Adrian's POV:
I stare at my laptop screen, but my mind is anywhere but on it. I don't even think I've fully breathed since yesterday.
Sighing, I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose.
There's a knock on the door.
"Come in."
Luca steps in, shutting the door behind him.
"Boss," he greets, bowing slightly with his hands folded together in front of him.
"Luca," I nod. "What's your report?" I straighten in my seat, leaning my elbows on the desk.
"Last night went as planned. As you had said, there were almost no men on standby during that time. There was minimal contact with Romano's men. One of ours was almost caught, though, but we handled the situation quickly, and as you instructed, no guns were involved.
"We hit the warehouse, dismantled their supply crates, torched the back storage, and destroyed half the shipment they had ready for export."
Good.
"And damage assessment?"
He takes a tablet from the bag in his hand. "Significant enough to send the message, but not enough to escalate to open war."
"Here," he passes me the tablet. "Proof of execution. Photos, timestamps, everything."
I glance at them: flames licking the edges of crates, overturned equipment, shattered glass. A symbolic strike, loud enough for Romano to feel the insult deep in his bones.
A wave of satisfaction floods me. He really overstepped this time around.
I pass the tablet back to him. "We both know the type of man Romano is. Once he learns we're behind the whole thing, which of course is going to happen sooner rather than later," I adjust my watch on my wrist. "He's going to want revenge."
My jaw ticks. Romano is impulsive. All his actions are either driven by ego, anger, or stupidity. Which means I have to anticipate every stupid thing he might try before he tries it.
Elena's image comes to mind.
Merda! I curse under my breath.
"Fuck!"
She's just out there, unaware of the danger that's loitering.
"Do you have any other plans in mind?" Luca asks.
I run a hand along my jaw. "We'll wait for now. We've already struck a chord. Just keep an eye on him and his men. Let me know if anything comes up."
"On it," he answers, stepping back. When he leaves the room, the door clicks shut behind him, and I lean back in my seat again, running both hands through my hair.
I shouldn't have agreed for her to work, but now I'm afraid it's too late. I can't stop her anymore. Not after seeing the way her face lit up when the bakery came into view. All that excitement over a simple bakery?
The way she smiled up at the building did something to my insides. A feeling I can't quite explain, but a good one.
It's the way her little hands tugged on my shirt, beckoning me to lean down so she could speak, and the surprise on her face when I told her I bought the building.
There was absolutely no way in hell I'd let her work in just anywhere. If she wouldn't work in one of my companies, then I'll just keep buying any other one she chooses.
"Cristo! Questa ragazza mi sta facendo uscire di testa," I groan.
"Christ! this girl is making me go out of my head."
I run a hand down my face, then swivel my chair toward the window to stare at the view.
Nothing feels stable anymore.
Not around me, and definitely not with me.
----
Elena's POV
The dough underneath my palms is soft and warm. I sprinkle a little bit of flour on it, then touch it gently, smoothing down all the areas.
"You're doing pretty good for your first time," Camila comes to stand beside me, watching me with hands on her hips and a wide grin on her face.
She's the one I've become the closest to here. She's showed me all the ropes. She's really friendly, and pretty.
"Oh, please," I laugh nervously. "I'm trying not to embarrass myself. And it's not really my first time," I admit.
Her eyes brighten. "Really? Where did you learn?"
"Uhh…" I clear my throat, contemplating if I should answer that or just shove the question aside.
"My mom taught me," I answer truthfully. "When she was alive," I add.
Her face drops instantly. That's it. That's why I didn't want to say it. Because I know that face they make. That look of pity. And I hate it.
"I'm so sorry," she drops her hands from her hips.
"It's fine," I say. "There's no need to apologize. It's been a while, after all."
The memory of us in the kitchen working on a meal together is still somewhat fresh in my memory.
"Anytime she'd cook," I continue with a small smile. "She'd always call me to join her. We'd wash our hands and then she'd give me my own little piece of dough to practice on." I laugh softly, remembering how funny it was that time.
"Your mom sounds cool," she nudges me on the shoulder and sends me a comforting smile.
"She was," I breathe.
