Chapter 4 4.
Elena’s days at the Romano estate continued in a repetitive, agonizing cycle of both luxury and confinement.
Breakfast slowly turned into a silent battlefield. Salvatore sat at the head of the long mahogany table, shielded by the morning papers and a constant stream of espresso.
"You aren't eating the frittata?," Salvatore asked, not looking up from his tablet.
"I don't have an appetite when I'm being watched by three men with submachine guns," Elena replied, pushing the porcelain plate away.
Salvatore finally looked at her. He had removed his suit jacket for a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing thick, corded forearms and the dark ink of a tattoo peeking from his cuff.
"The guards are for your protection, not your surveillance."
"In this house, those are the same thing," Elena snapped.
"Eat, Elena. You look pale, I won't have it said that I starve my guests."
"I am not a guest, Salvatore. Guests are allowed to have their car keys."
He stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow over her. He leaned down, placing his hands on the table. "You have a sharp tongue for someone who was crying in a warehouse forty-eight hours ago. Perhaps I should give you more to do so you don't spend so much time sharpening it."
"Give me my laptop. Let me work."
"No," he said, his voice dropping. "You belong in this house. If you’re bored, wander the gardens. Just don't think about crossing these walls."
\---
Salvatore worked from the estate and was literally everywhere.
Elena was walking toward the library that afternoon when she took a wrong turn through the gym pavilion. When the sound of heavy, rhythmic thudding caught her attention. She peaked through the cracked door and froze.
Salvatore was shirtless, his back to her. His skin was a map of violence, long, jagged scars across his shoulder blades and a puckered entry wound near his ribs. He was hitting a heavy bag with a ferocity that made the chains groan. Sweat slicked his muscles, making them shimmer under the recessed lighting.
He swung a final, devastating hook that nearly tore the bag, then stood there, breathing heavily.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you want a turn?" he asked without turning around.
Elena felt a flush creep up her neck. "I was looking for the library."
He turned, wiping his face with a towel. His eyes were hovering around her.. "The library is in the other direction. But please stay. Tell me, Elena, does the sight of a monster’s scars bother a refined woman like you?"
"They don't bother me," she said, her voice breathy. "They just make me wonder who was brave enough to give them to you."
Salvatore walked toward her, radiating the scent of salt and heat . He stopped just inches away. "The people who gave me these are no longer capable of giving anything else."
He reached out, his damp hand hovering near her waist, keeping his eyes locked in hers. For a second, she thought he might pull her into the sweat that now tricked down from his Abs and muscles. Instead, he dropped his hand.
"Go to the library, Elena. Before I decide you’re a better distraction than the bag."
\---
That night, sleep wouldn't come. Elena slipped out of her room at 2:00 AM, her bare feet silent on the cold marble. She needed water.
She reached the kitchen, but the light was already on. Salvatore was standing at the island, staring at a glass of amber liquid. He looked tired.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
"The silence is too loud," she said, stepping into the light.
He looked at her, really looked at her, in her thin silk nightgown. "I used to hate the silence. When I was a boy, silence meant my father was angry. It meant something bad was coming."
Elena softened, moving closer to the island. "I didn't think men like you had childhoods. I thought you were born with a gun in your hand."
"I was born with a target on my back," he corrected. He took a sip of the bourbon. "My father didn't give me a choice…he never did,It was the throne or the grave."
"Do you ever regret it?"
Salvatore looked at her, a strange, flickering vulnerability in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. "Tonight? Yes. Most nights? No."
He pulled her closer, his hand sliding up her arm to her shoulder. The kitchen was warm, the air thick with the unsaid. Elena didn't pull away because she was now seeing the real him, the man behind the Don—a man who was lonely in a house full of people.
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. "You shouldn't look at me like that, Elena."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm someone who can be saved."
He tilted her head back, his mouth hovering over hers. His hand running through the silk night gown she wore. He kissed her, not the forced goodnight kiss of the study, but something slow, deep, and devastating. Elena’s hands found his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt.
He lifted her onto the marble counter, his hands sliding up her thighs. The heat was overwhelming, a fire that now formed between them threatened to consume every bit of her resolve.
"Salvatore," she breathed against his lips.
He froze. He pulled back, his eyes clearing as he looked at her. He stepped away abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
"This doesn't change anything," he said, his voice cold again. "You are still a captive. I am still the man who killed to keep you.
"Salvatore—"
"Go!" he roared.
\---
Shaken and unable to breathe in the confined space of the north Suite, Elena didn't go back to her room. She waited until she heard his study door slam, then she began to wander. She needed to know who this man was. She needed a weapon, a secret, something…anything!
She found herself in a hallway she hadn't seen before, tucked behind the grand staircase. At the end of it was a small, heavy door. It wasn't locked.
It was a private office, dusty and filled with filing cabinets and old ledgers. It looked like it belonged to the previous Don.
Elena began to rummage through the drawers. Business deals. Land deeds. Bribery lists. Then, she saw a leather-bound folder tucked in the back of a safe that had been left ajar. She pulled it out and opened it.
Inside were photographs. Old ones. Black and white.
In the center of the pile was a photo of a group of men sitting around a table in Florence. They were dressed in expensive suits, cigars in hand, looking like the kings of the world.
Elena’s heart stopped.
But staring closer at the center of the photo, sitting to the right of an older man who looked exactly like Salvatore, was a younger man. He was laughing, a glass of wine raised to the camera.
"Dad?" she whispered.
She flipped the photo over. In elegant, slanted handwriting, the caption read: The Commission of Five: Salvatore Romano Sr. and Michael Moretti. July 1995.
She dug deeper into the folder. There were bank statements, wire transfers, and a signed document. It was a peace treaty between two families. The Morettis and the Romanos.
Her father wasn't a gambler who lost her mother's inheritance. He was a Don and was part of the very world she had spent her life reporting on.
A shadow fell over the doorway.
"You weren't supposed to find that," came a cold voice from behind.
He was standing in the door, his face unreadable.
"My father... he wasn't a victim," Elena said, her voice trembling as she held up the photo. "He was one of you…a murderer?."
"He was the head of the Moretti family," Salvatore said, stepping into the room. "And he didn't lose his inheritance, Elena. He gave it to my father as a down payment for a debt he could never pay."
"What debt?"
Salvatore stopped in front of her, his eyes cold and hard. "The debt of a life. Your father betrayed the Commission. He survived because he promised my father something... something a mafia wouldn't do even at death."
"What?" Elena gasped.
Salvatore reached out, taking the photo from her shaking hands. "He promised him to never ask for his Don ship, he renounced it. It's his punishment.
But last week I was meant to collect my final debt because after all he had a deal with my father not me. I don't tolerate betrayal…not in my
reign.
“What stopped you?” Elena asked.
“My payment is his life.”
Elena's eyes widened.
“But now I bring him a good offer, you! For his life”
Elena felt the world tilt. "No. No, he wouldn't."