Chapter 79

Adrian's POV

The taste of Anna's kiss lingered as I sat in my office, the morning's encounter replaying in my mind. Her initial resistance melting into surrender, then that quick retreat - leaving me hungry for more. My fingers drummed restlessly on the desk as I checked my phone again. No messages from her since breakfast.

The sun was setting when I made my decision. If Anna wouldn't come to me, I'd go to her world. The Tesla purred to life as I headed toward North Beach, toward the heart of what made her who she was - her family's restaurant, Bella Cucina.

The modest storefront was a far cry from Silicon Valley's sleek facades. Through the window, I spotted Sarah - Anna's mother - alone in the nearly empty dining room. She had Anna's determined grace, that same fierce pride even as exhaustion lined her face. This was the foundation of Anna's strength, and it was crumbling.

The bell chimed as I entered, and Sarah looked up, her eyes—so like Anna's—widening in recognition.

"Welcome to Bella Cucina," she said, wiping her hands on her apron, voice carrying a tired lilt. "Just one tonight?"

"Yes, thank you." I offered my hand, steadying my tone. "Adrian Salvatore."

She paused, recognition flaring. "Salvatore? As in…"

"Anna's boss," I said, a smile softening the edge she'd likely heard of.

Her grip was firm, calluses rough—years etched into her palms. "Sarah Rose. Anna's mentioned you." Her gaze probed, suggesting those mentions weren't all kind. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," I said, scanning the empty tables. "I came for the food she raves about."

Sarah's smile faltered, not reaching her eyes. "Of course. We're… quiet tonight."

She led me to a corner table, the menu's worn edges brushing my fingers—a space worn by love, barely clinging on. I'd seen Anna's fire; here was its source, fraying after giving too much.

"Your daughter might kill me for this," I said as Sarah poured water, her hands steady despite a faint tremble.

She laughed—a sound like Anna's that twisted something in my chest, warm and sharp. "She's protective. Takes it from me."

"That bruise—" My voice edged, heat rising unbidden.

Sarah's face tightened, steel flashing. "Family trouble. My sister-in-law's got a temper."

"So does Anna." Pride flared—her defiance, her fight, stoking a fire I couldn't tame.

"She stood up for me," Sarah said, awe softening her tone. "Always has."

The pasta hit the table—handmade, sauce bold, shaming every overpriced plate I'd known. I spoke of Anna's sharp mind at Next Robotics, watching Sarah's eyes glow—each word a thread pulling me closer to her world.

A group passed the window, peering in, then moved on. An idea sparked. I stepped aside, phone in hand.

"William," I said, voice low, "get the senior team to Bella Cucina—North Beach, now. Call Parker at TechCrunch—Next Robotics leadership's dining at a gem. He'll want it."

Sarah returned with espresso as I pocketed the phone. "Hope you don't mind," I said, meeting her gaze, "but my team's coming. Best Italian in the city deserves a crowd."

Her eyes widened. "Your team? We're not ready—"

"They'll take what's here," I grinned. "Better than the slop we usually get."

Within thirty minutes, black cars lined the street—William first, then execs, developers, Parker with his camera trailing. Curious onlookers gathered, drawn by the tech elite flooding this quiet spot.

"What's this?" Sarah asked, voice tight as the room hummed alive.

"Good food travels fast," I said, masking the nudge I'd given it.

"It's unreal," she murmured, seating a group, the place pulsing with energy.

"Just word of mouth," I replied, shrugging off the orchestration.

I paid—standard, no flash—and stood to leave when the door opened. Anna froze there, eyes darting from the crowd to me—shock melting into fire that set my blood racing.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice low as she closed in, her defiance a spark I craved.

"Eating," I said, stepping near—her flush climbing her neck, unraveling me. "Your mom's pasta's unreal."

"Adrian—" My name slipped from her, a warning laced with heat, sending a shiver down my spine.

"No money," I said, quiet, watching her eyes narrow. "No handouts—just dinner."

She glanced at her phone—my post blazing online—and her gaze softened as Sarah laughed with customers, life flooding back. "You did this—for her? For me?"

"Is it working?" I murmured, my hand brushing hers—electric where our skin met, her stillness stoking the fire in me.

"Maybe," she whispered, leaning closer—her breath grazing my jaw, vanilla and her scent wrapping me tight. "But it doesn't fix the rest."

"Don't need it to," I said, fingers hovering near her fading bruise—aching to touch, holding back for her. "I want your wars, Anna—right beside you."

Her eyes flickered—a wall cracking—then snapped back as Sarah neared. "Mr. Salvatore's leaving," she said, mask firm, but her gaze held mine—warm, unguarded for a beat. "Early meeting."

"Of course." I nodded to Sarah. "Thanks—I'll return."

Anna trailed me out, her hand catching my arm as the night air bit—her touch a flame through my sleeve. "Thank you," she said, guard slipping, voice soft. "For helping without…"

"Being an ass?" I grinned, her laugh—bright, real—hitting me hard, my pulse hammering.

"Something like that." Her fingers lingered, heat pulsing where we joined. She stepped back, silhouette sharp in the dim streetlight, then paused—her eyes catching mine, glinting with something I couldn't read. "Don't push too hard, Adrian," she murmured, low and teasing, slipping into the dark before I could reply.

Was it a wall—or a dare? Her touch burned, her voice a taunt I'd unravel—step by relentless step—until I knew.