[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.