Salvatore glanced around the room, making sure no one else was there. Even in a clinic that answered only to his Family, old habits held. Only then did his expression soften a fraction, his voice dropping lower.
"Elena," he said, almost gently, "these places are full of people. And whispers travel." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We can't risk anyone seeing us like this."
Like this.
What we were had to stay hidden. Even now. Omertà didn't just govern secrets about blood and money. It governed me.
"Just rest," he continued. "Focus on recovering. Once you're home, I'll make it up to you."
I looked at him, then gave a small, composed smile.
"Thank you… boss."
I used to call him that as a joke, a teasing nickname when we were alone. Back then, it had been playful, intimate, filled with something unspoken between us.
Now, it felt completely different.
Cold.
Distant.
Like a wall had been built between us, brick by brick, until there was nothing left to cross.
He frowned slightly. He noticed it.
Of course he did.
Just as he was about to say something else, the door opened again and the doctor walked in for a routine check.
In an instant, Salvatore changed.