messenger.

Blocked.

Everything. Every possible way of reaching him, gone.

I stood there for a moment, completely still.

Stunned.

But only for a moment.

Then I exhaled slowly.

I smoothed the edge of my skirt until the crease was sharper than anything I could bring myself to say.

Picked up my bag. Packed the last of my things. Cleared every trace of myself from what I could still access in the system.

And walked out.

No hesitation.

No looking back.

Past the associates who wouldn't meet my eyes. Past the corridor where a soldier held the door open for me with the careful neutrality of a man who had already chosen whose name to forget. Past the front entrance of the Bellomo social club, where the awning cast its shadow over the sidewalk like a territory line.

I didn't go home.

I went straight to the airport.