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.