"Uhhh… so! Where are you from?" she changes the subject, which I appreciate her for.
"Oh, I'm Russian," I answer and sprinkle some more flour on the dough.
"Really? "She chimes. "You don't have an accent, though."
"Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm glad I don't have one, though. I wouldn't want everyone being able to guess or judge me because of an accent."
"True," she nods, before walking closer and laying out her own dough.
"So…" she says casually, "How'd you meet Mr. Moretti?"
And there it is. I knew she was going to ask me eventually. I just dreaded the moment.
I hesitate, dusting my hands with flour.
"It's uhh… complicated."
"Try me," she goads.
I give her a look, hoping she'll let the conversation pass. "I don't know," I chuckle nervously.
"It's fine," she smiles.
"He's handsome, though," she goes on lightly. "Like… insanely hot. No offense, though."
I can't help the pit that forms in my stomach. She probably doesn't mean anything by it, but I just hate that other people find him hot.
"Uh… yeah… he's okay, I guess," I huff out a small, awkward laugh.
"What do you mean by 'you guess'?" She rolls her eyes at me. "You have eyes, don't you? I mean, you're married to the man, so…"
She stops all of a sudden, pondering on something.
"You guys get along, don't you?" She brings her voice down to a whisper.
Another complicated question.
"We do." I don't know if that's a lie or not, but she doesn't have to know that.
"Mmm," she nods, still pressing gently on her own dough.
"Have you guys done it yet?"
I choke on my own saliva.
"What?" I croak. "No!" I rush out.
A laugh escapes her. "Why not? I mean, the man's hot. If I were you, I'd take a snack of that cookie at least three times a day."
A blush creeps to my cheek, as an image of Adrian and I splayed out on the bed comes to mind. I shake my head, clearing such thoughts out.
Somehow, I find her interest in my marriage a bit odd, but I just play it out as genuine curiosity. And I don't like the way she talks about Adrian, either. It unsettles me for some reason, but I can't tell her that, of course. I just started working here. I don't want to come off as rude so soon. And after all, she didn't lie. The man is fine.
"We're just not ready yet. We've not been married for long, after all," I blurt out.
"If you say so," she smiles coyly.
"Mm." I force my attention back to what's in front of me, ignoring all of Adrian's shirtless images trying to sneak in.
An hour passes. Then two, then three.
By the end of the day, I feel like I've been standing for twenty hours straight. But still, I'm not complaining.
I bid goodbye to my fellow staff, then head outside. I find Marcus waiting already.
He greets me whilst pulling the door open for me.
The ride home is quiet but comfortable. I stare at the city lights blurring past the window, my heart warm with something I can't name.
When we pull into the driveway, I step out and thank Marcus before heading inside.
The house is silent. I close the door behind me, and when I lift my head up again, I'm pleasantly surprised.
Adrian is walking down the stairs. Phone in one hand, typing away, and the other in his pocket. His tie hangs around his neck loosely, and his sleeves are folded up his arms.
Camila's words filter my mind, warmth spreads through me, and I close my eyes, forcing myself together.
I clear my throat before I speak.
"Uhh… Adrian. You're home early?" It's more like a question.
"Mmm. Meetings were canceled," he says, taking a turn to the kitchen, still not looking up at me.
"Oh," I breathe.
I follow him into the kitchen. He takes a seat on the counter while I move to fill a glass with water.
When I turn back, his eyes are on me, and all of a sudden, the room feels so hot. I force the glass to my lips, gulping the contents down.
Adrian's eyes dart to my throat as it bobs up and down. His tongue darts out, sliding along his bottom lip, and something about that small action sends heat straight to my core.
His eyes go up to my face, and when he speaks, his voice comes out a little throaty.
"How was work?"
I'm a little surprised he's asking me that.
"It was good," I reply, smiling lightly. "Really good, actually."
He nods once. A tight nod.
"And did you have dinner?" he asks.
"Uh… yeah. At the bakery."
Another sharp nod.
Silence stretches between us, awkward but charged. Then he rises to his feet.
"I'll be up in my room."
Before I can say anything, he's gone already.
I let out an exasperated sigh and down the water.
Tomorrow is another day.